The winds of Vormir were bone-dry.
On the desolate cliff edge, orange light pulsed up from the depths of the abyss layer by layer, as if countless people were reaching up from below, begging to be saved.
Red-Haired Shanks stood at the edge of the altar, his single arm hanging loosely by his side, his renowned sword Gryphon already sheathed.
His first mate, Benn Beckman, stood behind him with a cigarette dangling from his lips, his rifle no longer firing.
Because he had already confirmed it.
Bullets were useless against these vengeful spirits.
Armament Haki was useless too.
Conqueror's Haki could knock them back, but it only brought more agony to the souls trapped within those chains.
These weren't enemies.
They were victims, imprisoned in the abyss by the rules.
Red Skull stood on the other side of the altar, his cloak plastered to his form by the wind.
As the Stonekeeper, the guide to the Soul Stone, he watched the black wraiths swarming up from the abyss and let out a raspy, grating laugh.
"Those who refuse the sacrifice will always come to understand the cost."
"If you are unwilling to push your beloved over the edge with your own hands, then the abyss shall swallow you whole."
"Mortals are always like this. Desiring the stone, yet unwilling to part with what they have."
Shanks didn't reply.
The wraiths were already closing in.
They had no complete faces, only gaping wounds in their chests and throats where the orange chains pierced through them.
Every single chain extended from the abyss, anchoring deep into their souls, dragging them back into the endless dark.
Beckman exhaled a cloud of smoke, his voice low.
"Boss. There's too many of them."
"Yeah," Shanks replied.
Beckman looked at him.
"Should we fall back?"
Shanks offered a small smile.
"We're already here. How could I just leave these guys locked up like this?"
Beckman was silent for a moment before lowering his rifle.
"You're doing something troublesome again."
"I'm the captain," Shanks said, rolling his shoulder. "I'm allowed to be a little selfish sometimes."
Hearing this, Red Skull's tone grew more mocking.
"You wish to save them?"
"You do not even possess the right to touch the rules."
"The Soul Stone only acknowledges an exchange."
"Love... must be proven through loss."
Shanks looked up at him.
"Those are the rules of your universe."
"It is a universal law," Red Skull replied.
Making sure Gryphon was firmly secured, Shanks stepped forward a half pace and raised his only arm, falling seamlessly into the starting stance of the Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist. "I don't like your rules."
Chapter 596: Shattering the Shackles
Red Skull froze.
Benn Beckman also paused for a second before a grin spread across his face.
"Sounds exactly like something you'd say."
The next moment, a wave of black and red Conqueror's Haki erupted from Shanks. But this time, the Haki didn't crush everything in its path, nor did it force anyone into submission. It swirled around Shanks like a slow, rotating current, gently catching the surging, resentful souls without harming them.
Red Skull's laughter died in his throat.
He had seen the greedy. He had seen the weeping. He had seen people murder their own loved ones with their bare hands just for the stone. But he had never seen anyone face the abyss, refuse to draw their blade, refuse to sacrifice, refuse to run, and simply drop into a martial arts stance.
The vengeful souls lunged.
Shanks moved.
He didn't draw Gryphon. He didn't use Divine Departure. He didn't even coat his strikes in the sky-splitting power of Conqueror's Haki.
His boots shifted across the shattered rubble of the altar, dodging the spectral hands reaching for him, and he threw a fierce punch from an incredibly tight angle.
The first strike landed dead center on an orange chain.
There was no massive explosion. Just a sharp, crisp crack.
The chain shattered.
The vengeful soul impaled by the chain froze in midair, a trace of peace washing over its hollow face. It tilted its head up as its body slowly dissolved from pitch black into golden motes of light, drifting up into the sky.
Beckman's cigarette slipped from his lips and hit the ground.
"I'll be damned. It actually worked."
Red Skull took a step forward, his voice cracking. "Impossible. That is the shackle forged by the Soul Stone itself."
Shanks ignored him.
The second punch. The third. The fourth.
He weaved through the swarm of spirits, his fists never touching the souls themselves, only striking the chains.
The Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist was inherently a style of deflection, guidance, and neutralization. Shanks had been beaten to the point of existential doubt by Saitama's punch in the One Punch Man dungeon, but he hadn't taken that hit for nothing.
He had learned one crucial thing.
Truly absurd strength didn't always mean beating your opponent to death. Sometimes, shattering the bindings was far harder than shattering the enemy.
The orange chains snapped one by one.
The abyss began to tremble. The roars of the resentful spirits gradually softened into weeping, and then from weeping into the quiet whispers of absolute relief.
Some called out for their mothers. Some for their lovers. Some murmured the names of their children. Most said nothing at all, merely looking up at the starry sky the moment their chains broke.
Beckman stood exactly where he was, making no move to interfere.
He knew this battle wasn't his to fight. If this were a robbery, he'd fire his rifle. If it were a slaughter, he'd finish off the wounded. But right now, Shanks was saving people.
He'd let his captain finish the job alone.
Red Skull couldn't comprehend the sight unfolding before him.
He had guarded Vormir for far too long. So long that he had accepted sacrifice as an absolute truth. So long that he believed everyone who came here would inevitably twist into a monster torn between love and desire.
