The forest was quiet now. Only the crackle of smoldering leaves and the distant cry of seagulls broke the silence.
The ronin sat beneath the warped shade of an old maple, their wounds tended, their spirits raw.
Ace leaned against a tree trunk, arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowing. Gunnar sat on a mossy rock, silent, his frame hunched forward, brooding.
The crimson-masked ronin—now introduced as Takeshi—spoke quietly.
"It wasn't just one banner that struck us. It was a coalition. A madness of pirates and mercenaries."
Ace frowned. "Coalition?"
Takeshi nodded. "Edward Weevil. Crocodile. Byrnndi World. ."
Gunnar's eye twitched slightly. "Weevil..."
Gunnar remembered Weevil, He didn't know how strong he was currently, but he was close to admiral level on pre-time skip one piece. Even if he gave humble points, Weevil would easily stand toe to toe with commanders, maybe even be stronger than strongest commander.
Takeshi continued, "Crocodile brought a battalion of sand beasts. Byrnndi World shattered our front gates with one punch. But it was Edward Weevil... who slaughtered the Ashina guards… and killed Young Master Isshin."
Ace stepped forward suddenly, his jaw clenched. "Weevil is not Whitebeard's son."
Takeshi looked up, gaze sharp. "But he claimed to be. He screamed it as he cut through our warriors."
Gunnar stood up, folding his arms. "He's a fraud. I was there when Pops talked about him. Never accepted him. Just a brat with strength and no soul."
Ace nodded. "Pops never called him family. He doesn't belong to us."
Takeshi hesitated, then bowed his head.
"Then... we were mistaken."
Gunnar's voice was colder now. "You weren't. Not about the danger. Just the man.
Another ronin, younger and bloodied, asked carefully, "Why would you help us? Why stand against your own?"
Gunnar looked up, slowly. His eyes had a chill in them that didn't come from his Devil Fruit.
"Because this isn't a pirate war anymore." His voice was low. "One of the bastards who attacked me wore a crescent moon on his chest. I didn't know what it meant back then. Now I do."
He looked at the ruins of the shrine barely visible beyond the trees.
"This is personal vendetta now."
Ace exhaled, flames flickering slightly across his shoulders.
"And he spoiled Pops' name," Ace said. "That's enough reason for me."
"We'll help you rebuild," Ace said. "And we'll find out who's really pulling the strings behind this 'coalition.'"
***
The city was barely more than splinters and ash now.
Charred gates hung off their hinges. Cracked statues of ancient Ashina warriors leaned like ghosts watching a civilization rot. The village below the cliffs had fared no better—mud-streaked homes, shattered pottery, a dried-up well that once served hundreds. Starving villagers huddled under collapsed roofs, eyes sunken and hollow.
And yet, something stirred.
Ronins trudged in, their scabbards empty, but their backs heavy with stolen sacks of rice, salted fish, and medicine looted from enemy caravans. They dropped the bags near the center square where villagers waited silently, too afraid to speak.
One of the ronin, a lean man named Haruto, ripped the cloth open and began tossing food to the crowd.
"We're not thieves," he shouted. "We're Ashina. You starve? We bleed. That's the way it is!"
A mother cried, hugging her child tightly. A frail elder whispered a thank you with trembling hands.
Ace and Gunnar watched from a higher platform, cloaked under straw hats given by the ronin. Gunnar had his arms crossed, glancing toward the distant sea. Ace chewed lazily on a sweet potato, half-burnt, letting the warmth wash his mouth.
But something changed.
A younger ronin burst into the gathering with panic on his face. He bowed low to Takeshi.
"It's Isshin-sama... He's alive."
Everyone froze.
"What?" Takeshi breathed.
"I heard it from a dying fishman we ambushed on the road. Isshin Ashina fell during the battle, yes—but he landed into the river beneath the cliff. Pirates fished him out, half-dead, and took him to their outpost."
Takeshi's face darkened. "Then he lives... as their prisoner?"
"Worse," the ronin said. "They use his survival as leverage. They tell us... any resistance from us, and he dies."
"Why haven't we taken the outpost then?" Ace asked, finally speaking.
The ronin looked at him grimly.
"Because it's impossible."
"Nothing's impossible," Gunnar growled.
"It is," Takeshi replied. "Because the outpost is guarded by the Iron Jaw Corsairs—a pirate crew of 60 elite fishmen led by an even scarier fishmen ."
Ace raised an eyebrow. "Who...?"
Takeshi nodded. "A former gladiator of the New World. Fishman. Fought in the Ring of Bone for ten years.."
"His specialty is trapping his enemies in invisible domes underwater. Anyone who tries to swim or sneak into the outpost drowns—crushed by the pressure or eaten by sea-beasts."
Gunnar spat on the dirt. "Coward!"
"Maybe," Takeshi said, "but he has an army. And we've already lost a dozen trying to break through."
A silence fell.
Finally, Takeshi looked at Ace, then Gunnar.
"We can't do this alone."
Ace stood slowly, finishing the last bite of his roasted root.
"I owe the old man," he muttered. "And I don't let people drag Pops' name through filth without consequence."
Gunnar cracked his knuckles. "And I'm tired of hearing about this 'impossible.' Show me this outpost. I'll make it possible."
The villagers dared to hope again. A flame returned to Takeshi's eyes.
For the first time in days, someone smiled.
[A/N: Are you guys enjoying the chapters?]