What is freedom?
Is it a fantasy, crafted to give hope in a cruel life? Or is it vanity?
Some say we receive it after death, but no one has ever returned to confirm it. Truly, the living are wiser than the dead, for they still have a chance to find paradise. Yet man has roamed the earth and found neither peace nor mercy. To seek paradise… perhaps that is vanity itself.
Zoro stared at the mirror, tracing every scar etched into his body. His bruised hand felt cold against the glass.
"Zoro, we're almost there!"
With a swift punch, the mirror shattered. Where the shards fell, a hall appeared, but the right side of his chest seemed to vanish into a void.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Zoro, are you okay? I—"
He opened the door, a faint smile on his lips.
"I'm fine. Just polishing my sword."
"It's your last battle, isn't it? Don't worry — we'll make sure we win." A comrade smiled, giving a thumbs up.
Zoro's voice turned cold.
"Yeah… but—"
Before the words could leave his lips, the man's head jerked sideways, falling to the floor. Everything around him turned black.
"Who said you're allowed to see that future?"
The other man loomed pale as the glanced at the body.
The rest of the man's body dried to brittle skin. From it, a boy stepped out — young, determined.
"You caught me, Dad." Pippo rubbed his neck with a sigh.
The other comrades set down I'm disbelief.
"Explain yourself." Zoro's voice was calm, yet cold.
"What do you mean? Who decided my future? I'm tired of standing in the background, watching everything crumble. Don't worry — I made sure things back home are fine. They'll survive without me."
"That doesn't give you the right to hold me back. I can't fight while—"
"Shut up. I lived fine without you. So what difference does it make now? I've trained, I've decided… the tragedy that happened back home won't happen again. No one will die. I'll fight. If I die, it will be an honor as a warrior. I came here to do my part as a man, not to be babysitted."
Zoro was taken aback. Calm eyes, cold determination — when had his son grown so much?
"I see. Very well. Prove to me that you are the warrior you claim to be."
Zoro stepped forward.
"I always wanted to meet the son of the legendary Zoro. He's cooler than I expected," muttered one of the men nearby.
"Like father, like son."
As Zoro passed him, he struck to incapacitate Pippo — but before his hand could make contact, a dagger rested against his throat. Staring straight at the ocean, Pippo's voice was calm, deep, unwavering.
"Don't you dare."
CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.
"A father and son reunion… it's been a while, Pippo. Remember my son I think you took his right eye." Jack's grin mocked the gesture, sharp as a blade.
Memories flared in Pippo's mind. His anger tugged at the others, heavy as death. Calmly, he dropped the knife. For a moment Jack looked at it.
Zoro placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Don't let it control you."
"If only you knew",he whispered.
The knife fell. Pippo clenched his fist. Jack's coat brushed the air like the reaper itself. He rubbed his neck as he felt a shiver down his spine.
Zoro seized an arrow before it pierced Jack's head. Breaking it between his fingers, he said coldly,
"It's not good to delay an appointment with death, sir."
His voice no longer casual, he stared at the thousands of ships converging on the remote island for war.
"Prepare for battle."
"Brother, why are you leaving? I wanna go with you."
Tom tugged on his brother's coat, tears blurring his vision.
Pippo placed a steady hand on his head.
"Your brother chose this path. First—you can't come, it's not yours. You're still in a field of grass, you'll have to pave your own path. Second—you aren't strong enough yet. Keep training like me, alright? I'll leave Mom's safety in your hands. You're a man, aren't you?"
"Mhhh…" Tom wiped his tears.
"You've grown so much like your father," their mother whispered, rocking the baby in her arms.
Pippo gave a half-shrug at the thought.
"Have I now?"
He stepped toward the door, closing his eyes, pulling one deep breath.
"Well, I'll be goi—"
His mother suddenly shoved him forward. "Come back home. I'm… I'm scared too."
Pippo nodded once. Then stepped outside.
Noise. Screams. The battlefield.
