Chapter 342: The Tremor-Tremor Fruit Resurfaces
Dressrosa — King's Plateau, the High Council Chamber.
Outside, the sea wind rolled in off the cliffs. Inside, the air didn't move at all.
Jinbe sat with his arms folded, saying nothing. Robin had taken the head of the table without anyone suggesting it — she simply belonged there, and everyone in the room understood that. King Riku sat across from her, his weathered hands flat on the table, his expression composed in the careful way of a man who had already survived one catastrophe and refused to crumble before a second.
Kyros stood near the wall. He hadn't sat down since the meeting started.
Rebecca was the only one whose composure had cracked.
"He can't be dead." Her voice came out smaller than she intended. "He was — I mean, everyone saw him. Against Kaido. He can't just—"
Nobody corrected her. Nobody agreed with her either.
The silence was the kind that settles when everyone is privately running the same math and arriving at the same unwanted answer.
Dressrosa had flourished under Doflamingo's shadow for years — a grim, humiliating kind of safety, bought with complicity. Rhodes had changed that. He'd given them something they hadn't dared ask for: genuine security, backed by genuine power. The kind that didn't demand they look the other way.
Without him, the wolves would start circling again. It was only a question of how long before someone decided the meat was worth the risk.
King Riku exhaled quietly through his nose. He had made peace with powerlessness once before. He hadn't expected to do it again so soon.
"If nothing unexpected happens," Robin said, "Rhodes isn't dead."
The room shifted. Every eye moved to her.
Her tone hadn't changed — still that same controlled, slightly distant delivery that gave nothing away unless she decided to give it. But the words themselves were enough to pull the air out of the silence.
"Before he left, he told me directly not to worry about his safety." She let that sit for a moment. "And Enel — you all know what his observation capabilities are. He and Rhodes share a unique connection, something close to a Life Indicator. Right now, Enel's reading is faint. But it's there. Rhodes is injured. He is not dying."
Rebecca was on her feet before Robin finished the sentence.
Kyros let out a single controlled breath and the tension in his shoulders finally dropped a fraction.
King Riku closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he looked ten years younger.
Jinbe, characteristically, skipped the relief and went straight to logistics.
"Do we need to send people to him? What's his location?"
"We wait," Robin said. "He'll contact us when he's ready."
A beat passed.
The Den Den Mushi on the table let out a low, rattling croak.
Robin picked it up. The connection clicked through.
"It's me." Rhodes's voice was rougher than usual — tired in a way that didn't quite hide what it was hiding. "I'm fine. Hold Dressrosa together. I'll be back soon."
The line cut before anyone could respond.
Typical.
Rebecca made a sound that was half laugh, half something else entirely, and pressed her fingers to her mouth.
Robin set the receiver down and let a moment pass before speaking again. When she did, her voice had shifted — not softer, but more deliberate. The voice she used when reassurance was finished and work had begun.
"Listen carefully." She looked around the table. "The outside world believes Rhodes is dead. That makes this a window — and windows close fast. Whatever instability exists within our coalition, whoever has been quietly reconsidering their loyalty, they'll show their hand now. We observe. We document. We don't move prematurely." Her gaze settled on Jinbe. "Anyone who breaks ranks gets handled quietly. No spectacle."
Jinbe nodded once, slowly. "Understood."
The meeting shifted into motion.
Marine Headquarters — Fleet Admiral's Office.
"Is Rhodes actually dead?"
Akainu asked it flatly, without looking up from the intelligence report in his hand.
It wasn't doubt. It was the instinct of a man who had spent his entire career not trusting clean outcomes.
Fujitora stood nearby, his cane resting against the edge of the desk, his sightless eyes aimed somewhere past the wall. "Inspector Sengoku is en route back. Once he submits his formal confirmation, there won't be much room for dispute."
There was something careful in the way Fujitora said it. Something that stopped just short of full agreement.
Akainu set the report down.
The plan had been his — he'd built it, pushed for it, convinced the Five Elders it was the cleanest solution. And it had worked. By every measurable standard, it had worked perfectly.
He felt nothing.
