"YASOTAKERU—!!" The roar tore through Aurust Castle like a cannon blast. Twin arcs of Haoshoku-infused steel crossed in a blazing X, Gaban's axes shrieking as they carved through the air and slammed into Harald's torso. Black lightning erupted on impact, splitting stone and shredding the throne hall's pillars as the cross-slash tore through the giant king's side.
Blood exploded outward. The force alone would have bisected a lesser warrior. Gaban did not pause. He stepped through the recoil, boots cracking the marble beneath him, and brought both axes around again in a brutal, spinning follow-up meant to take Harald's head clean off.
Outside, his Observation Haki raged like a storm. He felt Walrus School. Felt Ripley's panic.
Felt little Colon's presence dim into unnatural sleep. And above it all—those manifestations. Not Ragnarok. Not fate.
A Devil Fruit ability. A monstrous one. He had switched targets the instant he realized Dora was being overwhelmed. Gunko could wait. Harald could not. But what stood before him now… was not the Harald he remembered. Harald caught the twin axes barehanded.
The blades bit into his palms, Haoshoku lightning snapping between them—yet the king grinned, teeth bloodied, eyes almost fever-bright. "Mountain Eater…!" Harald growled. "You should have stayed retired!"
With a savage twist of his arms, he hurled Gaban backward. The veteran warrior flipped midair, landing hard, skidding across shattered stone. Before Harald could pursue, a thunderous hiss split the chamber. Dora's pet serpent—Lord of the Sky—lunged from above, its titanic coils smashing down like a falling tower. Fangs the size of ballista bolts snapped toward Harald's neck. At the same time, Dora herself descended.
"STORMBREAKER!"
Her hammer crashed down onto Harald's shoulder, Haoshoku flaring in a violent corona. The impact detonated the floor beneath them, shockwaves ripping outward in concentric rings. For a split second, Harald vanished beneath dust and debris.
Gaban reappeared beside Dora instantly, axes spinning, and drove a blade into Harald's exposed flank while the serpent constricted around the king's torso. Three directions. Perfect execution. The smoke cleared. Harald stood upright. Still smiling.
The deep gash across his side was closed. Muscle reknit before their eyes. Flesh crawled back together. Even the wound Dora had smashed into his shoulder sealed with grotesque speed, the bone realigning audibly. He flexed once. The serpent's coils burst apart.
Lord of the Sky shrieked as it was flung across the hall, crashing through a column. Harald backhanded Dora mid-swing. The blow hurled her across the chamber, Stormbreaker barely raised in time to absorb the brunt. She smashed into a wall, stone exploding around her.
Gaban intercepted the follow-up strike meant to finish her. Steel met steel. The impact split the air. Haoshoku lightning webbed between them, but Harald's strength was overwhelming—each clash driving Gaban back another step.
Something isn't right… Harald drove a knee into Gaban's ribs, sending him skidding. Blood filled Gaban's mouth. He spat to the side, red staining the marble.
"Something isn't right," he muttered. "He's healing way too fast… even a God's Knight shouldn't recover like this…"
Jarul rejoined the fray then, ancient yet unyielding, his blade slashing at Harald's flank to create space. Harald parried lazily—almost mockingly. Gaban reengaged instantly, deflecting a downward strike aimed at Dora before it could cleave her in half.
"It's as if…" Gaban growled between clashes, "…in addition to immortality… his body retains supernatural regeneration. Like something only a mythical Zoan devil fruit could grant!"
Jarul froze for half a heartbeat. His eyes widened. "No…" the elder whispered. "It can't be…" Dora drove Stormbreaker forward again, capitalizing on Gaban's opening. The hammer smashed directly into Harald's collarbone, the Haoshoku coating thick and violent enough to split mountains.
The impact would have cleaved another giant in two. Harald merely staggered. Then straightened. The crushed bone visibly shifted back into place beneath his skin. He shrugged the hammer aside. The wound vanished. Gaban's frown deepened. This back-and-forth was draining them. Harald wasn't slowing. He wasn't weakening. He was regenerating endlessly.
"Elder Jarul!" Gaban barked as he launched forward again, axes flashing to contain the king. "If you know something about Harald's condition, speak!"
Jarul's face had gone pale beneath his beard. "He was deemed unworthy…" he murmured. "Decades ago. When he was young. There is no way to regain favor after failing the trial. No giant has been acknowledged by the guardian for centuries, So How…?"
Harald's grin widened at those words. Realization struck Dora first. "Grandpa Jarul—what are you saying?!"
Jarul's voice trembled. "He must have consumed it…the treasure of Elbaf…he must have claimed the devil fruit by force…" Harald knocked Gaban's axes aside and sent him crashing into a pillar with a single monstrous swing. Dust rained from the ceiling. Jarul stared at the king in horror.
