Far away from the ruined island, on a lonely stretch of sea, a storm raged without end.
Waves smashed against the jagged cliffs, thunder rolled through black clouds, and the wind howled as if the ocean itself wanted to swallow the tiny desert island whole. Even the seabirds dared not land.
Out of that furious sea, a massive silhouette surfaced—its head alone the size of a mountain. Two enormous amber eyes gleamed beneath the lightning. Its smooth, pale hide shimmered like polished silver, beautiful rather than frightening, almost gentle despite its impossible scale.
The creature struggled ashore, its body carved with deep wounds—slashes wide as ravines, as if hacked apart by a giant blade. Every movement looked painful, its strength all but spent.
When it finally dragged itself a few dozen meters inland, it shuddered violently and vomited up a great block of ice—square, translucent, like a frozen coffin.
With a weak flick of its tail, the creature shattered the ice, revealing a motionless young man sealed inside, pale as death.
Then, suddenly—his eyes snapped open.
The creature let out a faint rumble of relief, closed its eyes, and collapsed into deep sleep.
This colossal beast was Boa.
And the man it had carried across the ocean was none other than Kuzan—beaten within an inch of his life by the Red Earl himself.
Kuzan's chest bore a massive scar; his entire body was laced with smaller wounds. Every muscle screamed in protest, as though his limbs no longer belonged to him. Slowly, painfully, his thoughts pieced themselves together.
He remembered the end.
The moment his Ice Burst detonated—Redfield's slash struck him squarely. Only the full concentration of his Armament Haki, layered with the armor of the Ice Giant, had stopped him from being cleaved apart.
Even so, the Red Earl's blade had torn through both defenses, leaving the brutal scar that still burned across his chest.
As he fell into the sea, Kuzan had sealed himself in an Ice Coffin—a casing of non-melting ice to isolate him from seawater, forcing his body into a state of suspended animation. It was the only reason he survived.
Later, the wounded Boa had found him deep beneath the waves, swallowed him whole, and carried him as far from that cursed island as its failing strength would allow.
Now, sorrow filled Kuzan's eyes.
The Great Sage—the mighty gorilla that had trained beside him—was gone. Dead because of him.
Boa had tried to carry the Great Sage to safety, but its companion's injuries were too severe, its body too heavy. It left the ape upon a nearby reef… and when Kuzan's final explosion consumed the island, that reef had vanished. The Great Sage was obliterated—bones and all.
Boa had barely survived, collapsing here from exhaustion after delivering Kuzan to safety.
Another night passed before Kuzan could even move. At dawn he dragged himself to the shore.
The storm tide had thrown up piles of dead fish and sea beasts—gifts of the sea's fury. Kuzan fell to his knees and ate greedily, caring nothing for dirt or blood. He needed fuel—strength—to live.
Boa still needed saving.
Once his energy returned, Kuzan rose and summoned seawater to cloak himself in a towering liquid form. With a thunderous crash, he slammed the ocean's surface, stunning a massive Sea King and countless fish below. As their corpses floated up, he animated the water into spectral shapes—water demons—to ferry the carcasses ashore.
He knelt beside Boa and pressed his palms to the creature's wounds.
"Water Bath," he murmured. Energy surged from him into Boa's body. Minutes stretched into hours. At last, Boa's eyelids fluttered open.
Kuzan disassembled the Sea King's flesh and fed it piece by piece to Boa. The giant creature devoured it ravenously. Kuzan ate a share himself, then continued channeling healing energy until the night passed.
By dawn, Boa's injuries had nearly vanished.
Kuzan exhaled in relief. He silently thanked his past self for developing the healing technique—an idea born from his memories of medical arts in another life, refined through his mastery of elemental control.
By sacrificing his own stamina, he could transmit life force to another—accelerating recovery. It was risky, but it worked.
Even if Boa hadn't rescued him, he could have healed himself once he awoke.
Now Boa slept again, entering a deep hibernation. Kuzan didn't disturb it.
He sat on a seaside boulder, the waves lapping below, and let the battle replay in his mind.
He'd paid a terrible price—but the gain was undeniable.
His Haki had broken through its bottleneck, evolving to an advanced level. He was now, at last, standing on the threshold of admiral-class power.
Still, he wasn't satisfied. He needed more mastery—more experience—to close that final gap.
Closing his eyes, Kuzan expanded his Observation Haki. His awareness swept across the entire island, feeling every heartbeat, every drifting grain of sand.
Baloric Redfield's blade had left an impression he would never forget.
That fight made one thing clear—his ice blades were too fragile against true swordsmen. From now on, he would study swordsmanship himself, and one day claim a blade worthy of a supreme grade.
He remembered the pain—the humiliation—burned it into memory.
And he swore, quietly, to the roaring sea:
"Redfield… one day, I'll kill you with my own hands."
Then the young Marine rose, sea breeze cold against his scar, and began training anew—his Haki flaring like a heartbeat in the storm.
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