The room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of paper lanterns swaying gently. The wind carried the scent of blood, herbs, and burning wood.
A raspy breath escaped cracked lips.
Isshin Ashina's eyes fluttered open.
His vision was blurry. Shapes moved beside him—shadows, figures, men in straw hats and torn hakamas, each holding battered swords with chipped edges. But their posture was vigilant. Loyal.
"Lord Isshin… you live," whispered one of them, voice almost cracking.
Another fell to his knees, tears rolling down dirt-streaked cheeks. "Ashina endures…"
Isshin tried to rise—but pain snapped through his ribs like lightning. Blood soaked through the bandages wrapped tightly across his chest.
He gritted his teeth, pushing past the agony with sheer will. His voice was low, hoarse, but carried steel beneath it.
"…How many survived?"
The ronins exchanged silent glances. One answered: "A dozen. No more."
"I see…"
His gaze drifted to the side of the futon. There, laid with almost reverent care, was his Shura Blade—blackened steel, still stained with the blood of those he'd failed to protect.
With trembling fingers, he took the blade, resting it across his knees.
***
Ace leaned back on a tree stump, chewing roasted meat, watching smoke rise from the burned outpost. Gunnar stood, arms folded, stone-faced, his crimson scarf flapping in the wind.
The sliding door opened behind them.
Step… drag… step… drag…
Isshin emerged, barely upright, his tattered kimono fluttering in the night wind. Two ronins supported him—he refused a stretcher. His eyes were tired, rimmed red—but unwavering.
He looked at them.
"You two," he said with no ceremony.
Ace raised an eyebrow. "You're the guy who tried to kill my buddy here, right?"
Gunnar's eyes narrowed.
"You haven't changed much," Gunnar said, voice rough, heavy. "Last time I saw you, you were screaming about vengeance and swinging that blade at my throat."
Isshin gave a weak smirk. His head lowered in shame.
"I know. And I deserve no forgiveness."
He coughed, blood spitting from the side of his mouth, but he didn't stop.
"When I heard the Ashina Castle fell… that my father was murdered… I was not told the culprit was Edward Weevil. They said he was Whitebeard's son, or that is what he screamed."
Ace clenched his jaw. "He's not."
"I know that now," Isshin said, looking at Ace. "But when grief chokes you, you stop thinking. When I heard of the man who shared Whitebeard's blood, I believed he was the killer."
"…you tried to kill me," Gunnar finished, not coldly, but bluntly.
Isshin nodded slowly. "Yes. And I failed to see the truth."
There was silence for a moment.
Ace sighed and waved a hand. "Look, we've all got demons. You're still breathing. That's what matters."
Gunnar took a step forward. "I'll let it go. But I want answers."
---
Gunnar's eyes narrowed. "Why is this island so important? It's in the middle of nowhere. But Crocodile, Weevil, even Byrnndi World are throwing armies at it. Why?"
Isshin looked to the sea, where the moonlight glistened over black waters.
"This land is cursed… or blessed, depending on your hunger."
He leaned heavier into the ronins' shoulders as his legs nearly gave out.
"Once a year, in the deep trenches beneath this island, **Sea Kings lay a sacred egg**. It is guarded by the elder leviathans. A nest. I overheard Crocodile speak of it."
Gunnar blinked. "Sea Kings… breeding ground?"
Ace frowned. "They want to control Sea Kings?"
Isshin gave a slow nod. "Tame one, and you get a warship. Tame an army… you get a kingdom beneath the sea."
Gunnar's jaw tightened. "That's what Weevil's after."
Isshin looked toward Gunnar, eyes cloudy but burning with faint defiance.
"And I will fight… even if my bones break. Ashina will not fall twice."
But his body betrayed him—he dropped to his knees, gasping.
The ronins steadied him.
"You're not ready," Gunnar said, looking down at him.
"I never was," Isshin replied, grinning through pain. "But warriors don't wait for permission."
Ace smirked and stood up, tossing the last bone into the fire.
"Well… looks like we're in deeper than we thought."
He cracked his knuckles.
"Guess we better meet the bastard calling himself Whitebeard's son."
---
Wind howled over the ruined courtyard of the once-proud Ashina Castle.
The walls, cracked and blackened by fire, stood like broken teeth in the mouth of a beast long dead. In its heart, lit by a pale moon and flickering torches, **Isshin Ashina** sat cross-legged before an old war table—blood-stained, half-burned, and scarred with a thousand blades.
A scroll of parchment lay before him. His hands, though trembling, moved with purpose. The brush dipped in black ink, and with careful strokes, he wrote:
"To the Blade-Bound of the East, the Crimson Runners of the Vale, and the Ashen Sons of the Flame…"
His voice whispered along with the strokes, a steady chant in the cold.
-Ashina yet breathes.
-By the blood of our fathers, and the ghosts of our soil…
-We march again.
-Come. For this is our last stand.
He sealed it with the family crest, a faint crescent over a flaming tower.
Isshin turned to the Straw Hat Ronins, who now stood at attention with horses saddled and cloaks fastened. Most had no armor—just steel, resolve, and the tattered emblem of Ashina stitched into their backs.
"Ride," Isshin said, his voice hoarse yet thunderous. "Ride till your lungs collapse. Find them. Bring them home."
The ronins bowed deeply.
Then, one by one, they mounted and rode—thundering hooves disappearing into four directions, into mountains, forests, hidden shrines, and crumbling border towns.
---
On the Cliff Edge
Gunnar stood at the edge of a cliff, arms folded. The wind tugged at his coat, lifting the corner of his crimson scarf. Ace approached behind him, chewing on a stick of dried meat.
"They'll regroup," Ace said, staring at the departing silhouettes.
"Yeah," Gunnar muttered. "But it'll take time."
He knelt by a boulder, his eyes shadowed.
His fist clenched. The tremble in his muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. With a sudden roar, he punched the boulder.
CRACK.
The stone split, jagged lines running deep through its core.
Dust fell around him.
"Not enough," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Not enough…"
Ace didn't laugh.
He stepped forward, watching Gunnar's bleeding knuckles.
"I've heard of Weevil," Ace said quietly. "He doesn't think like us. He doesn't even feel like us. He just destroys."
Gunnar didn't respond. He stared at his bloodied fist.
"Crocodile's a bastard. Byrnndi World is a lunatic," Ace continued. "But Weevil? That's different. If he really has a piece of Pops in him…"
Gunnar looked up, eyes burning. "Then I'll rip that piece out."
Ace grinned. "Damn right."
---
Inside the Castle
Isshin leaned heavily on a cane, watching the fire crackle in the great hearth of the war hall. The wind whispered through broken windows.
"They control the castle fully," he murmured. "Every gate. Every pass. Every forgotten tunnel. If we strike without numbers, they'll wipe us before we reach their captains."
He looked toward the map pinned to the wall—rough sketches of cliffs, trenches, waterways, and the outpost where the Sea King Nest lay hidden.
"We'll need an army," he said.
Ace leaned over the table, tapping a point on the coast.
"And you'll have it," he said. "We'll hold the line until your men return."
Gunnar stared at the flaming hearth, eyes shadowed, fists clenched again.
"I'm not just here for Ashina," he said.
Isshin turned.
Gunnar spoke, voice low and rough.
"This is personal. Weevil… stole my father's name. And Crocodile… he's scum I saw dad bury once before. But Byrnndi World?"
He looked up. Eyes like stormclouds.
"Each of them will die. And I'm taking everything back."
The drums of war was starting,
And far beneath the sea, where the Sea Kings stirred in their sleep, and a war was about to erupt for their control.