Not satisfaction. Not relief. Just the faint, irritating sense that the equation had resolved too easily. Rhodes was supposed to be the defining struggle of his era as Fleet Admiral. The opponent who would force the Marines to genuinely reach for something greater. Akainu had reviewed the full broadcast from Chesterton Island and recognized exactly what he'd been looking at.
And now it was reportedly over because of a bullet and a Dyna Stone.
It sat wrong. He kept turning it over and finding the same rough edge.
He pushed it aside. There was too much else to manage.
"The Tremor-Tremor Fruit has resurfaced," he said. "New World. A bounty hunter named Herbert — goes by 'Little Giant.' Massive build, proficient in both types of Haki, a combat record that holds up under scrutiny. With the Tremor Fruit added on top of that, his overall capability puts him roughly on par with the Three Calamities or the Sweet Commanders."
Fujitora's expression shifted slightly. "Does he have any affiliations?"
"None. Bounty hunters usually don't." Akainu's tone was measured. "I want him approached before Blackbeard moves on him. The Tremor-Tremor Fruit cannot end up in Blackbeard's hands. If Herbert is recruitable, we act on that immediately."
Fujitora nodded slowly. He didn't love the idea of courting mercenaries, but this wasn't the moment to say so.
A knock at the door.
"Come."
The messenger stepped in quickly, already talking. "Fleet Admiral. We've confirmed that Instructor Zephyr led a raiding force into Blackbeard's territory several days ago. Whitebeard Jr. has been sighted in the region — Zephyr appears to be moving to intercept."
A short silence.
Fujitora kept his expression neutral, but his grip on his cane tightened almost imperceptibly. He knew Zephyr. Knew what shape the old man was in. Knew what that battlefield would look like for him.
Akainu absorbed the information without visible reaction.
"Fine," he said. "Green Bull is already operating in that area. Have him link up with Zephyr. A combined operation improves the odds considerably."
He paused, then added coldly: "Order Green Bull to rendezvous with both parties and execute the plan together."
The messenger bowed and withdrew.
Fujitora said nothing. Akainu hadn't asked for his opinion, and the calculation was already finished in the Fleet Admiral's head. That Zephyr might not survive it was a variable Akainu had simply accepted and filed away.
Fujitora turned toward the window and kept his thoughts to himself.
Somewhere in the New World — Unknown Island.
Three days of stillness.
Rhodes pressed one hand flat against his chest and listened.
Steady. Strong. The damage to his heart had been methodically repaired over seventy-two hours of careful, deliberate energy work. The organ itself had knit back together. The heartbeat confirmed it.
That punch from Kaido was something else entirely, he thought, pulling his hand away.
The Dragon Fist at the end had been a statement as much as a technique. His ribs had lost count of how many of themselves were broken. The shockwave alone had rearranged things internally that weren't meant to move.
He ran a quick internal assessment through his Book of Knowledge.
His heart had recovered. His internal injuries, however, were a different matter — deep tissue damage, strained channels, systems still running at reduced capacity. Fully conservative estimate: at least a month before everything operated at one hundred percent.
He wasn't disappointed by that number.
This decisive battle, despite everything it had cost him, had produced extraordinary results.
First and most significant: he had become a Great Swordsman.
Rhodes let that settle for a moment, then allowed himself a quiet smile.
A Great Swordsman before twenty. There's probably no precedent for that in the entire history of this world. Ha. I really am something else.
The breakthrough had fundamentally transformed the nature of his swordsmanship. Not just in raw power — though that had increased substantially — but in something deeper. The way the blade connected to intent. The way a cut extended beyond the physical edge of the sword into the underlying principle of severing itself.
His Book of Knowledge laid it out clearly.
The mainstream combat paths of this world numbered three: physical prowess, Devil Fruits, and swordsmanship. Of those three, swordsmanship carried a unique weight — widespread in practice, nearly impossible to fully master. Roughly thirty to forty percent of all fighters in the Grand Line followed the sword as their primary discipline. Of those, a fraction became skilled swordsmen. Of those, only a tiny handful — perhaps a dozen across the entire world at any given time — crossed the threshold into true Great Swordsmanship.
