Chapter 695

At the far edge of the world—where land seemed to hesitate before surrendering itself to the endless sea—there lay a solemn, wind-swept island.

The cliffs rose like the jagged teeth of some ancient beast, worn down by time yet unyielding, standing in silent defiance against the roaring abyss below. Waves crashed violently against the rocks, sending plumes of white spray into the air, only to be swallowed again by the vast, indifferent ocean. The sky above hung heavy with muted clouds, painted in hues of gray and fading gold, as if even the heavens had chosen restraint in the presence of something sacred.

There was no life here. No birds. No sound beyond the wind and the sea. Only stillness—and him. At the very edge of the cliff, seated upon a weathered slab of stone, was a lone figure. A man of average height, yet carrying a presence that distorted the very air around him. His black hair was tied neatly into a traditional topknot, unmoved even by the relentless wind. He wore a simple khaki samurai gi—unadorned, unremarkable—and a pair of worn zōri sandals. There were no ornaments, no weapons drawn, no outward display of power.

And yet, everything about him felt... absolute. This was no ordinary man. This was Shimotsuki Ryuma—the legendary Sword God of Wano. A name that once echoed through history like a myth. A man said to have slain a dragon. A warrior whispered to have stood at the boundary between man and god—and cut through it.

And now—he had returned. Dragged back from death itself through the unnatural power of Rocks D. Xebec. Two days. It had been two full days since his resurrection. And in those two days, he had not spoken. Not once. He had not questioned. Not raged. Not even acknowledged the absurdity of his own existence.

He had simply walked to the edge of the cliff...sat down...and stared. At the horizon. As if seeing the world for the very first time. Or perhaps the last.

"Mamama... Is he... broken?" The voice broke the silence, though even it seemed to hesitate in this place. Charlotte Linlin stood a short distance away, her tall frame casting a long shadow across the rocky ground. For once, there was no manic grin, no hunger-driven madness in her eyes. Only confusion. And something dangerously close to unease.

Because this—this was not what she had expected. When she had realized that Xebec would use his power to resurrect him, Linlin had anticipated chaos. Violence. A storm barely contained. She had prepared herself to seize the moment—to exploit the inevitable clash when a legend like Ryuma awoke in a world that dared to bind him.

After all, even legends feared his blade. Even gods were said to fall before it. And Rocks D. Xebec—for all his monstrous ambition—was not invincible, especially not in the fragile aftermath of reviving such a being. It should have been the perfect opportunity to target Xebec. A moment of weakness. A fracture to exploit and finally be rid of his control.

But instead—there was this. Silence. Stillness. A man who should have shaken the seas... reduced to a figure sitting at the edge of the world, doing nothing. Linlin’s gaze narrowed slightly as she studied him again. No tension in his shoulders. No flicker of confusion in his posture. No instability.

If anything—he looked... complete. As though nothing had been taken from him. As though death itself had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

"He hasn’t said a word," she continued, her voice lower now. "Not to you. Not to anyone." Her eyes shifted briefly toward Xebec before returning to the man on the cliff. "No anger. No questions. No resistance." A pause. "...Not even curiosity."

That, more than anything, was wrong. Because any man dragged back from death should burn with questions. With fury. With disbelief. But Ryuma—he simply watched the horizon. The wind howled louder for a moment, tugging at his clothes, brushing against his hair.

Still, he did not move. His gaze remained fixed upon the distant line where sky met sea, his eyes calm, unfathomable. Ancient. As if within them lay not confusion—but understanding. A quiet, terrifying understanding.

Linlin felt it then. That subtle, creeping sensation crawling up her spine. Not fear. Not quite. But something instinctive. Something primal. The kind of awareness that told a predator that something far more dangerous sat before it.

"Vohahaha...!" The laughter tore through the stillness of the cliffside, sharp and mocking, as Rocks D. Xebec stepped forward, his presence alone enough to make the air feel heavier.

"Aren’t you disappointed, Linlin?" he sneered, his eyes gleaming with knowing malice. "You must have had plans... to take advantage of my weakened state, didn’t you?" There was no accusation in his tone—only amusement. Because he knew. Better than anyone, he knew the kind of woman Charlotte Linlin was. Prideful. Insatiable. Unwilling to bow to anyone unless forced.

The very idea of serving under another was something her very soul rejected. The only reason she stood here—under him—was because she had no choice. And even then, she waited. Watched. Calculated. Always searching for that one moment. That single fracture. That instant of weakness—where she could break free.

