The loose robe of Shimotsuki Ryoma fluttered in the wind, his words carrying the sharpness of a blade's edge—an effect of years spent honing his swordsmanship.
"You want to teach me something, right?"
Zixu stood before the legendary Ryoma Shimotsuki, not daring to be too presumptuous. This was the swordsman Ryoma in his prime—far stronger than when he had been under Moria's control.
During his lifetime, he had been known as the Dragon-Slaying Samurai, revered as the God of Swords by the samurai of Wano. It was his name that had once warned the pirates of the world that Wano Country was not to be trifled with. This was why Wano, known as the Golden Country, had remained untouched by foreign pirates for so long.
But after Ryoma's death, that all changed. The hometown of the Dragon-Slaying Warrior was now ruled by a dragon.
Ryoma exhaled, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "I won't lie to you—I've spent my entire life on the path of the sword. I'm not much of a teacher, but if there's one thing I can pass down, it's my understanding of the blade." He planted Kurohō (Autumn Water) into the ground, his intent clear—he would teach Zixu swordsmanship.
Before beginning, however, Ryoma bowed slightly. "Before we start, let me ask you something."
Zixu stiffened. His thoughts raced. The man before him was the Dragon-Slaying Samurai, and he... he himself carried the blood of a dragon. More than that, he had a deep connection with Kaido, the very being who would one day rule Wano.
Had Ryoma already sensed something?
"I can feel the presence of a dragon on you."
Ryoma's eyes sharpened, a piercing gaze that seemed to condense into a thousand steel needles. It wasn't just pressure—it was an outright warning. The air around them froze, heavy with unspoken tension.
Beside him, Shusui exuded an ominous presence. Ryoma stood tall, arms crossed, his posture as straight as a sword.
Zixu felt his heart pound. He had been discovered. But he refused to be shaken. Even a swordsman could be killed—he was still a man, bound by mortal limits. The samurai of Wano had been powerless against Kaido's rule. If Ryoma truly wanted a fight, then Zixu was ready. He wanted to see for himself—could the Dragon-Slaying Samurai really slay a dragon?
A cold wind blew between them. The tension in the air cracked the wooden doors and shattered the windows of the small house where Zixu had been staying. It seemed as if a battle would break out at any second.
But then...
Ryoma exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. He pulled Shusui from the ground with one hand.
"...It doesn't matter anymore. A man at the end of his life has no reason to dwell on such things."
Just like that, the aura he had released faded.
Zixu blinked, only now noticing that Ryoma's hair had turned completely white. His skin, once full of vitality, was now wrinkled and dry—like aged tree bark.
"This is my understanding of the sword," Ryoma said, his voice calm. "Take what you will from it. I am not a wise man, nor am I a refined teacher. I only know one thing—the way of the sword."
Zixu was caught off guard by the sudden shift in attitude. Was it the system's influence? He wasn't sure, but it was better not to question it. The less trouble, the better. If Ryoma was willing to teach him, then he would take full advantage of the opportunity.
"I believe that the path of swordsmanship is the pursuit of sharpness—the ultimate sharpness. That is the only thing we must focus on."
"A sword is meant to cut. If you hone its edge to the limit, then your swordsmanship will naturally become unmatched. A sword sharp enough can cut down demons in the depths of hell and sever dragons in the sky."
Ryoma continued, his voice steady.
"Other weapons have their own paths as well. Chains are a balance of hardness and softness, designed to bind and seal. Spears are forward-facing, built for piercing and swiftness. Staves are heavy and powerful, meant to crush an opponent through sheer force."
Ryoma slowly lifted Shusui, running his fingers along the sword. His hands darkened, covered in Busoshoku Haki (Armament Haki).
Then, with an effortless motion, he swung the sword toward the sky.
There was no visible energy buildup. No dazzling sword light. No overwhelming presence. It was simply... a swing.
A strike so ordinary that even a beginner could swing with more force than this.
Zixu frowned. He didn't see any damage to the house or their surroundings. Apart from the earlier destruction caused by their clashing auras, nothing else had changed.
Ryoma smirked at his confusion, sheathing Shusui as he stepped outside.
Zixu followed, curiosity burning in his mind. What had Ryoma done?
"You must understand what a weapon was created for. Find the path that suits you best, and once you do—walk that path until the very end."
Ryoma continued speaking, but Zixu's gaze drifted to the sky.
The night was clear, with a half-revealed moon and only a few scattered stars. Some clouds floated across the sky, though they were sparse.
And yet—
Directly above them, a massive black cloud had been split perfectly in two. As if an unseen force had sliced through it with surgical precision. The sheer visual impact was overwhelming—it was as if the sky itself had been severed.
Zixu's breath hitched.
Ryoma turned back to him, his expression calm. "That is what it means to pursue swordsmanship to its very limits."
He exhaled. "As for teaching… I am no good at it. Let's keep things simple—you attack me, and I'll judge your skill through the clash of our swords."
Ryoma motioned toward the katana at Zixu's waist—Yubashiri.
Zixu didn't hesitate. It seemed Ryoma was a warrior of action rather than words. His time in this world was limited, so Zixu had to make the most of it.
He gripped Yubashiri with both hands, muscles tensing. The sword trembled slightly as his grip tightened.
He rotated his arms clockwise in a circular motion, then vanished—using a high-speed movement technique to close the gap between them.
By the time his figure reappeared, his sword was already colliding with the back of Shusui's blade.
There was no special technique behind the strike—just raw physical power.
A thunderous sound erupted.
It didn't sound like two swords clashing. It sounded like a hammer slamming into a steel plate.
"Hmm..."
Even with his hands and sword coated in Haki, Ryoma's knuckles stung slightly from the impact. The shockwave from the clash numbed his arms. Lowering his sword, he rotated his shoulders, giving Zixu a peculiar look.
"Your swordsmanship... is unlike anything I've ever seen."
For the first time, Ryoma hesitated.
It was like an old master physician taking a patient's pulse—only to suddenly frown and flip through a medical textbook.
Child, stay positive. This disease is about to be named after you.
And at that moment, that was exactly how Ryoma looked at Zixu.
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