His father's voice was shouting something, but Pippo couldn't hear. A man loomed in front of him, blade raised. Without thinking, Pippo's sword slit the man's throat.
The corpse collapsed on him. He shoved it aside. Another attacker lunged—he ducked, driving his dagger into the man's neck.
Pippo's eyes flicked to his blood-soaked hands. Another enemy charged—he hurled the knife, splitting the sniper's skull clean.
Bloodlust rushed through him. His movements were precise, natural, almost rehearsed. He tore through the next soldier, the killing swift, effortless.
Zoro stood nearby, stunned, watching his son move like death itself.
An enemy spotted Zoro's distraction and lunged. Without even looking, Pippo's blade flashed, piercing the man's throat.
Zoro turned to him, disbelief etched into his scarred face.
"What kind of training have you been doing?"
Pippo's voice was low, cold.
"Fighting my demons."
He had never killed a man before. Yet right now… it felt natural. Like something buried deep inside had been awakened.
Zoro's hand suddenly clamped onto the air—grabbing an invisible arm which once stabbed into John. His grip crushed the intruder's shoulder, blood spraying across his face.
"I had a hunch you'd show up," Zoro muttered.
The man shimmered into sight, screaming, until his own head betrayed him—detaching clean from his body.
The other commanders encircled them. Pippo pressed his back to his father's.
"Friends of yours?"
Zoro's eyes narrowed. His sword tilted, glinting red.
"Let's just say… they owe me their heads."
A man sipped his booze, looking more bored than bloodthirsty, as he lazily dribbled a severed head across the dirt.
"I heard Zoro—the legendary warrior—will be in this war," he said, almost to himself. "I've been searching for decades. Searching for a man who can finally kill me in a duel. If I die by the sword… I'll walk straight into Valhalla."
With a casual kick, he sent the head rolling toward a comrade.
The man fumbled to catch it, his hands trembling. "Boru… Zoro still lives. And if Valhalla is where you seek to go, he's the one who'll send you there. The war may be ending, but I swear it—he's still alive."
This was Boru. One of the five greatest warriors claimed by the three great nations now colliding in this blood-soaked war. Like Zoro, he had once been enslaved. like John, he wasn't reluctant to live. he was used to being a pawn on a chessboard—no, Boru stayed alive for two simple reasons:
1. To kill his boredom.
2. To die in battle against a worthy foe.
Boru rubbed his nose, grinning. "Well… I'm tired of waiting. I think I'll just—"
An arrow cut past his cheek, thudding into a tree behind him. Attached was a note. It came with one of the commanders heads and a bloody note.
My humble greetings, fellow warrior. I'm far too lazy to walk to you, so would you kindly come here instead? I'll be waiting… for your head.
Oh, and I sent a little gift in honor of your legendary name.
– Zoro
Boru looked up. A massive bomb hovered overhead. His grin widened.
"Dad… was that even necessary?" Pippo asked.
"Well," Zoro replied, arms crossed, "judging by his ego, he'll show up. Saves us the trouble of traps or wasting men."
"Or maybe you're just lazy," Pippo muttered.
Zoro laughed, slapping his son's back a little too hard. "You've got some humor in you, boy! Hahaha!"
The sunlight dimmed. Pippo's laughter died as his eyes lifted skyward.
"D…dad…" he stammered.
Boru was descending—bomb in hand.
"Thanks for the gift," Boru roared, "but it's not my size!" He hurled it downward.
Zoro's blade flashed. The bomb split neatly in half before it could touch the ground.
"Everyone, out of the way!" Zoro barked.
Pippo didn't move. Dagger trembling in his grip, he froze as the giant warrior landed with a thud that shook the earth. The impact made Pippo's knees buckle.
Then, in a blur, Boru swept past him. Faster than wind.
Steel clashed.
Zoro stood face-to-face with him, blade against blade. Both warriors grinned—not enemies, not allies, but men who had been waiting their entire lives for this moment.They didn't look like enemies. They looked like two halves of the same hunger.
To Pippo's horror, it looked less like a battle… and more like two warriors shaking hands