Chapter 168: Arrival at Wano Country!
The roar of the Great Waterfall of Wano was deafening, a thunderous curtain of white noise that drowned out the cries of the seagulls and the crashing of the waves below.
Millions of gallons of water cascaded vertically from the clouds, creating a mist so thick it tasted like rain.
Before Suzaku could answer Nami's naive question about how a ship could possibly scale such a natural disaster, a lofty and magnetic voice resonated in everyone's ears.
It cut through the cacophony of the waterfall with ease, carrying a rare hint of genuine interest.
"Carp leaping over the Dragon's Gate, huh... Heh, it's quite a sight."
Everyone on the deck turned their heads in the direction of the voice.
Uchiha Madara, the Ghost of the Uchiha, had walked to the very bow of the Vermillion Wing at some point.
He stood fearless at the edge, his dark, spiky hair dancing wildly in the updraft generated by the falling water. His arms were crossed over his chest, his crimson armor gleaming under the sunlight that filtered through the mist.
His face showed little expression—a mask of legendary indifference—yet his Rinnegan eyes scrutinized the scene below with great interest. He was watching the massive, island-sized koi fish struggling against the impossible current, attempting to swim upstream against the force of gravity itself.
"So many fat fish," Madara commented, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "It seems like an excellent fishing spot. The vitality required to swim up this torrent... the meat must be exquisite."
"Hahahaha!"
A burst of hearty, unbridled laughter rang out, shattering the cool atmosphere Madara had built.
"Madara, you scoundrel! We're here for serious business. We don't have time for you to fish here right now!"
Hashirama Senju, the God of Shinobi, strode forward with his characteristic grin. He walked a few steps to Madara's side and, treating the legendary villain like an old drinking buddy, slapped him heavily on the shoulder.
"Once we're done with business, I'll join you for as much fishing as you want! We can even compete to see who catches the biggest King Carp!"
"Hmph...!"
Madara snorted disdainfully. A vein pulsed visibly on his forehead. With a slight, almost imperceptible tremor of his shoulder, he shook off Hashirama's large hand as if it were a piece of lint.
His tone remained that of aloof arrogance, a barrier pushing people away from a thousand miles.
"I'm merely commenting on the scenery here, you idiot. Who said I wanted to fish now? Don't project your childish desires onto me."
He looked away, staring back at the waterfall. "Boring..."
Despite his harsh words and cold demeanor, his tightly pursed lips inadvertently revealed a hint of a smile that even he hadn't noticed. It was a micro-expression of comfort, a sign that the banter with his old rival was the only thing that truly made him feel alive in this strange new world.
This momentary interlude between the two legends did not affect Suzaku.
He stood near the helm, looking at Nami's face, which was still bewildered by the geography of this isolationist nation. He began to answer her previous questions, his voice calm, yet carrying a coldness that seemed to see through the mist and into the heart of the country above.
"This question doesn't exist for them," Suzaku slowly said, his gaze piercing.
"This country is called 'Wano Country'. It is a fortress of nature, closed off from the world for centuries. But its isolation is not its only curse. Beneath its land, a mineral that restrains all Devil Fruit users—Sea Stone—is abundant. It is the factory of the world's weapons."
Suzaku walked to the railing, gripping the cold metal.
"It is precisely because of this resource that it is occupied by Kaido of the Beasts. Under his oppressive rule, and that of the puppet Shogun Orochi, the common people of this country have already exhausted all their strength just to survive. They drink poisoned water. They eat scraps. They work until they drop dead in the weapons factories."
He paused, his gaze seemingly penetrating the layers of the waterfall, seeing the suffering on the land beyond—the barren wastelands of Kuri, the smoke-choked skies of Udon.
"When survival itself becomes a luxury, thinking about how to 'go out to sea' naturally becomes the most meaningless luxury. They don't dream of the horizon, Nami. They dream of a bowl of clean rice."
"So... that's how it is..."
Nami murmured to herself. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped her Clima-Tact. The shock on her face was gradually replaced by a deep, resonant pity.
