The mont that violent explosion had erupted, it likely ant that everyone else on the ship—aside from Reacher, himself, and his two subordinates—had already been killed.
The fear rising inside him was impossible to suppress, but he still clenched his teeth and, together with his two n, forced Reacher forward toward the deck.
The wind and waves were growing stronger. The ship swayed more violently with every passing second, making even walking difficult as they stumbled through the corridors.
Along the way, he kept seeing bodies.
Soldiers. Sailors.
One corpse after another lay sprawled across the floors of the passageways.
Each sight made the fear in him and his n grow heavier, deeper.
Only Reacher remained calm from beginning to end, his expression unchanged, as though none of it concerned him.
They moved quickly through the corridors, drawing closer and closer to the deck.
The nearer they got, the clearer the thunderous roar of helicopter rotors beca. Though partially drowned out by the crashing waves, it was still unmistakable.
This ocean cargo ship had clearly been modified. The deck was unusually spacious and empty, with a specially designated helipad.
The mont they stepped onto the deck, the blond crew-cut man and his two subordinates—everyone except Reacher—froze, their pupils shrinking in shock.
Dark storm clouds blanketed the sky. The sea churned violently below, massive waves slamming against the ship as though heralding an even greater storm to co.
Yet the light was not dim enough to hide what stood before them.
Everything on the deck was perfectly visible.
The first thing that entered their sight was a black-haired young man.
He wore a black coat over a T-shirt, paired with jeans, standing there with an almost casual calmness.
Beside him stood a woman in a thick winter jacket, seemingly saying sothing to him.
Behind them, more than twenty fully ard gunn stood ready, their formation tight and disciplined.
Though their equipnt wasn't quite as advanced as the soldiers under the blond man's command, it was still undeniably world-class.
Looking up slightly, he saw three ard helicopters hovering in the sky, with fast-rope lines hanging down.
An indescribable shock surged from the depths of his heart.
His gaze locked tightly onto that black-haired boy, and his heartbeat began pounding uncontrollably.
He recognized him instantly.
Matthew.
It was precisely because of this young man that orders had co down from above demanding Reacher's capture.
Of course, Reacher's constant counter-investigation into them had also been one of the reasons for this operation.
They had long since investigated Matthew's background thoroughly.
The adopted son of a forr soldier nad Daniel.
In that small town, he had never shown anything remarkable—nothing unusual at all.
It was only after Daniel was murdered that the boy suddenly revealed inhuman strength and massacred everyone involved.
His thods had been ruthless beyond asure.
After that, Matthew had completely vanished from everyone's sight.
Half a year.
More than half a year without a trace.
What he never could have imagined was that when Matthew reappeared, he would already possess a private ard force of this scale and quality.
As his mind reeled in shock and raced to process everything, a woman's teasing voice suddenly broke the silence. "Yo, Reacher. You're looking pretty good."
The blond man imdiately focused.
Reacher, despite being teased, showed no irritation at all.
"Other than two broken ribs, two gunshot wounds, and a few scrapes," he said calmly, "I'd say I'm doing fine."
"No wonder you look so energetic," the woman said with a laugh, the amusent in her voice even stronger now. "Still, finding you really took so ti."
"These people were more cautious than I expected," Reacher replied. "And more slippery."
The two of them chatted as if no one else existed.
anwhile, the blond man and his two subordinates didn't dare utter a single word of protest.
Several black gun barrels were already locked firmly onto them.
The mont they made the slightest suspicious movent—
they would be dead in the next second.
Just as he frantically searched for a way to negotiate, trying to claw out even the slightest chance of survival, Matthew's gaze slowly shifted and landed on him.
BOOM!!
A massive wave slamd violently against the ship's hull, exploding into countless white sprays of seawater, the sound deafening.
Yet compared to that crashing storm, what truly crushed him was nothing more than a single look.
The mont their eyes t, the overwhelming force erupting from Matthew's presence descended like a violent tempest, pressing down from all directions.
It was as if the pressure had substance—brutal, suffocating, and unstoppable—slamming directly into the minds of the blond crew-cut man and his two soldiers, as though it would tear their consciousness apart.
Under that gaze, under that monstrous aura, the fear buried deep inside them could no longer be restrained.
It broke free like a beast escaping its chains, roaring wildly inside their chests.
They were elite soldiers, professionally trained n who had long believed they had forgotten what fear felt like, n who had buried terror deep within themselves.
But now, facing Matthew's eyes, they finally understood—
fear had never disappeared.
It had only been forced down, hidden beneath discipline and pride.
And now, under absolute pressure, it was exposed completely.
That terrifying force was like an invisible giant hand, instantly crushing every ounce of courage they had left. Even the strength to keep holding their guns steadily was slipping away.
Their bodies began trembling uncontrollably.
It was January, the temperature well below freezing, the icy wind cutting like knives across the deck—
yet cold sweat poured from their foreheads and backs, sliding down their faces in streams.
Reacher himself wasn't directly affected by the impact of that Conqueror's Haki, but he could still clearly sense that suffocating pressure hanging in the air.
He turned his head and glanced at the three n behind him, now looking like they had lost their souls.
Then he looked back at Matthew, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
He understood imdiately.
Ignoring the several trembling gun barrels still pointed at the back of his head, Reacher calmly stepped forward and walked toward Matthew and the woman in the winter jacket.
The shackles on his hands and feet scraped loudly against the deck, the tallic clattering of chains echoing sharply across the open ship.
But it didn't affect his steady pace in the slightest.
"Mind helping out?"
He raised his bound hands slightly as a gesture.
Neagley smiled faintly and waved her hand.
One of the ard n behind her imdiately walked toward one of the parked helicopters on the helipad, retrieved a pair of heavy bolt cutters from the toolbox inside, and quickly returned.
With practiced efficiency, he cut through the chains binding Reacher's hands and feet.
Matthew paid no attention to that.
He walked straight toward the three n who had already been completely swallowed by fear.
"Who do you work for?"
The strong wind blew across the deck, stirring his black hair.
His voice was calm—almost too calm.
But to the three n, it sounded like thunder exploding beside their ears.
All three of them shuddered involuntarily.
"Y-you should just kill us."
Having lost Reacher—their final bargaining chip—and being utterly crushed beneath Matthew's overwhelming presence, the blond man knew perfectly well that resistance was impossible.
Fear had completely drowned his reason.
His face twisted with ugly tension, while a trace of madness flickered deep in his eyes.
He didn't even dare et Matthew's gaze. His eyes darted around wildly, and in the end, like a man smashing the last thing he owned, he simply gave up and begged for death.
The sa was true for the two soldiers beside him.
Their faces were deathly pale, their bodies trembling violently, their eyes filled with despair.
They didn't even dare think about resisting.
Seeing this, sothing shifted slightly in Matthew's eyes.
His Conqueror's Haki had already been precisely controlled to affect only them.
It was the ultimate form of ntal oppression.
For ordinary people, being struck by that level of spiritual pressure would leave them stripped of reason by pure fear—reduced to little more than puppets, ready to be manipulated at will.
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