Frosty began to move.

With every step, the water beneath him froze solid. Ice spread outward like a creeping tide, locking the legs of the struggling Chunins in place. They had barely recovered from Shanks' Conqueror's Haki—and now they were immobilized, helpless.

The massacre began.

Frosty's claws flashed like white lightning, tearing through armor and flesh with surgical precision. Per Shanks' command, he avoided their heads. His strikes were focused on the chest and torso—deep, fatal cuts designed to kill swiftly but cleanly. Blood sprayed against the ice, steaming slightly as it hit the cold surface.

The Chunins couldn't react. Their minds were still in a mess under the lingering effect of Shanks' Conqueror's Haki, their bodies locked in frozen traps. Against Frosty—whose strength matched, or even exceeded, that of a Jonin—they had no chance.

In less than a minute, over twenty Kirigakure shinobi had fallen. Their bodies crumpled to the ground, staining the battlefield red.

From the outer edge of the formation, one of the Jonin snarled in fury, unable to watch any longer.

"Damn beast!" he roared, rage in his voice as he unsheathed his blade. "How dare you!"

With a blur of movement, he launched forward, closing the distance to Frosty in a flash—his sword raised high and chakra flaring at the edge of his steel.

Shanks let out a quiet huff, almost amused.

"Not on my watch."

In the blink of an eye, he vanished. No warning. Just a violent burst of red lightning tearing across the battlefield.

The Kirigakure Jonin who had charged at Frosty had no idea what was coming.

The other Jonin—those who had been watching Shanks with caution, waiting for an opening—barely processed the movement. Their reaction came a heartbeat too late.

Eight of them burst into motion, streaks of chakra and shadow trailing behind them as they gave chase, trying to intercept. But by the time they moved, Shanks was already on the move—faster than they could track.

Red lightning arced across the field, twisting between frozen corpses and rising steam. Frosty had stopped his claws mid-strike, sensing something was coming—but not from the Jonin.

From behind him.

The Jonin targeting Frosty felt it then. A cold dread climbed his spine. Something was wrong.

His instincts screamed.

He turned, starting to form hand seals—Substitution Technique—but he was too slow.

Way too slow.

Behind him, Shanks appeared mid-air, already mid-swing.

The legendary Gryphon blade, coated in Armament Haki and still crackling with lightning chakra, passed cleanly through the Jonin's back. Steel met flesh—and spine.

The blade sliced through vertebrae like paper.

There was no time to scream, no moment of resistance. Just an abrupt stop. The Jonin's body jerked, then went limp—his chakra vanishing in an instant.

By the time the pursuing Jonin caught up, Shanks had already landed, his blade dripping with fresh blood, eyes forward.

One down.

Eight to go.

Shanks didn't pause after cutting down the first Jonin. His movements were fluid, instinctive—he turned the moment his blade exited the body, just in time to meet another attacker.

A second Jonin was already behind him, lunging with a short sword aimed at Shanks' exposed side.

But Shanks' reflexes were faster.

Their blades clashed mid-air—Gryphon meeting steel with overwhelming force. The impact cracked through the silence like a thunderclap. The Kirigakure Jonin was hurled backward, his feet dragging twin trenches in the wet ground. His sword, once sharp and sturdy, now had visible fractures along its edge.

Before the Jonin could even recover, Shanks stepped back—not to retreat, but to reposition. As he moved, two more Jonin lunged into the spot he'd just left, their blades slashing through empty air.

Shanks struck back immediately.

With a smooth horizontal sweep, he unleashed a crimson arc of energy—a sword wave—that cut through the mist and space with devastating precision.

It passed clean through both Jonin, carving across their necks like a whisper.

Their bodies froze mid-motion, then collapsed, lifeless.

Three Jonin down in seconds.

But just as Shanks finished the swing, another Kirigakure ninja appeared behind him—quiet, fast, taking full advantage of the chaos. His kunai was aimed straight at Shanks' neck, and his grin widened with every inch it closed in.

Victory felt within reach.

Then the kunai made contact—

And sparked.

It didn't pierce flesh. It didn't even scratch the skin.

Instead, it struck something dense, solid—metallic.

The attacker's eyes widened in disbelief. Shanks' neck had turned black—hardened with Armament Haki. Not a single drop of blood. Just the echo of steel against steel.

His grin faded, replaced with terror.

"What...?" he muttered.

Shanks slowly turned his head, the edge of his eye glinting with calm, focused killing intent.

The kunai-wielding ninja froze in place, his confidence instantly replaced by raw terror. That split-second shift—from triumph to disbelief—cost him everything.

Before he could pull back or defend, Shanks had already turned.

With a smooth, lethal rotation, Shanks brought his blade around in a tight arc. The Gryphon sliced cleanly through the ninja's midsection—straight through his stomach. Blood burst from the wound as the Jonin gasped, body collapsing before he even hit the ground.

Then a sharp voice rang out through the chaos.

"All of you, step aside!"

Juzo's voice cut across the battlefield like a command from a general—cold, loud, and final.

He had descended from the rooftops, now standing just meters away from Shanks, his bloodstained cloth whipping in the wind. In front of him, water converged rapidly, spiraling and rising into a swirling vortex as he slammed his hands together.

Water Release: Great Waterfall Technique!

(Image in Description)

A colossal wave formed in an instant—horizontal and fast, a raging torrent of water shaped into a crashing vortex. It roared toward Shanks like a wall of nature itself, large enough to flatten trees and drown squads.

But Shanks didn't budge.

He brought his sword up in front of his face, holding it horizontally. In one powerful motion, he swung downward with everything he had.

A brilliant red vertical slash of pure sword energy erupted from the blade, roaring forward like a cleaving pillar of light.

The two techniques collided with a thunderous shockwave that shook the earth and sent ripples through the air. Water exploded on both sides, crashing and spraying outward. But Shanks' sword energy didn't falter.

It cut straight through the vortex—splitting the Great Waterfall Technique clean in half.

The remnants of the water attack collapsed to the sides as Shanks' energy kept going, surging toward Juzo like a crimson guillotine. Eyes narrowing, Juzo raised his massive sword and brought it down in a crushing counter.

The impact rocked the area, finally dispersing the sword energy—but not without effort.

When the mist cleared, Juzo looked toward Shanks—only to realize he was gone.

A split-second later, a commotion erupted on the side of the battlefield.

Two Jonin had flanked Frosty and were engaging the massive tiger with coordinated strikes. But before one of them could land a blow, Shanks reappeared behind him like a phantom.

Without hesitation, he drove his sword straight into the Jonin's back—deep, precise, lethal.

The second Jonin barely had time to register what had happened.

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