She knew this feeling. The feeling of being trapped. The feeling of working yourself to the bone for a tyrant just to buy one more day of life. The image of Arlong Park, of the maps drawn in her own blood, flashed before her eyes. The people of Wano were living in a nightmare magnified a thousand times over.
"The Captain is right!"
Nekomamushi, the massive cat Mink standing nearby, stepped forward. As a vassal of the Kozuki Clan of Wano Country, he was shaking. His sharp claws dug into the wooden deck, splintering it.
"Today's Wano Country is no longer the Wano Country we remember! It was once a land of beauty, of samurai honor!"
Nekomamushi clenched his teeth, his voice filled with suppressed fury and sorrow.
"Under the joint control of Kaido and Orochi, it has become a living hell, with the people suffering terribly! They have turned the land of gold into a land of ash!"
"Hmph, what do I care about dark rule or what kind of hell it is."
A cold, sharp female voice cut in. Esdeath stepped forward, her high-heeled boots clicking rhythmically on the deck. She licked her lips, her sapphire eyes burning with excitement and a terrifying bloodlust.
"Weakness is a sin. But a ruler who only suppresses without strengthening is merely a parasite."
As an Imperial General deeply admired by her subordinates, she knew best the meaning of order and rule. She believed in the strong devouring the weak, yes, but she despised the kind of ugly, stagnant oppression Suzaku described.
"Let's go. We'll know when we see it with our own eyes."
Esdeath drew her rapier slightly, the sound of steel singing in the damp air.
"In front of my power, any unruly rule has only one outcome: to be crushed! If this Kaido is strong, I will hunt him. If he is weak, I will trample him."
Her words were filled with undeniable dominance and absolute confidence.
Suzaku cast an approving glance at the spirited Esdeath. He then turned and gave Rem, who was standing quietly by his side, a meaningful look.
With just a single glance, the telepathic connection between Master and Summon bridged the gap. Rem understood immediately. She stepped forward, her maid outfit fluttering in the wind.
"Yes, Lord Suzaku."
She extended her fair hand toward the ship's hull. The air around her began to warp. A soft, neon-pink glow began to emanate from her body, growing brighter and more intense by the second.
The next moment, visible psychokinetic waves spread out from her center, instantly enveloping the entire massive Vermillion Wing!
"Hummmmm—!"
Accompanied by a faint, vibrating hum, the colossal steel vessel defied the laws of physics. Slowly, steadily, the Vermillion Wing lifted off the turbulent sea surface.
The water dripping from the keel splashed back into the ocean as the ship began to ascend straight up, parallel to the gigantic waterfall that reached the heavens!
The water around the ship was pushed aside by an invisible force, forming a peculiar vacuum channel. The Vermillion Wing rose like an elevator of the gods.
To the side, the giant carp that were still struggling to climb upwards brushed past the slowly ascending ship. The fish flailed, fighting the current with desperation, while Suzaku and his crew rose with effortless grace. It was a tableau representing the struggles of mortals versus the Parade of Gods—an absurd yet shocking visual that signaled the arrival of a new power in Wano.
...
Meanwhile.
In an unknown sea, far from the chaotic currents of Wano Country.
The sky here was grey, heavy with impending rain. On a desolate, isolated island composed mostly of jagged rocks and driftwood, a tragedy had just concluded its first act.
Red-Haired Shanks dragged his exhausted body onto the sandy beach. His clothes were tattered, soaked in seawater and blood. His breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs burning from the exertion of swimming miles while carrying a burden heavy enough to sink a normal man.
He carefully laid the two people he had fiercely protected in his arms—Hongo and Gab—flat on the dry sand.
Then, Shanks collapsed beside them. He didn't have the strength to stand. He lay on his back, staring up at the unforgiving grey sky, his chest heaving violently.
He survived.
It was luck. Or perhaps, it was a curse. Thanks to his immense stamina as an Emperor, coupled with extremely good fortune, he had lived.