"He must have eaten the sacred fruit." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The Treasure Fruit of Elbaf… Only that Devil Fruit could grant such undying power."
"Sure took you fools long enough to figure it out!" Maffey's laughter boomed across the fractured throne hall as her colossal blade came crashing down toward Shanks. The strike split the air. Shanks twisted at the last possible instant—the edge grazing past his face, slicing a lock of crimson hair free as it cleaved deep into the stone behind him. The shockwave alone tore banners from the walls and sent debris spiraling outward.
He landed lightly, coat snapping in the violent wind. But he did not counter. He couldn't. A strange ability clung to him—subtle, invasive. Gunko. Her devil fruit ability pulsed invisibly through the battlefield like binding chains. It didn't weaken his Shanks directly—it constricted him. Limited his options for a counterattack.
Every time Shanks attempted to let his Haoshoku surge freely, the pressure folded inward, compressing his output like a vice tightening around his spirit. Across from him, Gunko stood poised, calm, almost serene amid the chaos her mismatched eyes overlooking the entirety of the battlefield.
"You rely too much on overwhelming presence," she said coolly. "How unfortunate; you still have a long way to go."
Maffey lunged again, blade shrieking sideways in a horizontal sweep meant to bisect him. Shanks drew Gryphon in a smooth arc. Steel collided. Black lightning detonated outward. The hall split further, fissures racing across the floor like spiderwebs. Yet even as their blades locked, Shanks felt it—his Haoshoku refusing to bloom fully.
And with Harald on the opposing side, he couldn't afford to unleash it indiscriminately. The superiority of his Conqueror's Haki would normally suppress lesser wills, tilt the battlefield in his favor, and suffocate momentum before it even began. But Harald… Harald was no lesser will, even Gaban's Haoshoku failed to restrain King Harald's haki. And if Shanks overextended now, with Gunko's ability interfering, he risked destabilizing the current situation. Maffey's grin widened as she pressed harder, veins bulging along her arms.
"What's wrong, Red-Hair? Thought you were supposed to be a little monster!"
She kicked off his blade and spun, bringing her weapon down in a savage overhead cleave. This time Shanks didn't dodge. He stepped in. Gryphon flashed upward. The clash exploded like a cannon firing point-blank.
Maffey's boots cracked the stone beneath her as she was forced back half a step—only half—but enough to prove he was still holding his own.
****
Wanokuni, New World
The cemetery lay in the northern reaches of Ringo, where winter never loosened its grip and the wind howled like a grieving spirit across the wastes of Wano Country. Snow had swallowed the earth whole. Frost-crusted tombstones stretched in endless rows, vanishing into a pale horizon where sky and land blurred into one merciless expanse of white. It was said that every stone marked a warrior, and every warrior had once carried a blade worthy of song.
Here, generations of samurai slept beneath the ice. Their swords were buried with them—katana of folded steel, some chipped from battle, others pristine as if waiting for hands long turned to bone. The hilts jutted from the snow at solemn angles, like withered branches in a frozen forest. The wind moved through them with a hollow whistle, brushing against exposed wrappings and cracked scabbards, producing a faint metallic murmur that almost sounded like distant clashing steel.
Since Kaido had seized control of Wano, this sacred ground had fallen into ruin. No monks tended the graves. No incense burned in quiet remembrance. Snow piled unchecked against leaning markers, and prayer tablets lay split and half-buried beneath frost. The proud cemetery of Ringo had become a wasteland of neglect. Yet the locals still whispered of a guardian.
On wind-bitten nights, they claimed to see a pale silhouette drifting between the graves—a lone specter keeping silent watch over the fallen. Some said it was the spirit of a forgotten daimyo. Others believed it to be a swordsman who had refused to die. Whatever the truth, few dared step foot here after dusk. Tonight, two figures did.
Dark cloaks snapped in the cutting wind as they traversed the frozen path leading toward the heart of the graveyard. Their boots crunched softly against the snow, the only sound besides the restless gale.
"Is all this stealth necessary…?" the first figure muttered irritably, his voice low but edged with impatience. "We could have simply walked in and taken what we came for." His breath misted in the air, quickly torn apart by the wind.
"And what if someone were to spot us?" came the reply—a feminine voice, amused yet utterly devoid of warmth.
Izumi moved ahead of him with practiced familiarity, her steps precise despite the treacherous ice. The moonlight caught faintly against her cloak as she navigated the winding path without hesitation, as though retracing memories etched into her bones.
"We simply kill them," Dorian snickered, a cruel grin hidden beneath his hood. Izumi did not share his mirth.
"Even if it were Kaido standing before us?" The wind seemed to grow louder at the name. Dorian's smile faltered. After his crushing defeat at the hands of Shanks, he had learned a truth more sobering than any wound: they were not truly immortal. Yes, their lives had been extended—twisted and sustained by the unnatural power of Rocks D. Xebec's Devil Fruit—but immortality was not invincibility. A sufficiently overwhelming Haoshoku Haki could harm them. Perhaps even end them permanently.
