Oden—his son—dead?
Kozuki Sukiyaki sat frozen. The Kozuki line had only one heir left, and now… gone.
For all Oden's childhood chaos—little terror of the Capital, walking disaster—the boy had been maturing. He'd tamed Kuri, learned leadership. Sukiyaki had even named him daimyo and begun grooming him to inherit the shogunate someday.
And now that hope was ash.
"Who… who did this!?"
His hands trembled on the hilt at his waist.
"P–Pirates, my lord. They're waiting in the audience hall," stammered the ninja messenger.
Steel rang. Sukiyaki rose in a flash and snatched his katana from the stand behind him, storming from the study.
In the audience chamber, two figures awaited him.
One sat—a towering mountain of a man, even seated. The other stood beside him, two blades at his hip, posture sharp as drawn steel.
Sukiyaki's gaze dropped—and froze.
"Those swords…!"
Ame no Habakiri and Enma—Oden's twin blades.
"You mean these?" Dimon's tone was casual. "Spoils of war."
Kaido took a long swig from his gourd, eyes hazy with drink. He smirked. "This one's the shogun, huh? Want me to kill him, Dimon?"
Dimon shot him a look. "Use that muscle-bound head of yours. Kill him, and every daimyo in Wano will revolt. Ever heard the saying—'Hold the shogun, command the lords'?"
"Already told you—I don't read!" Kaido scowled. "So what's the move?"
"Simple. Arrest him."
Their easy banter only made Sukiyaki's face darken further.
At his sharp gesture, the Oniwabanshu, his personal ninja corps, erupted from every direction.
They were the shogun's elite—masters of stealth, assassination, and protection.
Some burst from behind folding screens, others dropped from the rafters, and a few even struck up from under the tatami with blades aimed true.
A dozen killing strikes converged on Dimon and Kaido.
"Trash—get lost!"
Kaido's snarl rolled through the hall. Conqueror's Haki exploded outward, a black gale sweeping the room.
Dimon didn't even move. One ninja drove a blade clean through his chest.
"Huh. That stings a bit. You aimed for the heart?"
He looked down—steel protruded through crimson—but his expression barely shifted. He turned his head, voice dripping with dry amusement.
"Off by half a centimeter. You'll get there. Maybe."
The masked assassin froze, eyes wide, hand shaking as he withdrew the blade.
Before he could retreat, the wound in Dimon's chest sealed—blood flowing backward, skin knitting until there was no trace.
"M–monster," the ninja whispered. "Why won't you die!?"
Dimon ignored him. Kaido rose and clamped a hand over Sukiyaki's skull, lifting him like a doll.
Sukiyaki screamed, the bones of his head creaking. "Aaaah! What do you want?!"
"Gather every other daimyo," Dimon said calmly. "Except Kuri's. I already killed him."
Wano had six regions: the Flower Capital under the shogun, Kuri under Oden, and four others—each ruled by a daimyo of considerable strength. Dimon couldn't remember all their names… and didn't care.
"They'll all come," he murmured. "And once they do—checkmate."
After all, Dong Zhuo once ruled an empire by holding the emperor hostage. Why couldn't he?
And if they refused? He'd just kill them all.
In a world ruled by strength, rebellion was a mosquito bite.
That very day, four sealed orders were dispatched from the shogunate—to Ringo, Udon, Kibi, and Hakumai.
By dawn, each had reached its daimyo manor.
In Ringo, lord Shimotsuki Yasue read the scroll with a frown.
Behind him, a servant named Kurozumi Orochi stood silently, tray in hand.
"The shogun suddenly summons us all… what's happened?"
The wording felt off. Normally, daimyos were only called to the Capital for births, deaths, or succession. But Sukiyaki was still young and healthy—and the phrasing in this order… almost like a plea for help.
"Orochi," Yasue said, "prepare the carriage. We go to the Capital."
"Yes, Lord Yasue."
Orochi bowed and slipped away—but before he could leave the courtyard, a middle-aged housekeeper intercepted him.
She led him into a quiet corner and whispered, "Orochi—Oden is dead."
"What!?"
He clapped a hand over his mouth. Then his eyes gleamed. The message from the Capital… the strange tone… it all fit.
"The killers are pirates," the woman hissed. "Rocks' remnants."
Her grin was all teeth. "Not quite our plan, but the door's open. Go to the Capital, Orochi. Play your part."
Moments later, Orochi was gone—smiling now.
By the next morning, the four great daimyos had arrived in the Flower Capital, entourages in tow.
They gathered in the audience hall of the shogunate, uneasy but composed.
"Any idea what's going on?"
"No clue. We're in the middle of harvest—this must be urgent."
"Stay sharp. Something's wrong."
While the others whispered, Shimotsuki Yasue said nothing, fingers brushing the hilt at his waist.
Then the sliding doors opened.
Dimon and Kaido entered—calm, seated as if they owned the place.
The four daimyos stared, confused.
"Gentlemen," Dimon said pleasantly, "good afternoon."
His eyes passed over each face—then stopped at one. The man from Ringo, broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, with Zoro's unmistakable features.
"Zoro? No… your name?"
"Shimotsuki Ushimaru."
So that was it. The resemblance was uncanny. Dimon smirked.
Ushimaru's glare cut like his namesake's blade. "Who are you? Where is the shogun?"
Dimon chuckled. "I know you're impatient. Don't be."
He turned to the daimyo of Hakumai—the one he recognized.
"You're Shimotsuki Yasue, right?"
"…Yes."
His gut sank. The shogunate was compromised; he could feel it. But he held back, waiting to see more.
Dimon nodded. "You've got a servant named Kurozumi Orochi, yes? Is he here?"
"He's outside," Yasue said, frowning.
"Bring him in."
Moments later, Orochi entered, bowing deeply.
"My lord, I—"
He stopped mid-sentence, blinking. The shogun was gone.
And in that instant, Dimon moved.
Enma flashed from his hip—a black bolt across the room.
It punched clean through Orochi's chest, the sound like a thunderclap in the hush.
Orochi staggered backward, face frozen in disbelief, mouth working soundlessly as blood blossomed across his robe.
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