Chapter 9

The two warriors stood frozen, the stark contrast in their sizes making the difference between them even more apparent. The opponent towered at nearly 3.5 meters, his massive frame casting an imposing shadow over Dongze. Compared to this behemoth, Dongze was nothing more than a child in stature.

Dongze's gaze remained steady, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "The man who's about to kill you."

The Second-in-Command burst into laughter, his voice echoing across the battlefield.

"You? A brat like you?" He sneered, gripping the massive spiked kanabo in his hands. "I've crushed countless weaklings under my feet! But this is the first time I've heard such arrogant nonsense. You've got guts, kid—too bad you won't live long enough to regret it!"

With a roar, he swung his kanabo, the sheer force behind the strike enough to level an entire squadron. The weapon, nearly as large as a warship's mast, moved like an extension of his own arm, generating a violent gust of wind as it tore through the air toward Dongze.

But Dongze was unfazed. His grip on his blade remained steady, his senses sharpened.

Kenbunshoku Haki.

He could feel it—the shifting air currents, the pulse of the enemy's blood, the killing intent thickening the space between them. Haoshoku Haki. Busoshoku Haki. Kenbunshoku Haki. These were the forces that separated mere men from true warriors.

Busoshoku Haki—the ability to harden one's body or weapon, enhancing attack and defense, even allowing one to strike down Logia users.

Kenbunshoku Haki—a sixth sense beyond the five, allowing him to read the flow of battle, predict movements, and anticipate the enemy's malice.

Haoshoku Haki—the rarest of all, the mark of a king. A force that cannot be trained, inherited, or stolen. Only those destined for greatness could wield it.

As the kanabo came crashing down, Dongze's eyes gleamed. He twisted his heel, shifting his weight with the precision of a swordsman trained in the art of battle. His body slid back exactly 1.2 meters, the spiked club missing him by the width of a hair.

"What?!"

The Second-in-Command's eyes widened. The brat had dodged—a clean, effortless evasion.

Unwilling to accept this, he struck again. Faster this time. A blur of steel and fury, the kanabo moved with a speed that caused the air itself to explode in a violent sonic boom.

But it missed.

Again.

And again.

With each strike, the Second-in-Command grew more frustrated. His Devil Fruit, a Zoan-type, had transformed him into a beast both in body and in mind. He was stronger, faster, and more relentless—but also more reckless. His patience, already thin, was beginning to snap.

Dongze, however, remained composed. He was studying the rhythm of his opponent's movements, adapting to the tempo of the battle.

"A dragon in full flight will always have a moment of regret."

The truth of combat was clear—rage led to mistakes. And mistakes led to death.

As the enemy's swings began to slow, Dongze tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword.

A burst of silver light.

The air hummed as a crescent arc of light streaked forward, fast as lightning, sharp as the edge of the world itself.

The Second-in-Command recoiled. He had expected Dongze to remain on the defensive, to keep dodging like a coward. But this was different—this was precise, calculated. He barely had time to register the attack before the blade carved into his chest, leaving a deep, bleeding wound.

"Impossible!"

He staggered back, disbelief flashing across his face. This brat—how had he cut through his defenses? How had he broken through his Zoan-enhanced toughness?

Dongze stepped back, measuring the resistance in his last strike. He muttered under his breath, "Too hard…"

A cruel grin stretched across the Second-in-Command's lips.

"Hah! I am a chimpanzee who ate the Chimpanzee-Chimpanzee Fruit! Your blade is nothing but a mosquito bite to me! You may be fast, but I can endure. Let's see how long you last against me!"

Dongze's expression darkened.

This wasn't just a battle. It was a hunt. And he had no intention of being the prey.

At that moment, something flickered before his eyes—a system notification, a surge of power. His proficiency in Ittoryu: Battojutsu had risen by fifty points.

551/10,000.

Dongze's lips curled slightly.

The enemy before him wasn't just a threat. He was an opportunity. A stepping stone.

No.

A tool.

And not just any tool—the perfect one.

The Second-in-Command, unaware of the shift in Dongze's mindset, laughed wildly. "I'll tear you apart, brat!"

Dongze exhaled slowly.

"Are you sure about that?"

The Second-in-Command's grin faltered.

The blade in Dongze's hands was no ordinary weapon. This was one of the 21 O Wazamono—a legendary blade rarer than most Devil Fruits. A sword of true might.

"Hah! Keep bluffing!"

Dongze didn't respond. He simply attacked.

Each slash grew faster, the arcs of light expanding from thin crescents to full moons. With every step, his blade became steadier, sharper.

And then—

A scream tore through the battlefield.

The Second-in-Command clutched his chest, his eyes wild with panic. His once-indomitable defenses had been shattered, his flesh sliced open to the bone.

"How—how did you—?"

Dongze didn't answer.

Because he already knew why.

His sword proficiency had skyrocketed.

5000/10,000.

With a flick of his wrist, Dongze attacked again. Blood sprayed into the night as his opponent stumbled backward, wounded but still standing. Zoan users were tough—he knew that much. Even with fatal wounds, their bodies could recover.

But he wouldn't allow that.

The Second-in-Command's mind raced. If this continued, he would die here. He needed to escape.

"Wait, kid! Let's make a deal—"

Dongze ignored him. Words were useless now.

He attacked relentlessly. Every stroke of his blade cut deeper. Every strike brought him closer to the kill.

His opponent, desperate, swung wildly in return, but fear had already crept into his movements. And fear—was fatal.

Then—

Dongze's Battojutsu proficiency hit 8,500.

But something felt wrong. The increase had stalled. The ceiling had been reached.

Until—

A realization. A shift. A choice.

Dongze's grip tightened.

He let go of his sword.

The enemy's eyes widened. What the hell is he doing?!

And then—

Before the kanabo could strike, Dongze's sword flashed—moving faster than the eye could track.

The enemy had no time to react.

No time to resist.

No time to live.

A single, blinding arc of light.

A full moon in the night.

And then—

A severed head soared into the air.

Dongze exhaled. He sheathed his sword.

The battle was over.

He sat against a rock, exhaustion setting in. Four years, five months, six days.

The revenge he had long sought… had finally ended..

And in the shadows, a man with round glasses watched, a smirk curling his lips before he vanished into the night.