Chapter 342

Wano Kuni, New World.

A few dozen miles from Onigashima, a small carrack was struggling against the wrath of the storm and the relentless onslaught of cannonballs. Rain lashed against the deck, and thunder cracked in the skies above as the turbulent waves tossed the boat like a toy.

Despite the chaos, one man stood defiant at the helm. Denjiro, his hair plastered to his face by the downpour, clutched his katana with white-knuckled intensity. Each time a cannonball screamed toward the boat, he swung with deadly precision, slicing through the iron projectiles in midair before they could tear the vessel apart.

Strapped securely to his back, the small, trembling form of Hiyori clung to him. Her frightened whimpers cut through the cacophony of war and storm.

Denjiro had tied her tightly to him, using every knot he knew to ensure she wouldn't slip into the unforgiving sea, no matter how violent the ride became. His other arm held the tiller, steering the battered carrack through enemy fire and towering waves.

"Hold on, Hiyori-sama!" Denjiro shouted, his voice firm despite the strain. "I swear, no harm will come to you as long as I live!"

Ahead, the horizon was barely visible, but Denjiro's focus was unwavering. He knew that beyond these waters, if he could just escape the Beast Pirates' territory, he would have a chance to save her.

Every slash of his sword was a promise, every desperate maneuver a testament to his loyalty. He couldn't fail—not now, not with Hiyori's life depending on him.

Behind them, three large galleons pursued, their sails catching what little wind the storm allowed. Cannons roared in unison, spewing iron death toward the tiny vessel.

On the lead galleon, a burly helmsman bellowed at his crewmates. "Don't let him escape! If that's one of Oden's retainers, Kaido-sama will tear us apart if we lose him!"

The urgency in his voice mirrored the fear in the crew's hearts. They had all seen what happened to those who failed Kaido. The thought of his fury spurred them on, but it also made them ruthless.

Even if the man they chased wasn't one of the fabled Akazaya Nine (Nine Red Scabbards), they could claim him as such after killing him. The prize would be worth the gamble: perhaps a promotion, perhaps survival.

"Load the chain shot!" The helmsman roared. "Rip his mast down and leave him dead in the water!"

Denjiro's eyes darted back as the first chain shot screamed through the air, narrowly missing the boat. He grimaced, his mind racing. The carrack's battered frame wouldn't survive much longer. He needed a miracle—or a distraction.

"Hiyori-sama…" her soft voice trembled against his back. The roar of the cannons and the crash of the waves were deafening, her ears bleeding from the pressure of it all.

Denjiro's face softened for a brief moment, his heart aching for the child he swore to protect.

"Stay strong, Hiyori-sama," he whispered fiercely. "We're almost there… just a little longer."

A cannonball slammed into the water beside them, exploding in a geyser of spray and splintered wood. The boat rocked violently, and Denjiro struggled to keep his balance. One hand tightened on the tiller while his katana whipped through the air, deflecting yet another cannonball that threatened to breach their hull.

But then—disaster struck.

A deafening explosion tore through the air as one cannonball struck dangerously close. The blast blew away part of the boat's side, leaving a jagged hole in the hull. Water began to pour in, the carrack's integrity severely compromised.

Denjiro cursed under his breath, his sharp mind calculating their dwindling options. He reached for the ropes tied around the mast, yanking them taut to keep what remained of the sails functional. The boat groaned, threatening to break apart under the combined assault of the storm and cannon fire.

Behind him, the lead galleon surged closer, its crew cheering at the sight of their quarry's damaged vessel. "He's done for! Prepare the boarding hooks!"

Denjiro gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing with determination. "Not yet," he muttered, gripping his katana tighter. "Not while I still draw breath."

With a burst of speed, he pivoted, slashing through another cannonball with pinpoint accuracy. The sheer force of the strike sent shockwaves rippling through the air, momentarily throwing off the aim of the pursuing galleons. The act bought him precious seconds, but he knew it wouldn't last.

Suddenly, the storm itself seemed to shift, the winds roaring louder as if in response to Denjiro's indomitable will. He spotted a narrow channel between two jagged outcroppings of rock. It was a slim chance, but it was their only chance.

"Hiyori-sama, hold on tightly!" Denjiro shouted, steering the boat toward the treacherous pass. The rocks jutted from the water like jagged teeth, ready to shred any vessel that ventured too close. But Denjiro's hands were steady, his focus absolute.

As the carrack hurtled into the channel, the pursuing galleons hesitated, their captains shouting conflicting orders. The passage was too narrow for their larger ships to navigate easily, and they knew it.

Denjiro seized the moment. With a fierce cry, he swung his katana in a wide arc, sending a blade of flying slash imbued with haki toward the rocks at the entrance. The impact sent chunks of stone tumbling into the water, creating a barrier that further slowed his pursuers.