Her soul-soul powers made her different. Stronger. More resistant to the chains Xebec imposed upon others. Not free... but not entirely bound either. Which made her dangerous.

"Tch..." Linlin clicked her tongue, neither confirming nor denying his words. To lie would be to concede. To admit would be to lower herself. So she did neither. Instead, she turned—her gaze drifting back to the lone figure seated at the edge of the cliff.

"Hmph... forget that." Her voice shifted, sharper now. "From the looks of it... he isn’t truly under your control, is he, Xebec?" The words landed like a blade. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the unmoving back of Shimotsuki Ryuma.

"You don’t have to lie," she continued, her tone almost taunting. "I can see it clearly as day. Unlike us... he doesn’t seem bound to you at all." A pause. Then the strike.

"Or what...?" Her lips curled faintly. "Are you not strong enough to shackle his soul?" Silence. For a brief moment, even the wind seemed to hesitate. Xebec’s grin froze. Then slowly it faded.Replaced by something far colder. His expression darkened, a shadow passing over his features as his gaze sharpened.

Because that—that was not just a jab. It was truth. As the one who had dragged Ryuma back from death... Xebec understood it better than anyone. The moment he had reached into the abyss... the moment he had grasped that soul—he had realized something was wrong. No—not wrong. Different. What he had pulled back was not merely the spirit of a man.

It was something vast. Something ancient. Something that did not belong to the realm he now ruled. He could bind others. Break them. Bend them. Force their will beneath his own. But Ryuma—Ryuma had not resisted. Not fought. Not even acknowledged the chains placed upon him.

And yet they did not hold. Not truly. It was as if the very concept of domination simply... slid off him. As though his will existed on a plane that could not be grasped. Xebec’s jaw tightened slightly.

"...You talk too much, Linlin." But there was no laughter now. No mockery. Only irritation—thinly veiled over something deeper. Because for the first time in a long time—something had not gone according to his design. His eyes drifted toward the cliff. Toward the man who had yet to move. Who had yet to speak. Who had yet to even acknowledge the monsters standing behind him.

"Fuuuu..." The breath left him slow and measured, like the final exhale of a man setting down a burden no one else could see. For two days, Shimotsuki Ryuma had remained seated at the cliff’s edge, unmoving beneath sun and moon alike. Through rain-laden winds and the chill of the night, through the silent watch of monsters lurking beyond the rocky outcrops, he had sat there as though carved into the island itself.

And then—as the sun began its descent, bleeding molten gold across the sea and painting the sky in deep shades of amber and crimson—he moved. Slowly, Ryuma rose to his feet. There was no dramatic flourish. No sudden release of overwhelming presence. No display befitting the man history had crowned the Sword God.

He simply stood. And yet, that simple motion made the atmosphere shift. The wind seemed to hush. The air itself grew taut. Even Charlotte Linlin instinctively straightened, her massive frame stiffening as her instincts screamed at her to pay attention. Because for the first time since his resurrection, Ryuma had chosen to act.

He turned. Slowly. Calmly. And finally faced Rocks D. Xebec. For a moment, there was something almost surreal about the sight. This was the man whose name had once echoed through Wano like divine scripture. The warrior legends claimed had cut down dragons. The swordsman whispered to have slain even gods.

And yet there was no arrogance in his expression. No haughtiness. No pride befitting a myth. He looked, if anything... Ordinary. His face held a quiet serenity. The sort one might expect from a humble villager returning from a long day’s work. His eyes, however, ancient and steady. Holding the weight of ages with impossible grace.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. Polite. Measured. The kind of voice one might use when asking directions from a stranger.

"Would you be so kind..." He paused briefly, his gaze drifting toward the burning horizon before returning to Xebec. "...as to tell me how many years have passed since my death?"

The question was asked with such sincerity—such simple courtesy—that for a fleeting moment, even Xebec seemed caught off guard. There was no accusation. No panic. No outrage at having been dragged back from death. Only quiet curiosity. As though Ryuma merely wished to orient himself in an unfamiliar season.

Xebec stepped closer to the cliff’s edge, his heavy boots grinding against loose stone. For all his power, for all his confidence—even he found himself choosing his words carefully.

"It has been centuries," he answered. His voice was low, carrying none of its usual mockery.

"Centuries since you last walked this world."

Ryuma was silent. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across his features as he absorbed the answer. No visible shock crossed his face. No grief. No disbelief. Only thoughtfulness. His gaze lowered slightly, as if weighing the enormity of that span in quiet contemplation. Then a faint smile touched his lips. Not joyous. Not sorrowful. Simply... understanding.