Ulquiorra's fatal blow, while destroying the Red Force, had created massive undercurrents in the sea. Those chaotic currents had acted as a wild slide, sweeping the three of them away from the immediate death zone of the battlefield, eventually drifting them to this forgotten rock in the middle of nowhere.
Time passed. The sky darkened.
After an unknown amount of time, a small bonfire was lit using driftwood and the friction of Haki. The crackling of the flames was the only sound in the oppressive silence.
"Cough! Cough! Blurgh!"
Hongo and Gab, after a series of violent coughs expelling seawater from their lungs, successively woke up.
They blinked, their eyes adjusting to the dim light of the fire. At first, they were bewildered. Where were they? Why was the ground sand and not wood?
Then, memories flooded back like a tidal wave. The ice. The monsters. The green sword light. The destruction.
Their faces were instantly overcome by a terror and despair so profound it looked like madness.
They sat up abruptly and saw the silent back of the man sitting by the fire. Shanks sat like a stone statue, staring into the flames, his red hair casting long shadows on the sand.
"Cap... Captain..."
Hongo's voice was dry and hoarse, damaged by the salt water. His lips trembled uncontrollably.
He asked the question he most dreaded asking. The question he already knew the answer to.
"Our... Red Force... and everyone... Where are they?"
Shanks did not turn around. He did not move a muscle. The firelight danced on his back, but he seemed colder than the ocean they had just escaped.
He merely, slowly, shook his head.
It was a simple gesture. A slight movement of the neck. Yet, it was like an invisible heavy hammer, brutally shattering the last shred of hope in Hongo and Gab's hearts.
It's over.
Everything is over.
The ship that had accompanied them for countless years, carrying their dreams across the Grand Line. The comrades who drank sake under the moon, who sang Binks' Sake, who fought back-to-back, who cried and laughed together...
All of them. Gone.
"Waaah...!"
Gab, this usually rough and bold executive who feared nothing in battle, could no longer hold back.
He curled up in the sand and cried out loud like a child. It was a guttural, ugly sound of pure grief.
"Captain! We must... we must avenge them!"
He pounded the ground fiercely with his fists, sand flying everywhere. Tears mixed with snot and blood on his face, his voice choked beyond recognition.
"Vice-Captain Beckman..."
Gab sobbed, the image of the stoic, brilliant first mate flashing in his mind.
"Yasopp..."
The sharpshooter who never missed, who boasted about his son.
"Lucky Roux..."
The joyful cook who always had a smile and a piece of meat.
"Snake... and Punch... and Monster... Limejuice..."
One familiar name after another was torn from Gab's throat. It was a roll call of ghosts.
"They... they are all gone... gone from us forever!"
With each name shouted, Shanks' body trembled imperceptibly.
In the flickering firelight, his face, which usually bore a carefree smile that warmed the hearts of his crew, was now terrifyingly grim.
Sorrow. Pain. Regret. Anger.
All these emotions intertwined on his face, twisting his expression into something unrecognizable. But slowly, as the fire burned down, those emotions solidified into a deadly, absolute coldness.
When Gab could no longer cry, when his voice was reduced to dry heaving, Shanks finally moved.
He slowly stood up. The sand shifted beneath his boots.
He turned around, faced his two surviving companions, and looked at them with eyes that seemed hollowed out. Then, he turned back to face the boundless, turbulent sea—the grave of his family.
His sole remaining arm suddenly clenched into a fist. The air around him began to distort. The fire flickered wildly, suppressed by an unseen pressure.
"Yes."
His voice no longer held its usual gentleness or laziness. It was low, vibrating with a Haki so potent it made the air heavy. It contained only bone-chilling coldness and murderous intent.
"Our comrades' blood shall not be shed in vain."
"I, Red-Haired Shanks, hereby swear..."
He raised his head. In those eyes that once calmly observed the world, striving for balance and peace, now only two raging fires of vengeance burned.
"This revenge, I will surely have!"
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