The storm raged on as Denjiro's battered carrack limped through the narrow channel, cannonballs raining down with terrifying accuracy. The burly captain of the lead galleon sneered, his voice carrying over the roar of the storm.

"Sink that bastard! Don't let him escape! As long as we kill him, we can spin the story however we want!"

The galleons didn't dare recklessly enter the jagged passage, but their cannons were relentless. Each blast sent geysers of seawater into the air, their deadly intent clear.

Denjiro clenched his jaw, his katana flashing as he deflected what cannonballs he could. The small vessel was dangerously close to sinking, water rushing in from the earlier damage.

Denjiro's resolve hardened as he glanced back at the little girl strapped to his back, trembling but alive. Even if I have to swim, I'll get Hiyori-sama to safety. My life is worth the gamble.

The next cannonball roared through the air, slamming into the mast. Wood splintered with a deafening crack, and the tiny boat pitched violently. Denjiro let go of the tiller, turning his sharp gaze toward the pursuing galleons. His hand moved to his second katana.

"If this is it…" Denjiro muttered, his voice low and full of determination. "I'll take at least one of you with me to the depths."

As the galleons lined up for the final volley, preparing to send the carrack to its watery grave, a thunderous crash echoed through the channel. The sound wasn't cannon fire—it was something far more cataclysmic.

Before their eyes, the lead galleon erupted into a shower of splintered wood, twisted iron, and screaming pirates. The ship split cleanly in two, the severed halves groaning as they sank rapidly into the churning sea.

Denjiro froze, his katana half-drawn, his eyes wide with disbelief. The storm momentarily seemed silent as everyone, Beast Pirates and samurai alike, stared at the destruction. It was as if an invisible force had struck the galleon with the wrath of the heavens.

"What in Davy Jones' name is happening?!" the captain of the second ship bellowed, his voice tinged with panic.

They didn't detect anything—not even with their observation haki. Then, as if summoned by the storm itself, a massive galleon appeared out of thin air. Its iron hull gleamed menacingly, water cascading off its sides. It had rammed the lead ship with unimaginable force, catching the Beast Pirates completely off guard.

On the deck of the mysterious galleon, Christina slumped against the railing, her face pale and her breaths labored. "Miyamoto, that's all I could manage… I'm still not used to this devil fruit," she said weakly.

Her words were calm, but the strain in her voice was evident. She had rendered the entire ship invisible—not just from sight but even from the heightened senses of observation haki.

Miyamoto stood nearby, his posture composed but his presence commanding. He looked toward the second galleon, his expression unreadable. "Christina-san, you brought us much closer than I expected. Rest now—you've done more than enough."

The iron-eyed samurai turned his gaze back to the Beast Pirates' ship, unsheathing both his blades with a practiced elegance that belied the storm's chaos. His movements were fluid yet purposeful, like a predator stalking its prey. The remaining Beast Pirates scrambled to adjust, barking orders and readying their cannons, but it was too late.

Miyamoto moved.

"Niten Ichi-ryū: Twin Dragon Fang!" He whispered, his voice almost drowned by the storm.

The air around him shifted. Two massive ethereal dragons, one blazing white and the other a deep, ominous crimson, coiled around his blades as if summoned from another realm. Their forms shimmered with raw energy, their serpentine eyes burning with Miyamoto's unspoken grief and fury.

The attack was unleashed.

With a single, precise swing, the twin dragons roared to life. They surged forward, their howls reverberating through the storm, leaving trails of destruction in their wake. The first dragon slammed into the galleon's bow, tearing through wood and iron as if they were paper. The second dragon followed, twisting mid-air before crashing into the center of the ship.

The impact was cataclysmic.

The galleon exploded from within, splintered timber and mangled bodies thrown high into the stormy skies. The dragons spiraled upward, their roars echoing like thunder before dissipating into the ether. What remained of the ship was nothing but smoldering wreckage, swallowed by the furious sea.

Miyamoto stood on the deck of his galleon, his blades still humming with residual energy. He sheathed them in one fluid motion, the metallic click somehow audible amidst the chaos.

"Is there nothing left?" Christina asked weakly, her voice tinged with awe as she watched the sea reclaim the remains of the Beast Pirates' vessel.

"Nothing," Miyamoto replied simply, his tone neutral, yet his eyes betrayed the storm within him.

Denjiro, still clutching the splintered remains of his carrack, could only stare. He may have not recognized the others but the samurai on the ship. He wasn't the same samurai who had left Wano all those years ago.

Miyamoto had transformed. Under Rosinante's tutelage, he had grown into something far greater—a warrior whose strength was a living testament to his grief, his rage, and his unwavering loyalty, true to a samurai's name.

The storm raged on, but for the Beast Pirates who had dared pursue, it might as well have been their final judgment.

