The two armies faced one another across the plain.
Orochi's side had barely three thousand men, while the combined forces of the great families numbered more than one hundred thousand. Thirty times their number.
The gap was enough to crush hope.
And yet, the Kurozumi army did not falter. Their momentum burned fiercely, to the point where they almost seemed to have the upper hand.
Kurozumi Orochi sat high in his palanquin, eyes narrowing when he saw Oden standing at the head of the opposing host. He hadn't expected him to return so soon, but he didn't dwell on it. The daimyos had moved without hesitation, which meant their plot had already been exposed. It wasn't strange that Oden had received word and rushed back.
Behind Orochi stood Kurozumi Semimaru. His gaze shifted toward the towering figure behind Oden, and his expression changed at once.
"What's wrong?" Orochi asked. He could sense it; Semimaru was never one to lose his composure.
Semimaru's voice was tight. "That man is Whitebeard, Edward Newgate. A monster. One of the strongest pirates in the New World. It seems Oden sailed with him."
Orochi did not panic. His situation was already desperate. What difference did one more obstacle make? He smiled thinly. "This is Wano's affair. He won't interfere so easily."
"Won't easily" still meant he might. But Orochi understood clearly; Whitebeard's pirates wouldn't meddle in a war where the Kurozumi were already doomed. This was Wano's war. His war.
Semimaru nodded slowly, calming himself. He knew Whitebeard's strength better than anyone, and his earlier reaction had been instinctive.
"Oden!" Orochi called with a grin.
"Orochi!" Oden's reply was firm. The two men locked eyes, leaders of armies about to collide.
Orochi's gaze flicked over Oden's retainers. Kanjuro was missing. A slow smile tugged at his lips. "Oden, my spy has been exposed. Did you deal with him?"
The words stunned Kin'emon and the others. "What do you mean? Kanjuro, exposed? Ashura Dōji, you said he went ahead to the Flower Capital. Why isn't he here now?" They all turned sharply toward Ashura Dōji.
Ashura stepped forward silently, then dropped to one knee before Oden. "Lord, forgive me. I killed Kanjuro. I hid it from you. If you wish, take my head." His voice was low and steady.
"What? Ashura Dōji!" Kin'emon and the others were shocked to their core.
"Don't blame him," Inuarashi spoke from behind. "Kanjuro was Orochi's spy." His eyes softened with sympathy as he looked at Ashura.
Oden placed a hand on Ashura's shoulder. His voice was gentle. "It's alright. You did nothing wrong. If anyone is to blame, it's me—for not seeing Kanjuro's true face sooner."
Ashura's eyes blurred with tears. "Lord…"
"Thank you," Oden said, smiling. "You spared him from falling into unforgivable sins. In my heart, Kanjuro remains my retainer. Even in betrayal, he was one of us."
Ashura bowed his head, unable to speak, his shoulders shaking.
"Enough tears. Save your strength for the battle to come." Oden's booming laughter broke the heaviness.
Ashura rose, wiping his eyes, and returned to his place, silent but steady.
Orochi chuckled. "Hah, that's just like you, Oden." Despite his hatred, he couldn't help but admire the man. He was everything Orochi despised—yet part of him respected it too.
Then Orochi smiled coldly. "Although I failed, I have no regrets." His hand went to the hilt at his waist. Slowly, deliberately, he drew a gleaming blade. "This is my ancestor's sword, Futsu-no-Mitama. It hasn't tasted blood in hundreds of years. Today it will." His laughter rose, wild and sharp.
An aura erupted from him, heavy as thunder. The air shook. No one had expected it. Orochi—a Great Swordsman.
Teach's eyes narrowed. He had suspected Orochi hid his strength, but not to this extent. A Mythical Zoan user, leader of the Kurozumi, deceiving even Observation Haki itself… Orochi had buried his power so deeply that even he had almost believed in his weakness.
Whispers spread through both armies, but most eyes fixed on the weapon in his hands.
Futsu-no-Mitama. A Supreme Grade Blade. Its drawn edge gleamed like frozen lightning, the killing intent rolling off it like the breath of a caged beast finally loosed.
An old man stepped forward from the daimyo's side, his presence commanding silence. His kimono bore the crest of the Shimotsuki. A Great Swordsman. His eyes burned as he gazed at Orochi's blade.
"Uncle San, what is that sword?" Yasuie asked, bowing with respect.
The elder's voice was reverent. "Futsu-no-Mitama. Before Ryuma's Black Blade Shusui, this was the greatest sword in Wano. Forged of heavenly iron, tempered in flames beyond mortal reach. A Supreme Grade Blade."
He let the weight of the words settle before continuing.
"It belonged to Kurozumi Oden, the ancestor of this clan. A prodigy beyond compare. He became a swordsman at twelve, a Great Swordsman at sixteen, and by eighteen he stood unrivaled in Wano."
Gasps rippled through the gathered samurai. Even in this land of warriors, such achievements were monstrous.
"Kurozumi Oden's sword intent shattered lesser blades. Even famous swords trembled in his grip. So great was his power that he often fought using only his fingers as swords."
Teach's mind flickered. That wasn't just swordsmanship. It was something akin to Conqueror's Haki woven into blade and will.
"But he desired a sword worthy of his strength. He left Wano and returned six years later with ores unknown to this world. From that iron, the master smiths of Wano forged Futsu-no-Mitama. Even then, it took the aid of two outsiders—one who wielded fire hot as magma, the other who commanded ice colder than death."
The Whitebeard Pirates exchanged glances. The description rang uncomfortably familiar.
"After two years, the forging was complete. With Futsu-no-Mitama, Kurozumi Oden became unmatched. He opened a dojo, not to rule, but to raise disciples strong enough to surpass him. In fifty years, he taught over twenty Great Swordsmen. Wano flourished—but all who lived then said it was also a time of despair. Against his blade, none could stand."
"Among his disciples was Shimotsuki Ryuma, the Dragon Slayer. The Sword God. Ryuma inherited Oden's Butsuji-ryu, the style born from Futsu-no-Mitama itself. Ryuma forged its spirit into the Dragon-Slaying Sword Art, cutting down foes in a single flash. He carried Oden's legacy beyond."
The elder's voice grew louder, carried by the wind across the battlefield.
"Remember this, warriors of Wano. Before Ryuma, there was another Sword God. Kurozumi Oden. The first."
The words fell heavy, silencing even the whispers. Both armies stared as Orochi raised Ame no Habakiri high, its edge glinting like dawn's first light.
The legend of the Butsuji souls had returned to the battlefield.