Yet, this one-armed pirate was currently using his bare fists to entirely reject the answer Red Skull had guarded for countless years.
Red Skull raised his hands, dragging even more resentful souls up from the depths of the abyss.
"You cannot save them all. There are more souls buried here than there are people you have met in your entire life."
Shanks paused for a single breath.
He looked down into the abyss. It was a sea of pitch black. A sea of chains. A sea of the final, agonizing suffering of the sacrificed.
Shanks exhaled softly. "Then I'll just take my time."
Beckman chuckled, shaking his head. "The dungeon timer might not give you the luxury of taking it slow, Boss."
"Guess I need to get a little serious, then," Shanks replied.
The black and red Conqueror's Haki flared outward once more.
This time, it didn't press down on the souls. Instead, it unfurled perfectly in sync with Shanks's stance. He wove his Conqueror's Haki directly into the wind of his fists, utilizing the intricate flow of the Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist to disperse it into countless, microscopic ripples.
Beckman understood immediately.
Shanks wasn't trying to obliterate the abyss. He was letting every single strand of concussive force seek out the chains on its own.
Red Skull realized it too, and his ethereal face contorted hideously.
Shanks took a heavy step forward.
He threw a single punch.
The shockwave bypassed the first wave of spirits, flowing effortlessly around the souls themselves, and smashed with pinpoint accuracy into the chains tethered to their backs.
A cascading series of sharp cracks echoed from the bottom of the cliff. It sounded as though tens of thousands of glass threads had been snapped all at once.
The swarm of souls froze.
Then, an ocean of golden light rose from the bottom of the abyss.
One mote. Two. Then a sky-filling blizzard of gold.
The entire sky above Vormir was illuminated. Standing at the edge of the altar, Red Skull's cloak lost its shadows in the brilliant glow. He watched the once-sacrificed souls ascend, his lips moving several times, but no words came out.
Shanks kept punching.
His fists were unbelievably steady. Every single strike bypassed a soul and shattered a chain.
Sweat began to bead on his forehead. His breathing grew heavy.
Any physical martial art was inherently flawed when the practitioner was missing an arm. The Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist was no exception.
But Shanks had never regretted betting that arm on the new era. And now, he was using his remaining hand to shatter the old rules.
The final chain rose from the depths of the abyss.
It was vastly thicker than the rest, wrapped in glowing orange runes, tethering the entire altar together.
Red Skull's voice was hoarse. "That is the core! If you shatter it, the trial of the Soul Stone will collapse entirely!"
Shanks glanced at him. "Sounds perfect to me."
"You will lose the right to claim the stone!" Red Skull shrieked.
Shanks laughed. "I never planned on trading a crewmate for it anyway."
He stepped onto the highest point of the altar.
Conqueror's Haki wrapped around his fist, utterly devoid of killing intent. The sheer kinetic flow of the Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist converged into a single, localized point.
Beckman looked up at him, a trace of helplessness in his eyes, but heavily masked by pride.
"Good grief. What else can I say when my captain acts like this?"
Shanks unleashed the punch.
The core chain let out an ear-piercing wail. The orange runes violently detonated one after another.
The abyss began to collapse in on itself, yet it swallowed no souls. It was nothing more than a punctured cage, left with nothing but hollow echoes.
The final crack echoed through the air.
Vormir fell silent.
Countless golden motes of light drifted into the sky, forming a brilliant, flowing river. Before departing, the sacrificed souls lingered for a brief moment, facing the direction Shanks stood.
No kneeling. No cheering. Just a quiet, peaceful farewell.
Shanks lowered his fist, his breathing slightly ragged.
Beckman walked up beside him and lit a fresh cigarette. "You just smashed their entire rulebook."
"If a rule is unreasonable, it deserves to be smashed," Shanks said smoothly.
In the center of the altar, orange light began to gently pool together.
A gemstone drifted down from the sky. It didn't fall into the abyss, nor did it demand a sacrifice. The Soul Stone simply hovered in front of Shanks, its glow warm and inviting, as if responding to the souls that had just been liberated.
Red Skull stood rooted to the spot, utterly dumbfounded. "It... it acknowledged you on its own?"
The Soul Stone slowly descended, embedding itself perfectly into the handguard of the supreme grade sword, Gryphon. Orange circuitry-like patterns crawled up the blade before rapidly fading away.
Gryphon didn't grow heavier. It didn't go berserk. It simply gained a faint, warm orange hue.
Shanks gripped the hilt, falling silent for a moment.
He could hear many voices. Not wails of agony. Words of gratitude.
Shanks lifted his head, looking back at Red Skull. "Looks like it agrees with me. Your little rulebook needed an update."
Red Skull took a step back.
The abyss he had guarded for countless eons was empty. The very duty that defined his existence had just been obliterated by a single pirate's fist.
Beckman slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Let's go, Boss."
Shanks gazed out at the distant starry sky. "Yeah."
He paused, a grin breaking across his face. "Taking this stone back... I bet Blake is gonna be real interested in it."
Beckman exhaled a plume of smoke. "I'm more interested in seeing how badly the other idiots have wrecked this universe by now."
Shanks clipped Gryphon back onto his waist, the orange light flashing briefly against the scabbard.
"Then let's go find out. The Red-Haired Pirates can't afford to lose too badly, after all."
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