"Kyros?"
"Who's that? The crowd's going crazy for him… Four hundred and forty consecutive wins, huh? Sounds impressive."
In the stands, Kuzan lounged lazily in his seat, surrounded by bags of snacks piled up at his feet.
Seeing the roaring excitement of the crowd, even he sat up straight, curiosity piqued, eyes drawn to the center of the arena.
Beside him, Yoriichi was calmly biting into a star-shaped tropical fruit unique to Dressrosa, yet his gaze was just as focused on the stage.
Kyros.
Even after all these years, that name still lingered faintly in Yoriichi's memory.
At fifteen, Kyros had taken a man's life to avenge his fallen friend. When the royal guards captured him, he struck back in desperation—bludgeoning King Riku himself with a blunt weapon, hitting the king square on the head. Just as the guards were about to open fire and execute him on the spot—King Riku stopped them.
Perhaps it was pity.
Perhaps it was admiration for Kyros's unwavering loyalty and raw talent.
Whatever the reason, the king spared his life.
But mercy didn't erase guilt. Killing a man—and assaulting a king—were crimes punishable by death.
So King Riku made Kyros an offer: if he could win one hundred battles in the colosseum, he would earn his freedom.
And so the boy fought.
The genius of battle unleashed his gift upon the arena floor. With every match, his instincts sharpened, his body hardened, and his strength grew monstrous.
In less than half a year, Kyros achieved the impossible—one hundred victories.
Yet when the king's promise was fulfilled, Kyros didn't leave. The label of murderer clung to him like a shadow. No matter how many cheers he earned, society refused to accept him.
Unable to find a place in the world, Kyros stayed within the colosseum—burying his guilt in blood and battle.
Now, years later, he stood as its undefeated champion—440 victories, a legend of strength and spirit.
Soon, Kyros and his challenger—the "Raging Sea Bear"—stepped into the center of the ring.
The Sea Bear was a massive brute, nearly five meters tall, built like a fortress. His body was wrapped in steel armor, a horned helmet obscuring his face except for the narrow slit of his eyes. In one hand, he wielded a spiked shield; in the other, an enormous battle-axe taller than most men.
An overwhelming presence, to say the least.
By contrast, Kyros—barely seventeen—stood tall and broad-shouldered, easily over two meters himself. His frame was lean yet powerfully muscled, carved through constant struggle.
Next to him, Kuzan—who stood about the same height—looked almost frail.
Unlike his opponent's full armor, Kyros wore only tattered cloth around his torso and a simple skirt of metal plates at his waist. In his hands gleamed a twin-edged greatsword that shimmered sharply under the sunlight—his only real protection.
Compared to the Sea Bear's heavy gear, Kyros looked almost destitute.
If not for the sword in his hand, he could've been mistaken for a beggar.
"Whoa, so that's Kyros, huh? Look at him—so tall, that armor's incredible! No wonder he's won so many fights!"
Kuzan leaned forward, his eyes sparkling in admiration. Of course, he'd mistaken the armored giant for Kyros.
"Man, if the Marines had gear like that, we'd look awesome!"
Yoriichi gave him a sideways glance, speechless.
"…Yeah. That'd be real stylish," he muttered dryly.
Kuzan caught the sarcasm in his tone, mouth opening to retort—but before he could, Yoriichi continued:
"Kuzan, the one with the axe isn't Kyros. The one with the twin blades is."
"I can tell—he's strong."
Yoriichi's eyes narrowed slightly, his focus shifting to the young warrior in the ring.
Through the Transparent World, he could see everything—the flow of life within Kyros's body, the rhythm of his breathing, the power in every muscle fiber.
What radiated from Kyros wasn't Haki—it was Ki.
Every breath carried vitality. Every heartbeat pulsed with explosive energy.
And that heart… it blazed with life—so vibrant that Yoriichi found himself taken aback.
That vitality—was on par with the Upper Moons of his own world.