And Rocks had warned them explicitly: do not clash with Kaido. They were here for a single corpse. One body buried among thousands. That was the mission. Retrieve it, and leave. Nothing more.
Izumi's soft snicker cut through the cold, sharp as breaking ice. She had seen the hesitation in Dorian's eyes. Even together—despite their unnatural endurance—they might not survive a direct confrontation with a monster like Kaido.
Dorian's jaw tightened. He knew she was thinking of Shanks. Of his defeat. The memory burned hotter than the cold biting at his skin. For a moment, resentment flared—but he swallowed it, forcing his tone into something casual.
"How are you so familiar with Wano, I wonder?" he asked. "You move as though you've walked this path a hundred times." Izumi stopped. She turned slowly, her expression neutral, almost incredulous—like one addressing a fool who had asked the obvious.
"You do know I was born in Wano, yes?" she said quietly. The wind stirred her cloak, revealing for an instant the hilt of a blade at her side.
"Until I became a pirate, I was part of this country. Ringo… the flower capital… the shrines. I knew them all." Her gaze drifted past him, toward the endless sea of graves. "It has been decades since I left this island. Decades since I abandoned its laws, its traditions… its graves." Her voice softened—not with sentiment, but with something heavier.
"But no matter how much time passes, one does not forget the path through their homeland." Ahead of them, deeper within the cemetery, a faint silhouette shifted between the tombstones. The rumored guardian—or something else entirely.
"So this Ryuma… is he truly worth all this trouble?" Dorian asked, his voice low as they pressed deeper into the cemetery's frozen heart. "Xebec seems almost obsessed with getting his hands on this corpse."
His tone carried more curiosity than doubt now. He knew their captain's intentions well enough. Rocks D. Xebec did not collect relics for sentiment. He collected weapons. And a corpse—properly prepared, properly resurrected—could become the most obedient weapon of all.
Xebec had deliberated for weeks. There had been many candidates across the seas: forgotten kings, infamous pirates, warriors whose names still haunted tavern songs. But in the end, he had chosen one. Shimotsuki Ryuma. Izumi's boots slowed slightly at the name, though she did not turn.
"Believe it or not," she said, her breath curling in the air like pale smoke, "Shimotsuki Ryuma is hailed as the greatest swordsman of the last millennium." Dorian scoffed quietly.
"Rumor has it," Izumi continued, unfazed, "that Ryuma alone was enough of a deterrent to keep the World Government from setting foot in Wano during his lifetime. They feared him. An entire regime, wary of a single blade." Her eyes drifted toward the endless rows of graves, half-swallowed by snow.
"Even after nearly eight centuries, he still bears the title of Sword God. In Wano, he is not merely remembered—he is worshipped. Children are raised on tales of his dragon-slaying. His duels. His invincible blade."
Far to the east, beyond the storm-veiled seas, the World Government's influence reigned supreme. But here, in Wano Country, legends endured like iron beneath ice.
"Tch… tall tales," Dorian muttered, kicking aside a snowdrift that had gathered around a toppled headstone. "People exaggerate with the passage of time. Eight hundred years? I'd wager half of that story is myth." Izumi's lips curved faintly—not in agreement, but in quiet anticipation. "Perhaps," she allowed. "But soon we will know."
If Rocks D. Xebec succeeded in resurrecting him, myth would become flesh. And if Ryuma proved less than the legend… Well. It would not be difficult to silence Dorian's smug disbelief. A sudden shift in the air made her eyes narrow.
"We are being followed…," Dorian called softly. His Observation Haki expanded outward, invisible yet oppressive, pressing against the darkness between the tombstones. He had felt it—just a flicker. A disturbance in the rhythm of the wind. A presence moving where nothing should.
"Yes," Izumi replied quietly. "I know." She had sensed it too. The frozen wasteland of Ringo did not breathe. It did not whisper. Yet something now moved within it, threading between the grave markers with deliberate patience.
"We'd better hurry," she said. "We're almost there." They did not know whether it was one of Kaido's subordinates patrolling the outskirts… or merely some desperate resident of Ringo foolish enough to trail strangers through a graveyard at night. Grave robbers were not uncommon here. The cemetery was more than sacred ground—it was a treasure trove.
The fallen samurai of Ringo had been buried with their swords. Blades of exquisite craftsmanship. Named swords. Cursed swords. Steel that could fetch fortunes in the underworld. Many had tried to steal from these graves over the years.
Most were never found. The wind shifted abruptly. Snow lifted in a spiraling gust, momentarily obscuring the path ahead. Through the veil of white, the silhouette of a massive shrine gate emerged at the cemetery's center—ancient, half-collapsed, its wood petrified by time and frost.
