Shanks exhaled slowly, steadying his focus. His right hand darkened as Armament Haki surged across his skin, hardening it into jet black. A moment later, the same black coating spread over his sword, completely covering the blade—dense, refined, and deadly. A subtle crackle of lightning danced across the steel, amplifying its edge with raw power.

Across from him, Juzo Biwa hefted his enormous blade—Kubikiribōchō. Muscles tense, feet braced, he prepared to meet the attack head-on. His expression was grim. This wasn't an ordinary opponent.

Then, Shanks moved.

He bent his knees just slightly—and the ground beneath him cracked from the pressure. In the next instant, he vanished. A red blur streaked through the air like a lightning bolt, and within a heartbeat, he was directly in front of Juzo.

Everyone watching barely saw anything—just a flash of red and black.

Shanks brought his sword down in a clean, devastating arc.

Juzo reacted with all the speed he could muster, raising his own massive sword to block. The two blades collided—but instead of a blinding spark or thunderous clash, something far more shocking happened.

Juzo's legendary sword—Kubikiribōchō—began to split.

The moment Shanks' blade touched it, the edge of Juzo's weapon was cleaved. The Haki-coated, lightning-infused blade cut through the metal like it was soft clay. Within seconds, Juzo's weapon was severed—clean, fast, precise.

But the cut didn't stop at the blade. It continued downward, slicing toward Juzo himself.

Eyes wide in disbelief, Juzo moved on instinct. One-handed, he rapidly formed a seal—Substitution Technique.

Shanks' sword passed through Juzo's torso—but instead of blood, there was a splash of water.

A water clone.

The real Juzo had already slipped away.

Shanks landed cleanly at the gate of Yu Village, his blade still humming faintly with lightning. He stood still for a second, scanning the area.

He escaped, Shanks thought. My blade definitely broke through at first—it cut into his flesh. But then he swapped out with a water clone mid-blow. Slick.

Still, Shanks wasn't surprised by Juzo's ability to pull off one-handed seals. Someone who wielded a weapon as massive as Kubikiribōchō would have to master one-handed ninjutsu. It was a necessity, not a luxury. With a sword that size, two hands weren't always an option.

And sure enough, Shanks' instincts were proven right.

Juzo reappeared moments later, standing atop the tiled roof of a nearby building just a few meters beyond the village's outer wall. Blood trickled freely from a deep, twelve-inch horizontal gash across the right side of his chest—nasty, but not fatal. His breathing was shallow, strained, and his usual arrogant composure was gone, replaced by a twisted scowl.

He still held what was left of Kubikiribōchō—but only the hilt and half the blade remained. Without a word, he let the fractured weapon rest against his bleeding chest. As drops of blood touched the blade's edge, the steel shimmered faintly, then began to shift and reform. Inch by inch, the weapon's missing half started to regenerate, fed by the iron-rich blood seeping from Juzo's wound.

That was the secret behind Kubikiribōchō—a blade that could heal itself by absorbing blood.

But even as his sword slowly rebuilt itself, Juzo's face twisted with anger and disbelief.

He had never imagined his blade—one of the Seven Swords of the Mist, forged for carnage and known for its resilience—would be broken so effortlessly. It hadn't even been a clash. It was more like his weapon had been peeled apart, as if it were crafted from paper instead of solid steel.

His pride as a swordsman took the deepest cut.

And the truth was, Shanks hadn't overpowered him by raw strength alone.

The blade that shattered Kubikiribōchō had several advantages:

First, it was coated in advanced Armament Haki, hardened to its most efficient form.

Second, Shanks wielded the Gryphon—a legendary sword in its own right.

Third, he infused the blade with lightning chakra, exponentially increasing its slicing power and precision.

But the true secret—the real weapon—was in Shanks himself.

After training in his mindscape for nearly three years under the constant pressure of the Red-Haired Emperor Shanks, he had fully mastered the elusive Breath of All Things technique. It was a sword style not of brute force, but of perception. If he could sense the "breath"—the subtle life force or rhythm—of any animate or inanimate object, he could cut it. Cleanly. Perfectly.

And that's exactly what he had done.

He didn't just swing to break Juzo's sword.

He listened to it.

And then he cut it.

From the very first exchange, Juzo understood one critical truth—he was completely outmatched in close combat.

Shanks was faster. Stronger. Cleaner in execution. His swordsmanship wasn't just refined—it was at a level Juzo had never encountered before.

Gritting his teeth and wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, Juzo shouted out across the battlefield.

"Do not engage him in close combat! Keep your distance—long-range jutsu only! Everyone, prepare: Water Release—Hundredfold Water Prison Formation!"

The command rippled instantly through the ranks.

Five Jonin and forty-five Chunins sprang into coordinated motion, forming a massive circular formation around Shanks, placing him dead center. Trained for this exact tactic, the 50 Kirigakure shinobi moved like a single organism.

Without hesitation, they all launched the Water Release: Wild Water Wave jutsu—not as scattered attacks, but precisely angled around Shanks. Each stream of water curved inward at a calculated trajectory, not aiming directly at him, but instead swirling together.

A vortex began to form—spinning, rising, tightening.

Shanks narrowed his eyes as he recognized the formation. His father had told him stories of it—war-era Kirigakure tactics.

This wasn't just a barrage of water. This was strategy.

Fifty shinobi: half creating the water, half manipulating it. The result? A massive whirlpool that becomes a high-pressure, rotating water prison capable of trapping and crushing even elite shinobi.

He knew what was coming next: the second wave of users would shape the vortex into a containment sphere—a prison so dense it drowned everything inside. The Hundredfold Water Prison Formation. Not many survived it.

Shanks let out a quiet breath.

I could break out of it, he thought. Even trapped, I'd come out on top eventually. But why let it get that far? Why let it become a problem at all—if it can be stopped here, and now?

He readied himself.

There was no fear in his posture—just sharp, surgical intent.

No need to let things get complicated, he thought. When they can be handled cleanly.

Shanks took one step forward, planting his foot firmly against the soaked earth—and unleashed his Conqueror's Haki.

A wave of invisible force rippled outward from him in an instant, crashing through the battlefield like a shockwave. It wasn't physical—but its presence was undeniable. Pure pressure. Pure will. Uncompromising dominance.

The effect was immediate.

Of the 50 Kirigakure shinobi forming the vortex formation, 10 Chunins collapsed on the spot—unconscious before they even registered the force that hit them. The remaining staggered, visibly shaken. Most of the Chunins dropped to one knee, clutching their heads in pain. Their chakra control wavered, and the jutsu faltered. The rising vortex collapsed before it could take form, the water now spilling harmlessly across the field in erratic streams.

Chaos replaced discipline.

Shanks didn't wait for the rest to recover. He turned toward his summon—Frosty, the massive white tiger who had been calmly observing the situation like a predator waiting for permission.

"Frosty," Shanks said, voice low and direct. "Go. Kill all of them. Leave the heads intact."

Frosty gave a short nod, the air around him beginning to chill as the moisture in the air responded to his presence. The water pooled across the battlefield—once meant to trap Shanks—now became Frosty's weapon.

And in water, his ice powers became overwhelming.

Juzo, still watching from the rooftop, clenched his jaw as he assessed the situation. The Jonin had managed to resist the Haki's mental pressure—though even they weren't unscathed—but the Chunins were in disarray. Most couldn't even stand properly, let alone form coordinated hand seals.

This wasn't just some hidden jutsu or illusion. It was a mental attack, pure and overwhelming.

Juzo's expression darkened.

This man… is not just a powerful swordsman. He's a monster in human skin.

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