Redfield remained seated cross-legged, motionless on the warehouse roof for nearly two more hours.
The thoughts of the CP0 agent on the first floor of the main building were as regular as a pendulum. Alert, alert, alert... unbearably monotonous.
This man's willpower was indeed remarkable—in two hours, his focus had wavered no more than three times.
But humans are not machines after all.
At 1:17 a.m., the CP0 agent stood up. Footsteps echoed from the first floor, heading toward the restroom at the end of the western corridor.
Now was the time.
The Red Count descended silently from the roof, using Moon Walk to hover half a meter above the ground. He moved horizontally along the building's outer wall, reaching directly beneath the main building.
A window on the second floor was slightly ajar, allowing a dim strip of light to escape.
Vegapunk was clearly someone who preferred ventilation. Even within the World Government's most secretive restricted zone, he couldn't be bothered to follow rigid airtight regulations.
Redfield slipped through the window, landing without a sound.
The laboratory was even messier than it had appeared from the outside. Papers covered the floor, a table was stacked with over twenty empty coffee cups, and half-eaten sandwiches and fruit of uncertain age were piled in a corner.
Vegapunk sat with his back turned in a swivel chair, clutching tightly the rejected proposal in his hand.
He was a genius, but first and foremost, he was a man of conscience.
In this era of rampant pirates and collapsing order, he had thought that by relying on the World Government, he could use his intellect to bring warmth to the world.
But reality had struck him like a resounding slap.
"War... Pacifistas... killing machines."
Vegapunk muttered to himself, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Is this what you want? Five Elders."
"This level of self-talk hardly befits a great man who intends to change the world."
A low voice, carrying a unique blend of laziness and authority, sounded abruptly in the laboratory without warning.
"!!!"
Vegapunk's body stiffened instantly, every hair on his body standing on end!
He had installed the most advanced sensors all over the island. To silently penetrate his entire defense network and evade the CP0's perception, appearing right behind him—the number of people in the world capable of such a feat could be counted on one hand.
Vegapunk turned his head stiffly.
In the dim light, a tall and upright figure stood quietly.
A dark red cloak draped down to his ankles, and an exquisite black top hat obscured the lower half of his face. The seemingly harmless red long umbrella in his hand exuded a palpably eerie and unsettling aura in the air.
"Baron Redfield..."
Vegapunk's pupils contracted sharply, his voice turning hoarse from extreme shock. "How... how did you get here?"
Redfield removed his top hat, gave a slight bow in an impeccable aristocratic gesture, and then fixed his gaze on the crumpled document in front of Vegapunk.
Reading the churning bitterness deep within Vegapunk's heart, the corner of his mouth curled into a mocking smile:
"It seems the World Government's chief scientist isn't living as comfortably as the rumors suggest."
"A legendary pirate infiltrating this place at the risk of being hunted by the Five Elders—surely you didn't come all this way just to mock my career troubles?" Vegapunk forced himself to calm down, his brain calculating escape routes and the possibility of triggering alarms at speeds far beyond ordinary humans.
Redfield leisurely pulled out a neatly folded note from his pocket and flicked it with his finger.
The note traced a straight arc through the air, landing precisely on Vegapunk's laboratory table.
"An interesting fellow asked me to deliver a message to you."
Vegapunk frowned, picking up the note with suspicion.
To him, this was likely just another olive branch extended by some faction, or perhaps another clichéd attempt by pirates to kidnap him.
But when he unfolded the note and saw the handwriting, the world's foremost genius broke into a cold sweat.
The note contained only a single sentence:
[What is the principle behind Pluton's power core? If you want the answer, go with this person.]
Vegapunk's pupils dilated instantly.
He read it three times.
Not because the message was long, but because he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Pluton.
The only Ancient Weapon recorded as "man-made." The ultimate battleship said to be capable of destroying an island with a single strike, existing only in fragments of text on the Poneglyphs for eight hundred years. No one had ever seen the actual vessel, and no existing records documented its structure—
Yet this note mentioned its "power core."
Not "does it exist," not "roughly where is it," but "the principle behind its power core."
What did this mean?
It meant the person who wrote this note had seen Pluton.
"Where... where is he?"
Vegapunk's breathing grew rapid, his eyes fixed on the note as he snapped his head up to look at Redfield. "Who wrote this note? How could he have seen Pluton's core?"