Beyond it lay a raised shrine, larger than the others. Even beneath layers of snow, it radiated presence. Ryuma's resting place. Izumi let out a small nod, confirming it was indeed the sword god's final resting place.
"Stay focused," she said coldly. "We take the corpse and leave. No unnecessary battles."
The earth parted beneath their hands without ceremony. Frozen soil, layered with decades of frost and neglect, cracked and split as Dorian wrenched the final slab aside. Snow cascaded into the pit in soft white curtains, settling along the edges of an ancient coffin lacquered in black and gold—its surface etched with patterns of coiling dragons and crescent moons dulled by time.
Neither of them hesitated. With a sharp exhale, Izumi tore the lid free. It fell back with a hollow thud. Inside lay a relic of legend. The corpse had not rotted. It had been preserved—carefully, deliberately—by some forgotten method of old Wano. The flesh was pale and tightened against bone, not decayed but mummified with reverence. Faint talismanic markings, brushed in dried ink, traced along the interior lining of the coffin and across strips of aged paper tucked around the body.
Several bandages wrapped around the skull and jaw, binding what remained of the face. Where eyes once had been, there were only hollow cavities—dark and depthless. The nose had long since withered away, leaving a sharp, skeletal void. And yet the expression held an unsettling composure, as though even in death the warrior refused indignity.
Shimotsuki Ryuma. The Sword God of Wano Country.
His mouth was partially obscured by a blue scarf that crossed the lower half of his face, its fabric faded but intact. His once-black hair had turned completely white, spilling in thin strands across the pillow beneath his head like frostbitten silk.
He wore a samurai gi unlike any ordinary warrior's attire. The fabric, though aged, bore intricate swirling patterns woven in silver thread—designs far more elaborate than traditional Wano garb. A deep blue stomach band with a coiling motif bound the gi tightly at his waist. On his feet rested wooden geta, preserved and still secured, instead of the simpler zōri sandals common in his era.
Even in death, he looked… composed. As if merely resting before battle. Izumi's eyes sharpened immediately.
"The sword is missing." Her voice was flat, but disappointment flickered beneath it. At the corpse's side, where a blade of legend should have rested, there was only empty space. Shusui. The black blade. A national treasure of Wano. Coveted by collectors, pirates, and warlords alike. Its absence was not an oversight—it was a theft.
Izumi's gaze darkened. "Someone claimed it."
Whether one of Kaido's subordinates… or some thief bold enough to plunder sacred ground decades ago, she did not know. But the thought irritated her. A weapon like Shusui was never meant to vanish quietly. Dorian peered into the coffin, unimpressed.
"Well," he drawled, stepping back and brushing dirt from his gloves, "how exactly are we taking him back? I'm not carrying a corpse across the seas. I'll make that very clear."
He raised both hands as if absolving himself of responsibility. Izumi shot him a cold look. "You incompetent—"
The night split open. A thunderclap exploded across the sky so violently that the snow around the grave burst upward in a shockwave. The once-clear, star-littered heavens twisted in an instant—clouds spiraling inward as if seized by an unseen hand.
The air grew heavy. Oppressive. Both of them froze. They felt it. A will descending from above. Not merely presence— Dominance.
The clouds churned into a massive vortex over Ringo, lightning arcing between their spirals in blinding streaks of blue-white. The wind howled, ripping through the cemetery and bending exposed swords in their frozen graves.
Then, from within the storm, something vast moved. A serpentine silhouette coiled between thunderheads. Scales glinted like polished sapphire beneath flashes of lightning. A colossal azure dragon burst through the clouds, its body snaking across the sky with terrifying majesty. Horns curved like crescent blades from its skull, whiskers trailing in the gale, crimson eyes burning like twin infernos.
Kaido. In his dragon form. The heavens themselves seemed too small to contain him. His massive body circled the graveyard once—slowly and deliberately. Each rotation tightened the invisible pressure in the air. Snow blasted outward from the sheer force of his movement, tombstones cracking beneath the shockwaves of displaced wind.
Then it came. Haoshoku. It crashed down like a tidal wave.
The ground trembled violently as an invisible force pressed against Izumi and Dorian from every direction. The very atmosphere warped, dark lightning snapping across the sky as Kaido's Conqueror's Haki locked onto them with unmistakable intent.
Intruders. In his domain. Dorian's breath hitched as the pressure bore into him. His knees threatened to buckle, boots grinding into the frozen earth as he forced himself upright.
"…So much for avoiding him," he muttered through clenched teeth.
Above them, Kaido's massive dragon head lowered, descending through the storm clouds until his enormous crimson gaze fixed directly upon the unearthed grave. Upon Ryuma's corpse. And then upon them. A rumbling growl reverberated across Ringo, deep enough to shake snow from distant cliffs. The Dragon Emperor had found them.