Mihawk. Rayleigh. Shanks. Momousagi. Big Mom. A few others who operated in seclusion — figures like Koushirou, whose names rarely appeared in the open world but whose capabilities were documented in the Book of Knowledge in full detail.
Twelve, maybe thirteen names on that list.
His name was on it now.
The breakthrough to Great Swordsmanship was a natural progression — the battle with Kaido made that inevitable. But the real prize...
Even without opening his soul space, Rhodes could feel it — the faith energy gathered there, dense and almost pressurized, accumulated from a battle that had commanded the attention of the entire world. Two of the most prominent witnesses imaginable: a former Fleet Admiral and one of the Four Emperors, both present in person. Every major power watching through the broadcast. The Five Elders had reportedly watched without pause for a full day and night.
The faith energy was enormous. Possibly the largest single accumulation he'd ever gathered.
He didn't rush to use it. His body needed to finish recovering first. Then he'd assess how much he could push his physique and Haki.
Even without the enhancement, where do I stand right now?
He thought through it carefully.
Post-breakthrough, his attack power had increased significantly — enough to surpass Kaido of the Beasts. And while Kaido ranked at the bottom among the Four Emperors in terms of pure offensive output, the fact that Rhodes could now exceed him still placed his attack capability firmly in the upper-middle tier of the Emperor level. No one at that table could dismiss it.
His defense remained the gap in his arsenal. He wasn't Kaido or Big Mom — he couldn't simply absorb punishment through sheer physical invulnerability. His Armament Haki still had room to grow before it reached Shanks's standard. That was a honest assessment, not a complaint.
The offset was his special energy — the rapid regenerative recovery that functioned in real time during combat, compensating for the defensive ceiling he hadn't yet reached.
Each Emperor has their defining characteristic. Shanks has his Conqueror's Haki. Kaido has his regeneration and his dragon form. Garp has his monstrous physical output and Haki density.
Rhodes stroked his chin.
In terms of pure swordsmanship, I'm not at Shanks's level yet — he's had decades to refine what I've just unlocked. But my speed is a different conversation entirely. Unmatched. No one in this world moves the way I move.
He considered that for a moment.
So by any honest measure — I'm a genuine Emperor-tier fighter. I was already functionally there before Chesterton Island. Now it's just on record.
He stood, slowly, and drew his sword.
The motion felt different than it ever had before. Not physically — not the weight or the grip. Something underneath that. A recognition. As if the sword had finally registered what was holding it and adjusted accordingly.
He looked at the mountain on the eastern edge of the clearing. A hundred meters tall, dense forest running two-thirds of the way up its face.
He swung.
The sound came half a second after the motion — a deep, resonant tear moving through the air itself. The sword beam crossed the distance in a flat line and passed through the mountain with approximately the same resistance as morning mist.
Then the mountain caught up with what had just happened to it.
The crack appeared first — perfectly level, perfectly clean, running straight through the stone face like a ruled line. Then the sound: a low, rolling boom that spread across the jungle and emptied the trees of every bird within half a kilometer. Then the slow, massive separation — one hundred meters of rock dividing into two distinct halves, the gap between them mirror-smooth.
Rhodes stared at it.
That was a casual strike.
He sheathed the blade.
"My injuries are manageable. Time to head back."
He turned to get his bearings — and stopped.
A group of people stood frozen at the tree line, staring at him. Pirates, clearly. Experienced ones — the kind whose instincts had kept them alive long enough to accumulate the experience. Right now, every one of those instincts appeared to be telling them not to move.
One of them, a sniper by his equipment, was lying flat on the ground in a crumpled heap. He appeared to have recently fallen from a tree.
At the front of the group stood a woman with long ice-blue hair — sharp eyes, sharp posture, the particular stillness of someone who made fast decisions for a living and was currently making one.
Rhodes recognized her immediately.
Whitey Bay. The Ice Witch. Division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates.
He looked at her calmly.
"What are Whitebeard's people doing out here?"
End of Chapter 342
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