The coast of Wano roared with noise.
Samurai hurried under their daimyō's summons, armor hastily strapped, swords clutched tight. They rushed through the Flower Capital, down toward the borderlands.
And when they arrived—
There was no apocalyptic battle. No dark clouds pressing down. No Shimotsuki clan locked in a heroic, day-long struggle.
There were only ruins.
Over a hundred Shimotsuki warriors lay bound in coils of white frost, wounds poorly bandaged, some still bleeding.
"The Shimotsuki samurai!"
"That's the daimyō of Ringo—he lost too?"
"What happened here…?"
Everywhere, splintered trees. Ground split like after an earthquake. Sword marks gouged deep into rock.
The Shimotsuki had been defeated.
But where was their enemy?
Aside from the fallen clan, there was only a vast pirate ship, strange foreigners standing nearby.
The White Wolf Pirates.
Over ten thousand Wano samurai gathered, a black tide of steel. Each warrior radiated the aura of strength.
Stussy shrank her head into her collar. She had barely scraped victory against that woman swordsman earlier—only thanks to a distraction. Without Ripley, Whitebeard, and Linlin, she and the others were nothing in this sea of power.
To call them "the backbone of Wano" would be kind. In truth—they were fodder.
And fodder has one fate.
Shiki clenched his teeth. He had thought himself strong. But here, in this single nation, there were thousands like him. They had struggled against a hundred. What about ten thousand?
Yet Ripley, Whitebeard, and Linlin only argued over fish. Roast or boiled?
Linlin settled it. "Why not both?"
The crew laughed, tension broken. But then—
A crushing pressure descended.
Shiki's smile froze. His heart clenched like a fist gripped it tight.
The sky darkened. Clouds rolled, pressing down under invisible weight.
And then a man appeared before Wano's army.
One man. One blade.
"I am Magnus, captain of the White Wolf Pirates. I've come to make you an offer."
His voice wasn't loud, yet every samurai heard.
For a moment, silence. Then fury erupted.
"Trade? We don't accept trade!"
"Foreign pirate, begone!"
"Release the Shimotsuki, or die here!"
Their voices trembled with anger, but also with disbelief. Centuries of isolation—no foreign invasion had ever lasted. The Shimotsuki had fallen, yes, but Wano had gathered its full might.
And yet, one man stood against them all.
"Silence!"
A voice boomed.
The samurai quieted as an old man stepped forward. His hair was silver, his frame still towering. He carried only a plain sword at his hip.
Amatsuki Takiichi. The last Great Swordmaster of Wano.
His face was grim as his gaze fell on Magnus.
He alone felt it—that suffocating power hidden in that unassuming frame.
"Kanjiro… forgive me," he muttered. "I may not return."
Thirty years ago, even twenty, he might have stood equal. Now he was old, his strength fading. And against this man—this monster—he felt only the rot of age.
Still, he stepped forward.
Shogun Kozuki Sukiyaki did not order an attack. Perhaps out of caution, perhaps deference.
"You said trade," Sukiyaki asked, calm but wary. "What do you want of Wano?"
"My crew needs to eat," Magnus said lightly. "So I plan to build a trade route across the Grand Line—from Fish-Man Island to Elbaf. I would have Wano join us. Trade, not plunder."
His words drew laughter.
"Impossible!" Sukiyaki barked. "Wano will never open! Leave now!"
Behind him, ten thousand warriors stood ready. He had no fear.
Magnus sighed. "I had hoped for diplomacy. It seems strength will speak louder."
The words had barely left his lips when he vanished.
A flash of steel—already at Sukiyaki's throat.
"Shogun-sama!"
Amatsuki Takiichi moved, blade drawn, intercepting the strike. Sparks burst between steel.
Gasps rippled through the samurai ranks. Magnus had cut through an army's front to strike their shogun in a heartbeat. If not for Takiichi, Sukiyaki would already be dead.
"Enemy attack!"
The two daimyō flanking the shogun dragged him back, shields of steel around him.
"Don't fear," said the lord of the Uzuki clan. "Takiichi-sama is the strongest of us. Even old, he could defeat me."
"Yes," the Fūgetsu lord agreed. "He will finish this quickly."
But they did not see Takiichi's face—flushed red, arms straining, nearly crushed under Magnus's single hand.
"You fools," he roared. "Help me!"
Pride meant nothing before death. Against such a gulf, honor was folly.
Magnus only smiled. "Not bad, old man. Ten years ago, you and I would've been equals."
The words struck Takiichi like a blade to the gut. Ten years ago, he had been at his peak. For Magnus to say this, as if brushing him aside—was humiliation.
But truth was truth. Magnus was a storm, and Takiichi an aging oak.
At last, the other two daimyō lunged.
And Magnus laughed.
Snow-white killing aura burst from him, a wolf's howl splitting the skies.
The daimyōs charged—and froze.
The wolf's paw fell.
"Icefang."
Winter wind cut the summer heat. In one stroke, both daimyō stood frozen in crystal shells, blades still raised.
The samurai gasped, horror gripping them.
The ice cracked. They staggered free, half-dead. A mercy—if Magnus had followed through, they would never have risen again.
"Strong," one whispered, trembling. "He's no pirate. He's a demon."
"Every warrior who can wield Haki—attack!"
Hundreds of swordsmen advanced. These were not mere foot soldiers, but masters of Ryuo. Their blades shone.
And then—
Magnus released it.
The sky tore open under his Conqueror's Haki.
One second.
Ten thousand samurai collapsed, foam spraying from their mouths.
Only two thousand remained standing.
The blade swept.
"Winter's Dominion."
Snow howled across the battlefield, drowning it in ice.
Nine out of ten of the survivors froze where they stood.
The few left could barely cling to life.
Two seconds.
An army of ten thousand reduced to fewer than one hundred.
Shogun Sukiyaki stared, slack-jawed, drenched in cold sweat.
One man. Against a nation.
And Wano had lost.
(End of Chapter)
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