"Centuries..." he repeated softly. As though tasting the word. As though acknowledging a truth too vast for immediate comprehension. Then his eyes lifted once more, calm and clear. And he asked his next question with that same gentle politeness.

"Oh... is that so?" A brief pause. Then—"May I ask...?" He inclined his head ever so slightly. "...does Wanokuni still stand?" The question carried no demand. No desperation. Only genuine concern. The concern of a man asking after his home. After the people he had once sworn to protect.

And somehow that simple, courteous question felt heavier than any threat. Because in that moment, both Linlin and Xebec understood something chilling. Ryuma had not asked about the world. Not about his resurrection. Not about who had brought him back. Not even about why.

His first true concern—after learning centuries had passed—was whether Wano still endured. A swordsman’s final loyalty.

A slow, cruel smile curled across Charlotte Linlin’s lips, her eyes gleaming with a predatory intent. "Wano...?" she echoed, almost mockingly. "Of course Wano still stands." She took a step forward, her voice dipping into something darker. "But it’s no longer the proud, sovereign nation you once protected. It’s fallen... reduced to a pirate’s playground."

A pause. "Ruled by one of them." The words were bait. Carefully placed. Sharpened to provoke.

"...I see." Ryuma’s response came after a moment. Soft. Measured. A faint exhale followed, his gaze lingering on the horizon as the last light of the sun dipped below the sea.

"That is... such a shame." No anger. No surge of killing intent. No shift in posture. Just quiet acceptance. Linlin’s smile faltered. A slight crease formed between her brows. That wasn’t the reaction she wanted. She had expected fury. A storm. A legend reborn, driven by outrage to reclaim his homeland.

And in that chaos, Xebec’s current weakened state would have created an opening. An opportunity. But this...? This calm indifference irritated her. No. It unsettled her.

"Are you not angered?" she pressed, her tone sharpening. "The land you once defended with your blade—reduced to that?" She stepped closer, her presence looming. "Are you not worried about Wano’s current fate? Or have the centuries dulled even your pride?"

For the first time, Ryuma’s gaze shifted. Not abruptly. Not aggressively. Just... enough. His eyes met hers. Calm. Clear. And impossibly deep. Linlin froze. Not outwardly, but something inside her stilled. Because in that single glance—she felt seen. Not as a Yonko. Not as a monster. But as a schemer. As someone whose intent had already been understood... and dismissed.

Ryuma inclined his head slightly. A gesture of politeness. Not submission. "Young lady," he began, his tone respectful, almost gentle. "There is no need to try and sow discord."

The words landed without force yet carried undeniable weight. "My observation is not so dull that I fail to see the intent behind your question." A faint breeze passed between them, stirring the edge of his gi. "You wish for me to be angered. To take offense. To act." A pause. "So that I may become a blade against the one who stands before us."

Linlin’s expression hardened. Not because she was accused—but because she had been read so effortlessly.

Ryuma’s gaze softened again, drifting briefly toward the horizon. "As for Wanokuni..." He spoke the name without much attachment. Without longing. "Whatever debt I owed my homeland... was fulfilled in my previous life." There was no pride in his voice. No regret either. Only certainty.

"I lived as its guardian. I fought for its people. I gave my blade, my blood, and ultimately my life for its sake." A quiet breath left him. "That duty has ended." His eyes returned to Linlin. Steady.

Unwavering. "The Wanokuni of today... is not the Wanokuni I knew."

"Nor am I the same man who once walked its soil." There was no bitterness. No denial. Just clarity. "To impose myself upon its present... would not be protection...It would be arrogance."

Silence fell. Heavy. Final. Ryuma then turned slightly—his gaze shifting toward Rocks D. Xebec.

The man who had pulled him back from the void.

"I do not know why you brought me back," he said plainly. "Nor do I particularly care to know." There was no hostility in his tone. Only honesty.

"But..." He paused. And for the first time—there was something deeper in his voice. Something firm. Grounded. "I am not ungrateful." His hand rested lightly against his side, his posture straight yet unforced. "To be granted life once more... is no trivial matter... It is a gift."

His eyes met Xebec’s fully now. And in them, there was no submission. No fear. But something far more ancient. Honor.

"As such," Ryuma continued, "I am bound to you...Not by force...not by power...but by principle."

A line. Clearly drawn. "As long as you do not compel me to act against my conscience..." His voice remained calm but absolute.

"I will stand by your side. I will lend you my blade, and I will serve." The wind howled once more across the cliffside. Yet amidst it, Ryuma stood unmoved. A man who could not be controlled.

