The silence was a coiled snake, ready to strike.
Ragnar's gaze never left Iris. Her small, tear-streaked face was his entire world. He saw her lips move, forming a single, silent word.
Papa.
That was all it took.
He moved.
Not a run. Not a leap. A detonation.
Ragnar launched himself from the bull's back like a cannonball of grief and fury. The fifty feet of snow-covered ground vanished beneath him in a single, gravity-defying arc. A red-and-black comet, aimed straight at the heart of the sled.
Weevil saw him coming.
"RAAAAAAGH!" he roared, swinging his colossal naginata in a wide, horizontal arc. The blade screamed through the air, a wall of steel meant to cleave giants.
Ragnar didn't dodge. He didn't block.
He punched.
His fist, wrapped in swirling black lightning—Ryuu—met the flat of the blade.
BOOOOM.
The sound wasn't metal on flesh. It was a thunderclap. A sonic boom that shattered the air. A dome of force erupted from the impact, blasting snow, dirt, and pine needles in every direction.
The naginata bent into a sickening U-shape before snapping in two with a shriek of tortured metal. The shockwave traveled up Weevil's arms, throwing the hulking man backward. He slammed into the sled's rear rail, stunned, his hands trembling.
Ragnar landed hard.
The sled groaned beneath him. The force of his landing, combined with the shockwave, was too much. The floorboards cracked. The axles buckled. The entire structure collapsed inward with a final, shuddering groan.
The sled fell apart.
Its passengers were thrown into the snow.
Ragnar rose from the wreckage like a titan from the sea. His breath steamed in the cold air. His fists dripped blood. His eyes burned gold.
Weevil staggered to his feet, clutching the broken haft of his weapon.
But Ragnar wasn't looking at him.
Stussy had been thrown clear. She recovered first, scrambling toward Iris, who lay dazed in the snow.
"Get her!" she shrieked, desperation cracking her voice. "GET HER!"
Ragnar's head snapped toward her.
He didn't move. He didn't shout.
He exhaled.
And unleashed hell.
A wave of Conqueror's Haki rolled outward—not wild, not chaotic. It was focused. Precise. A blade of will honed to a single point.
Stussy froze mid-stride.
Her eyes rolled back. Her body went limp.
She collapsed into the snow like a puppet with its strings cut.
Ragnar stepped over her without a glance.
He knelt beside Iris, brushing snow from her hair with bloodied, calloused hands.
"Iris," he whispered, voice thick with emotion.
Her eyes fluttered open. "Papa!"
She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing.
He held her tight, just for a moment. Just long enough.
Then he pulled back, cupping her face.
"Listen to me. You need to run. Into the woods. Find a thicket. Hide. Don't come out. Don't make a sound. Understand?"
She nodded, wiping her tears. Her fear was still there—but beneath it, something stronger.
Resolve.
"Be careful," she whispered.
"Always," he said, pressing his forehead to hers.
She turned and ran, her small figure vanishing into the trees.
Ragnar stood.
And turned.
Weevil was waiting.
Weevil stood tall, fists clenched, his simple face twisted into a mask of furious loyalty. His broken weapon lay forgotten. All that remained was raw strength and a heart full of rage.
"You… you hurt my Mama," he growled, voice low and trembling.
Ragnar's reply was ice. "She took my daughter."
From the snow, Stussy stirred. Blood trickled from her nose, her head pounding from the Haki blast. She pushed herself up, eyes burning with obsession.
"Admit it," she hissed, voice weak but venomous. "Say your name. Say you are Gunnar! The son of Whitebeard! For her… for your daughter! She deserves to know the legacy she carries!"
Ragnar didn't look at her. His golden eyes were locked on Weevil.
"My name is Ragnar," he said, each word heavy as stone. "And I call bullshit on you."
Stussy's face twisted. "You stubborn fool! You'd let your daughter believe you're a no-name commoner?!"
"I'm her father," Ragnar said, stepping forward. "That's the only name that matters."
He cracked his knuckles. The sound echoed through the forest like a warning.
Stussy saw it—the finality in his eyes.
All that remained was spite.
"Weevil!" she shrieked, voice cracking. "He won't admit it! He dishonors your father's name! He's a ghost! KILL HIM!"
Weevil roared, a sound that shook the trees. He lowered his head and charged, a living battering ram of grief and rage.
Ragnar didn't move.
He braced.
Weevil's charge was not a feint—it was an extinction-level event. The ground buckled beneath him.
Ragnar met him head-on.
Their fists collided in the center of the ruined road.
BOOOOM.
No sound. Just pressure.
A concussive sphere of black and red Haki erupted between them, vaporizing snow, splintering trees, and carving a ten-foot crater into the frozen earth. The air warped and cracked around their locked fists.
Both were thrown back, skidding like meteors.
Weevil recovered first. He roared, grabbing the collapsed sled—a two-ton mass of wood and iron—and hurled it like a discus.
Ragnar didn't dodge.
He punched.
His Ryuu-coated fist shattered the sled mid-air, turning it into a cloud of shrapnel.
The fight spilled into the village outskirts.
Weevil barreled through a stone wall. Ragnar vaulted over it, landing with a ground-shaking thud.
Weevil uprooted a pine tree and swung it like a club. Ragnar met it with a rising kick, his leg coated in black Haki.
CRACK.
The tree exploded into splinters.
"RAAAAGH!" Weevil bellowed. He was strong. He was Whitebeard's son. Why wouldn't this man break?
He charged again, throwing a haymaker that could level a fortress.
Ragnar ducked, drove his elbow into Weevil's ribs. The sound was like a battering ram hitting stone.
Weevil staggered, countered with a backhand. Ragnar blocked it, the shockwave cracking windows nearby.
Villagers screamed, fleeing as their peaceful town became a warzone.
Weevil tore the front wall off a blacksmith's hut and swung it like a shield.
Ragnar punched through it.
His fist, glowing with destructive Ryuu, disintegrated the wall and slammed into Weevil's chest.
Weevil flew through two houses, skidding to a halt in the town square. The ground beneath him cracked like glass.
He coughed. Blood trickled from his mouth.
But he got up.
Ragnar strode into the square. His coat was torn. His breathing heavy. But his eyes—cold, focused fire.
He looked at the shattered homes. The terrified villagers.
This had to end.
"ENOUGH!" he roared.
He slammed his foot down.
A wave of Conqueror's Haki exploded outward. The central fountain shattered. Water erupted skyward.
Weevil roared back, unleashing his own latent Haki. Crude. Unfocused. But powerful.
The two wills clashed—like thunderstorms colliding.
The air vibrated. A vortex of wind and dust tore through the square.
Signs ripped from buildings. Roof tiles flew.
People clutched their heads, crying out under the pressure.
Weevil charged one last time, a final, desperate punch.
Ragnar met him in the center of the maelstrom.
The explosion was absolute.
The town square was annihilated.
The ground caved in, forming a massive crater. Buildings collapsed. The shockwave flattened everything within a hundred yards.
And then—
Silence.
Snow fell gently.
Smoke curled from shattered rooftops.
And in the center of the crater, Ragnar stood.
Breathing.