ALL NOVEL Chapter 70: CHAPTER 70
The clash of swords filled the air with sharp, resonant echoes. Sparks flew like fireworks, and the sheer intensity of the sword energy shattered the surrounding stones into dust.
Kacha!
The sound of breaking steel pierced the tension. Onimaru's snake-headed sword had snapped. It was an inevitable outcome—few blades in the world could endure repeated collisions with Shusui, the legendary kokutō (blackened blade) wielded by Ryuma.
Even in the original tale, Zoro's renowned swords, the Sandai Kitetsu and Yubashiri, could only clash briefly with Shusui before the risk of breaking became imminent.
For most swordsmen, the breaking of a sword would signify defeat—an outcome laced with shame. But Onimaru wasn't an ordinary swordsman. As the wielder of the mythical Zoan Yamata no Orochi fruit, he had an extraordinary trump card.
From the snake head on his shoulder, the broken blade was spit out, replaced by a newly formed, unblemished sword. Onimaru grinned, his confidence unshaken.
But he wasn't satisfied. He needed more power.
With a guttural roar, another snake head sprouted from his opposite shoulder, hissing as it too produced a blade.
Three swords!
Onimaru took a deep breath, his voice steady yet thunderous:
"Shimotsuki Santōryu: Poison Python!"
The sword energy from the three blades coiled together, forming the shape of a massive python. Onimaru dashed forward in a serpentine motion, his movements erratic and unpredictable, leaving his opponent guessing.
Ryuma's undead eyes narrowed as he observed the intricate pattern. Finally, he pinpointed Onimaru's location through sheer intuition.
"Nose Song Three Verse: Arrow Notch Strike!"
The legendary swordsman moved in a flash, and the two figures crossed paths.
Ryuma resheathed Shusui with a practiced ease. A thin cut appeared on his undead abdomen, and a purplish-black mist seeped out—the venom of Onimaru's Poison Python technique. Yet, as a zombie, the venom had no effect on him.
Meanwhile, Onimaru stood motionless for a moment. Then, a crimson line appeared across his chest, and blood erupted like a fountain. The impact of Ryuma's Arrow Notch Strike hit him belatedly, knocking him back several steps.
This technique—Brook's strongest sword skill—was infamous for its delayed, almost imperceptible damage.
Onimaru wavered but didn't fall. The incredible vitality of his mythical Zoan fruit rejuvenated him, his wounds beginning to close as his will reignited. Gripping his blade tighter, he glared at Ryuma with renewed determination.
Ryuma tilted his head, intrigued. Behind the wall, Brook watched the battle, frozen in disbelief.
"Yohohoho… Wait a moment!" he exclaimed. "That technique! Ryuma's using my moves, but their power is leagues beyond what I can achieve!"
Brook wasn't the only observer. Watching intently from a distance, Alastor's eyes gleamed with fascination.
"This isn't just any battle," Alastor muttered. "Ryuma isn't fighting with Brook's shadow's skills anymore. This is something deeper—his will as the Dragon Slayer Samurai has awakened!"
Ryuma suddenly paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Then, he laughed heartily.
"It's strange… I'm starting to recall many things. Memories of battles long past. Yes, I remember now—I am Ryuma, the strongest swordsman, the greatest samurai! I once slew a dragon!"
His gaze turned to Onimaru, who stood tall despite his wounds.
"Can you still fight, boy of the Shimotsuki clan?" Ryuma asked, his voice rich with the authority of a warrior.
Onimaru's chest swelled with pride and determination. "As long as I draw breath, I will fight!"
Ryuma laughed once more. "Good! It's been centuries since I've met a warrior as brave as you. Let me show you the real Shimotsuki sword style!"
The battle resumed, but this time Ryuma's strikes bore the refined elegance of Shimotsuki-ryu, the swordsmanship of Wano's most noble lineage. The once-zombie Ryuma moved as though alive, his undead frame now driven by the indomitable will of the legendary Dragon Slayer.
The clash continued, each strike louder and more intense than the last. Yet something peculiar became apparent to those watching closely.
Alastor smirked. "Ryuma, you sly old samurai… You're teaching him, aren't you?"
Indeed, Ryuma wasn't fighting at his full strength. Instead, he carefully adjusted his power, staying just one step ahead of Onimaru. Each time Onimaru adapted, Ryuma pushed him further, subtly guiding his opponent's growth.
This was no mere battle—it was an inheritance. The legacy of the Shimotsuki clan was being passed down from ancestor to descendant.
Onimaru soon realized this. Tears welled in his eyes, but he said nothing. Instead, he poured his emotions into his swordsmanship, giving his all to honor the ancestor who was now both his teacher and opponent.
But Ryuma's undead form couldn't last forever. After a few more exchanges, he suddenly stopped, his body glowing faintly with a serene light.
"It seems my time is almost up," Ryuma said, his voice calm. "To be able to teach a descendant after death… I am truly fortunate. Now, let me show you the final technique of Shimotsuki-ryu. This is the move I used to slay the dragon!"