Yet he had chosen—of his own will—to remain.

At Ryuma’s words, something within Rocks D. Xebec finally eased. It was subtle. Barely perceptible. But it was there. A tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying... lifted. Outwardly, his expression didn’t change. The same confident grin remained etched across his face—but internally, he was calculating, reassessing.

Linlin? He could handle her. Even weakened, he had absolute confidence in subduing her if it came to it. But Ryuma—that was an entirely different matter. A being like that was not something Xebec could confidently dominate... not even at his peak, let alone now. And yet, Ryuma had chosen to stay. Freely.

That was something even Xebec hadn’t anticipated. Slowly, his grin widened as he turned toward Charlotte Linlin. "Linlin... it seems fate itself is on my side."

"Hmph... whatever," she scoffed, though her eyes never left Ryuma. The earlier mockery was gone—replaced by something far more cautious.

Ryuma, meanwhile, paid them no mind. His right hand moved unconsciously toward his hip. A habit. An instinct carved into muscle memory over a lifetime of battle. But—there was nothing. No weight. No presence. No blade. His fingers brushed empty air.

For the first time since standing, something shifted in him. Not emotion. But recognition. A swordsman... without a sword. His gaze drifted. First to Xebec’s cutlass. Then to Linlin’s weapon.

Both—Unsuitable. Then it settled. On the silent woman in red. Izumi stood slightly apart, her attire unmistakably reminiscent of Wanokuni. She hadn’t spoken a word until now, her eyes fixed on Ryuma with a mixture of disbelief and reverence.

To her, this wasn’t just a man. This was a legend given form. The Sword God of Wano. The figure from stories told since childhood. And now— he stood before her. Real. Breathing. Watching.

"Young miss..." Ryuma’s voice was calm, polite. "May I borrow your blade for a few moments?" His hand gestured lightly toward the sheathed meito at her waist. But Izumi didn’t respond. Not immediately. Her mind lagged behind reality. Her heartbeat quickened. A hardened pirate—one who had spilled blood without hesitation—now stood frozen, flustered like a child before something sacred.

"Ah... forgive me." Ryuma spoke again, softer this time. And that snapped her out of it.

"I—I...!" She straightened abruptly, almost fumbling as she unsheathed the blade and presented it with both hands. "Please... take it!" Her voice wavered slightly, though she forced herself to steady it. "It’s not a loan... you can keep it. I... I’m not a true swordswoman." Her grip loosened as she lowered her head slightly. "To have it in your hands... would be an honor."

Ryuma accepted it with both hands. Respectfully. "Thank you." Simple. Sincere. No excess. He drew the blade slowly. "Shing—" The steel gleamed under the dying sunlight.

He examined it closely. Weight. Balance. Edge. Craft.

"A good blade..." he murmured. Then—he turned. Facing the endless sea once more. "It has been centuries, has it..." he whispered, almost to himself. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

"I wonder..." His grip tightened slightly. "...if I still have it in me."

Then—the world changed. There was no buildup. No warning. Just—a subtle shift. The air grew heavy. The wind stilled. Even the waves below seemed to hesitate. A pressure—vast, immeasurable—descended upon the island. Not wild. Not explosive. But refined. Condensed. Absolute.

Ryuma raised the blade. And for the first time, his presence revealed itself. Not just as an overwhelming force, but also as perfection. Haki. Not merely coating the blade—but fusing with it. The steel darkened—not just in color, but in essence, as if the very concept of sharpness had been elevated beyond its limits.

The setting sun flickered—then brightened. As if drawn toward the blade itself. And then—he swung. No grand motion. No exaggerated force. Just a single—clean—cut.

"—SHHHHKKK—"

Silence followed. For a fraction of a second. Then the sea split. A line carved itself into the ocean, stretching far beyond the horizon. Water parted. Not violently—but obediently. As if the world itself acknowledged the strike. The waves didn’t crash. They yielded. A canyon formed across the sea; the depths laid bare as the slash tore forward endlessly, cleaving through water, wind—everything in its path.

The sky itself seemed to tremble. Clouds above parted along the same line. Behind him, no one spoke. Not Linlin. Not Xebec. Not even Izumi. Because what they had just witnessed was not strength. Not even power. It was something far simpler. Far more terrifying.

A swordsman...who had not rusted. Not even after centuries. Ryuma lowered the blade slightly. A quiet breath left him.

"...I see." A pause. Then—a faint nod. "It seems..." His gaze lingered on the parted sea. "...I have not forgotten." And behind him, even monsters stood in silence.