The last Beast Pirates' galleon thrashed through the stormy seas, its crew scrambling in panic.

They weren't the elite, but low-ranking pirates seeking a shortcut to glory by hunting down a weakened samurai. Now, their ambition had turned into a nightmare. Whoever their new opponents were, they weren't ordinary.

These enemies dared to strike them boldly, even in the Beast Pirates' own territory. That defiance alone made the crew's blood run cold.

"Get this damn thing to work! Why won't it work?!" bellowed a desperate pirate, slamming his fist on the transponder snail, which remained unresponsive. He frantically tried to connect back to Wano, to send word of this disastrous assault.

Unbeknownst to him, Christina had already deployed a jamming transponder snail. Originally, the device was intended to aid their stealthy infiltration of Wano, but their plans had shifted the moment Miyamoto recognized the samurai on the battered boat.

"You bastards have no idea who you've messed with!" snarled another pirate, his face twisted with desperation and fury. "The Beast Pirates will have your heads! Kaido-sama will come himself when we get this message through!"

Christina chuckled from her vantage point on the deck of their ship. Her pale face was regaining some color, though her smirk remained sharp. "Oh, sweetie, go on. Try. It's cute watching you struggle."

Miyamoto, however, was all business. His expression betrayed no emotion as he turned to one of Christina's crew members, his voice sharp as a blade. "Bring that man aboard before his boat sinks."

The underling nodded and quickly moved to the edge, preparing ropes to rescue Denjiro and the child strapped to his back.

Miyamoto didn't wait. Without another word, he leapt off their galleon, his ironclad sandals striking the deck of the Beast Pirates' ship with a deafening clang.

The pirates froze, their eyes wide in shock.

The first one to recover, the helmsman, barely had time to scream. Miyamoto's blade, Benihime, glinted in the storm's erratic light before it tore through the air with inhuman speed. The helmsman's head flew skyward, his blood spraying in a violent arc across the faces of his comrades.

For a brief moment, silence reigned. Then chaos erupted.

"Kill him!" someone roared, and the crew lunged at Miyamoto, weapons raised.

Miyamoto's movements were almost too fast to follow. His body twisted with deadly precision, his second katana flashing into his hand. The twin blades moved as extensions of his will, cleaving through the first wave of attackers as if they were nothing but mist.

One pirate swung a mace with all his strength, only for Miyamoto to sidestep effortlessly. His katana cut upward, severing the man's arm at the shoulder. The scream barely left the pirate's lips before the second blade plunged through his chest, silencing him forever.

"Cowards…" Miyamoto muttered, his voice low but cold enough to send a chill down their spines. "You dared to hunt a samurai. Now you pay the price."

Another group rushed him, this time with more coordination. Guns rang, and spears, axes, and swords came from every direction, aiming to overwhelm him. Miyamoto's haki surged, a dark aura coating his blades as he spun.

"Niten Ichi-ryū: Crescent Tempest!"

A whirlwind of slashes erupted from his twin swords, a vortex of deadly precision and raw fury. Wood splintered and steel shattered as the ship's deck was torn apart. Blood sprayed into the air as bodies were thrown back, some dismembered, others outright obliterated.

The remaining pirates froze, horror etched into their faces. This wasn't a man; this was a force of nature, a true samurai.

"Y-You monster!" one of them stammered, dropping his weapon and trying to retreat.

Miyamoto's gaze locked onto him, and the pirate felt the weight of that look like a death sentence.

"You chose this path," Miyamoto said coldly. "Now walk it to its end."

With a single leap, Miyamoto closed the distance. His blade flashed once, and the retreating pirate crumpled to the deck, his body split in two, his life extinguished in an instant.

The deck was soaked in blood now, the storm's rain mixing with the crimson pools. Only a handful of Beast Pirates remained, huddled together, their weapons trembling in their hands.

"P-Please!" one begged, falling to his knees. "Spare us! We—we were only following orders!"

Miyamoto's blades gleamed, droplets of blood sliding off the edges. His voice was calm but unyielding.

"Did you see Oden beg when you boiled him alive for hours? Did the Kozuki children plead for mercy? Did you see a single samurai plead for mercy?"

The pirate's eyes widened in terror, his mouth opening to reply—but it was too late. Miyamoto moved with inhuman speed, tearing through the pirate, and the galleon's mast creaked ominously as its top half slid cleanly off, the cut so precise it seemed impossible.

The storm consumed what remained of the ship as it began to sink, groaning under its own shattered weight. Miyamoto turned, his blades sheathed with a practiced motion, and leapt back to Christina's galleon just as the sea claimed the ruined vessel.

Denjiro, now safely aboard, watched in awe, his breath catching as he tried to process what he had just witnessed.

Miyamoto landed silently, his composure unbroken, though his eyes betrayed the storm within. This is for Oden. This is for Wano.