Onimaru steadied himself, his entire focus on Ryuma. The air grew heavy, and Shusui emitted a low hum as if resonating with Ryuma's spirit.
"Shimotsuki Ittōryu: Dragon Decapitator!"
Ryuma, the legendary Dragon Slayer, leapt high into the air, his body silhouetted against the moonlit sky. The black blade Shusui in his hand gleamed ominously, enveloped in a fierce, otherworldly sword energy.
"Flying Dragon Slash!"
Ryuma descended with the force of a meteor, his blade slicing through the air with an earth-shattering whistle. The impact was cataclysmic.
BOOM!
The ground splintered, and a towering castle that had stood for centuries was cleaved cleanly in two. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring the battlefield.
When the dust settled, Ryuma stood amidst the devastation, breathing heavily. The legendary swordsman slowly sheathed Shusui, the blade's hum subsiding into silence.
Not far away, Onimaru stood shakily, battered but alive. Despite the overwhelming power of Ryuma's attack, the young swordsman had been spared. The Dragon Slayer had intentionally redirected the full force of his strike to the surrounding terrain, a testament to his control and mercy.
Ryuma turned to Onimaru, his expression soft and peaceful. "I entrust this black blade, Shusui, to you," he said, tossing the sword toward Onimaru, who caught it with trembling hands.
The younger warrior stared at the blade in disbelief. "Why... why spare me?"
Ryuma's gaze softened further. "You carry the blood of Wano. The spirit of the Shimotsuki clan lives on in you. The will of our ancestors cannot fade. Now, one last question..."
Ryuma's ethereal presence began to waver, his body showing signs of returning to lifeless ash. He asked solemnly, "How fares the Land of Wano?"
Onimaru froze, the weight of the question pressing down on him. After a moment, he clenched his fists and replied firmly:
"The past is history. The future of Wano lies in the hands of Lord Alastor!"
Ryuma's eyes widened briefly in surprise before narrowing in contemplation. "So… much has changed."
He turned his gaze toward Alastor, who had been watching from a distance. A faint smile played on his lips. "To be the blade of such a man… perhaps it is not a poor choice."
As Ryuma's form began to dissolve, a shadow detached itself from his body and flew into the sky. With a final smile, Ryuma whispered:
"Even in death, I have fulfilled my duty. The will of the sword shall endure."
With those words, the legendary swordsman crumbled to ash, leaving behind only his legacy.
Onimaru knelt before the ashes, bowing deeply in respect. He then rose and walked over to Alastor, his resolve stronger than ever.
Alastor placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Rest and recover. Don't squander Ryuma's expectations."
Onimaru nodded silently, retreating to tend to his wounds.
Alastor turned his attention to the shadows, his gaze sharp and unyielding. With a smirk, he spoke to the empty air:
"Time's up, Moria. I'm done waiting for you to show yourself."
Absalom, hidden by his invisibility, felt a cold sweat drip down his back. The events he had just witnessed defied all logic. The samurai zombie Ryuma—once under the control of Moria—had not only regained his will but also handed over the legendary Shusui.
"How… how is this possible?" Absalom muttered, his voice trembling.
He had secretly tried to command Ryuma to attack Alastor, but the zombie had ignored him completely. It was unprecedented—a terrifying display of Ryuma's indomitable will.
Absalom's fear deepened when Alastor's gaze swept directly toward him.
"No way… he can't see me. I'm invisible!" Absalom tried to reassure himself.
But Alastor's smirk grew wider. Without warning, he vanished, reappearing behind Absalom in an instant.
"Enough games," Alastor said coldly, gripping Absalom's neck with one hand. "If Moria won't come out, I'll drag him out myself."
Kacha!
The sound of bones snapping echoed through the ruins. Absalom's body fell limp to the ground, his invisibility fading as his life was snuffed out.
Meanwhile, elsewhere on the battlefield, Sai was engaged in his own battle against an army of zombies. Though injured and bloodied, the warrior's spirit burned brighter with every passing moment.
His right leg, hardened by his Hasshoken Fist technique, shone like steel.
"Hasshoken Fist: Martial Heel!" Sai roared, delivering a devastating kick that obliterated dozens of zombies in a single strike. The sheer force created a crater in the ground, scattering the remaining undead.
Sai laughed boisterously, unfazed by his injuries. "Ka ka ka! Let's see which is tougher—my Martial Heel or the old man's Martial Skull!"
Hundreds of zombies lay in ruins, defeated by his relentless onslaught.
Brook, hiding behind a shattered wall, watched in awe. "Yohoho… I can't believe my eyes! Three of them—just three—and they've overwhelmed Moria's entire army!"
The tide of battle had shifted entirely. The legendary swordsman Ryuma's awakening, Onimaru's resolve, and Sai's ferocity had turned Moria's zombie horde into little more than fodder.
And now, with Absalom defeated, Moria's final stronghold stood exposed. Alastor strode toward the heart of the castle, his aura brimming with unshakable confidence.
"Your games are over, Moria," he said, his voice echoing through the ruined halls. "It's time to settle this."
Visit patreon.com/shirokendama for more chapters