For a human's heart to rival a demon's?
Yoriichi knew only two beings could match such power in the Demon Slayer world: himself—and the Demon King, Muzan Kibutsuji, whom he had slain with his own blade.
"The one with the twin blades?"
Kuzan blinked, momentarily taken aback. He hadn't expected that—but he didn't doubt Yoriichi's words either.
He knew his friend's perception wasn't limited to Observation Haki alone.
Yoriichi possessed something different—an uncanny awareness that could gauge an opponent's strength at a glance.
While the two chatted quietly, the announcer down below was still rambling away, filling the air with dramatic introductions and hype for both combatants.
Of course, it wasn't just to stir up the crowd—it was to buy time.
After all, the colosseum of Dressrosa wasn't just an arena. It was the grandest gold mine in the nation.
Spectators could place bets on their favorite gladiator, and the longer the announcer talked, the more money poured in.
"Hey, Kuzan," Yoriichi said suddenly, turning his head, "you still have some cash on you?"
"Go bet it all on Kyros to win. Whatever you earn, consider it my early repayment."
Kuzan laughed softly, shaking his head with mock seriousness.
"Come on, man. Even if this is supposed to be a vacation, I'm still a Marine. No way I'm getting involved in gambling."
Yoriichi blinked in mild surprise. He hadn't realized the Navy had such strict principles.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips as a thought crossed his mind—about a future admiral who would join through the World Military Draft: a blind "actor," a man as famous for his gambling as his justice.
"Guess that's a lost chance to make some easy money," he said, leaning back comfortably as he bit into a piece of fruit.
Moments later, the referee raised a hand.
"Begin!"
The entire colosseum fell silent at once.
But neither fighter moved.
Kyros stood still, his grip firm on the hilt of his sword, eyes locked coldly on his opponent.
The "Sea Bear," meanwhile, began to circle slowly, his heavy armor clanking with every step.
He was waiting for an opening, tension coiling in his stance like a drawn bowstring.
Then—he struck.
The Sea Bear's massive legs slammed into the ground, the arena floor cracking beneath his charge. Despite his size, his speed was astonishing—blurring forward in a burst of motion that sent dust swirling around him.
In the blink of an eye, he was upon Kyros, spiked shield thrusting forward in a brutal blow aimed squarely at the young man's chest.
The shield's spikes gleamed dangerously under the sun—one solid hit would spell the end of the match.
But just as the strike was about to land, Kyros's body moved.
With a powerful leap, he soared up and over his opponent's head, twisting in midair.
His greatsword arced down like a flash of silver lightning—
CLANG!
The impact rang out sharp and clear, metal screeching against metal as his blade slammed into the Sea Bear's helmet.
Kyros landed lightly behind his opponent, his sword still humming from the strike.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The Sea Bear remained frozen mid-motion, shield raised—then his massive frame suddenly swayed, the strength leaving his body.
BOOM!
He collapsed like a felled mountain, the arena floor trembling beneath his fall.
The referee rushed in, shouting toward the stands—but the man didn't move again.
The crowd erupted.
The champion had claimed yet another victory—with a single blow.
Cheers exploded through the arena, a roaring wave of adoration for the undefeated warrior.
"Whoa. That was… impressive," Kuzan muttered under his breath.
His tone, however, remained calm—almost bored.
To him, Kyros was strong, sure—but still within the realm of ordinary humans.
Yoriichi, on the other hand, smiled faintly.
"I like him," he said simply.
"Kuzan, let's bring him into the Navy. I think… sparring with him would be far more interesting than sparring with you."
Kuzan snorted at that, but said nothing.
Kyros's strength and speed weren't extraordinary by their standards—but his swordsmanship was another story.
It was refined, tempered in countless life-or-death duels—an art forged in blood and perseverance.
And to Yoriichi, that kind of sword was worth crossing blades with.
"That man," he murmured, eyes gleaming with quiet interest, "fights beautifully."
(End of Chapter)
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