Denjiro could barely find his voice as he stared at the man before him. "Miyamoto-san… is it really you?" His voice trembled, almost cracking under the weight of the moment.

For all his effort to maintain his composure, his samurai pride struggled to hold back the tide of emotions threatening to spill over.

Miyamoto—Oden's mightiest retainer, the warrior they all once revered as the strongest among them—stood tall, his presence as commanding as ever.

He seemed like a ghost from the past, returned to walk the living world. Denjiro's mind raced with memories: their childhood training under their respective Daimyo clans, their shared laughter in peaceful times, and their desperate struggles when Kaido and Orochi seized control of Wano during Oden-sama's absence.

Miyamoto had been the last to fall during that bloody fight; his unyielding spirit burned into Denjiro's memory. Despite succumbing, he never gave up and was confined to the prisoner mines.

When word had spread after Oden-sama had regained control of Wano that Miyamoto had sworn allegiance to Rosinante years ago, many had cursed his name.

To some, it was betrayal; to others, abandonment. But seeing him now, standing before him with the same unwavering gaze, Denjiro's heart ached with understanding. Miyamoto's love for Wano had never waned. It had only been redirected, channeled into a greater purpose.

"I can't believe…" Denjiro's voice faltered as he shifted Hiyori on his back, glancing down at the little girl who had remained still and silent through the chaos. "You're here."

Miyamoto's eyes softened as they landed on Hiyori. He recognized her immediately, even though she was no longer the infant he knew when he had left Wano behind. His gaze lingered, and for a moment, Denjiro saw the ghost of Oden's strongest blade in Miyamoto's expression.

But before Denjiro could say another word, Miyamoto took a step forward, his presence like a mountain bearing down on him.

Denjiro instinctively braced himself. The shame. The failure. It all came crashing down on him. He had failed to protect Oden-sama. He had failed Wano. He was no longer a samurai in the eyes of his people—just a ronin, a disgrace.

Now, he expected Miyamoto's judgment. Would he strike him down for his weakness? For his failure to protect their lord with their very lives?

Denjiro bowed his head and closed his eyes, waiting for the blow.

But it never came.

Instead, a firm hand grasped his shoulder. Startled, Denjiro looked up. Miyamoto's face was stern, but his grip was not cruel. It was steady, grounding.

"You did well, Denjiro," Miyamoto said, his voice calm but carrying a depth of emotion that shook Denjiro to his core.

"You brought Hiyori-sama safely out of Wano. As long as she lives, Oden-sama's legacy will endure. That is no small thing. You gave everything you had to ensure her survival. You are no failure."

Denjiro's breath caught in his throat. The words hit him harder than any blow could have. Tears welled in his eyes despite his best efforts to hold them back. He had waited so long for someone to understand. To see beyond the surface of his pain and grasp the sheer weight he carried. And Miyamoto—Miyamoto had seen it all without him needing to say a word.

Miyamoto's own gaze grew heavy with pain. He had witnessed his fair share of failure and loss. Oden's death was a wound that would never heal, and he knew that burden was not his alone to bear.

Yet, even amidst the grief, there was a flicker of hope in his eyes—a spark reignited by the little girl on Denjiro's back.

"She's grown," Miyamoto murmured, his voice softening as he reached out to touch Hiyori's small hand. The child stirred, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. "The last time I saw her, she was just a baby in Oden-sama's arms."

Denjiro's voice was hoarse as he replied, "She's all we have left of him. I—I thought… maybe under Rosinante-sama's protection, she could grow up safe. That one day, she could return to Wano with the strength of an entire empire behind her. I calculated everything, Miyamoto-san. It's why I risked everything to bring her to Dressrosa. To the man who even Oden-sama admired, your master, Donquixote Rosinante."

Miyamoto's hand tightened slightly on Denjiro's shoulder, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he spoke, his words carrying the weight of both resolve and empathy.

"You chose well. The Donquixote Family is not what the world imagines it to be. Under Rosinante-sama's care, Hiyori-sama will flourish. And one day, when the time is right, we will return to Wano. Together."

Denjiro's knees almost buckled under the force of those words. Together. For the first time since Oden's death, he felt the crushing loneliness of his journey begin to lift. He wasn't alone.

"Miyamoto-san," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "thank you."

Miyamoto merely nodded. But as he turned his gaze back to the horizon, his eyes burned with a quiet, unyielding determination. Oden's legacy had not ended. Wano's flame still burned, and he would see to it that it roared back to life.

As for young master Rosinante taking Hiyori-sama under his care, Miyamoto had no doubt. He knew, without question, that if he made the request, Rosinante would agree. Despite the title of "retainer" that he had once sworn to, he understood well that in the eyes of the Donquixote family, the bond was far deeper than simple servitude.

Miyamoto knew that it wasn't just a matter of duty—it was his family.