Redfield took a step back, offering a meaningful smile. "Come with me, and you'll see everything you wish to see."
Vegapunk opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, he noticed Redfield suddenly turn toward the door as if sensing something.
"That watchdog monitoring you has returned."
In the corridor, faint footsteps grew louder, distinct in the silence of the deep night.
"Apologies, Dr. Vegapunk, but now is not the time for discussion."
Before Redfield's words fully faded, Vegapunk felt a chill on the back of his neck.
"Wai—"
He couldn't even finish the word before the world's foremost genius's eyes rolled back, and his body went limp, collapsing.
Redfield reached out, scooping Vegapunk up and slinging him over his shoulder like a small sack.
"Boom!"
The laboratory door was violently kicked open.
The CP0 agent stood at the entrance, his eyes behind the pure white mask locked onto the red-clad man carrying Vegapunk.
"Put him down."
The CP0 agent's voice held no trace of emotion—a mechanical tone born of complete brainwashing. His stance lowered slightly, and the alloy floor beneath his feet already showed fine, web-like cracks.
"Finger Pistol: Speckle!"
Almost without a single wasted word.
As the World Government's most elite killing machine, the agent unleashed the deadliest technique of the Six Styles the moment he confirmed his enemy's identity.
His figure pulled over a dozen blurred afterimages through the air, fingertips carrying the sharp whistle of tearing air, transforming into an impenetrable barrage of death aimed directly at Redfield's vital points!
"Decent speed, but that's all."
Redfield didn't even lift an eyelid, a faint trace of contempt curling at the corner of his mouth.
He didn't use the long umbrella in his hand.
He merely raised his empty left hand.
"Armament Haki."
A layer of dark red metallic luster shimmered over his fingertips.
"Clang clang clang clang clang—!!"
A dense series of collision sounds erupted within the laboratory.
The CP0 agent's eyes changed.
His ultimate Finger Pistol, capable of piercing through multiple layers of steel, landed in the other's palm, only managing to spark a shower of sparks—unable to advance even a fraction of an inch! The other's hand didn't even tremble!
"Is this the so-called 'Shield of the Celestial Dragons'?"
The curve of Redfield's mouth turned cold and cruel.
"Too slow."
Before the words faded, his open left hand suddenly clenched, moving with a speed that overtook the agent's attack, directly seizing the wrist of the other's thrusting right hand!
"Crack—!"
A crisp, teeth-grinding sound of bone fracture was unnervingly clear in the silent night.
"Gah—!"
The scream had just escaped his throat when it was cut off by even more extreme violence.
Redfield's body leaned forward slightly, delivering an elegant yet swift knee strike, unadorned and direct, into the other's abdomen.
"Thud!!"
A dull impact, and the CP0 agent's body arched violently backward! The ribs in his chest shattered completely, the powerful force transmitting through his bones and pulverizing his internal organs into mush in an instant!
The pure white mask symbolizing absolute authority shattered with a crash, revealing a face twisted in agony and disbelief.
Redfield surveyed the mess before him—the blood splattered on the walls, the broken corpse—and frowned slightly, as if somewhat troubled.
"That guy Kane, his requirements are truly finicky... 'Leave no trace,' huh?" he muttered to himself, but then immediately regained his air of casual arrogance. "Never mind. A dead man can't expose my identity."
He steadied the unconscious Vegapunk on his shoulder again, casually straightening his collar, which had been ruffled by the fierce wind.
Then, he leaped directly from the second-floor window.
During the fall, the long umbrella in Redfield's hand snapped open with a sharp "swish."
The umbrella's surface reflected an eerie red light under the moonlight, like a giant bat spreading its wings.
He didn't land directly. Instead, stepping on the air currents, he flickered several times, crossing over the heads of the perimeter sentries.
Those unlucky CP5 and CP7 agents only felt a cool breeze sweep over their heads.
When they looked up, they saw nothing but the cold, bright moon.
Five minutes later.
Redfield returned to the inconspicuous little sailboat.
He casually tossed Vegapunk onto the soft cushions in the cabin.
"Set sail," he said to himself, a hint of post-mission ease and satisfaction in his tone.
The sailboat silently turned its bow on the utterly still surface of the Calm Belt, raised its black sails, completely merging into the night as it sailed toward its return journey.
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