"Maybe you're right."
"I have nothing more to say."
"But as captain—and the one who dragged everyone into this war—I must take back Yasopp's life from you. That's my duty. As for the others… once I've repaid this blood debt, I will let them leave."
Shanks' anger and murderous intent were far from extinguished by Ragnar's words. But amidst the fury, his usual rationality returned.
This time, no matter what, he was in the right.
But Yasopp's death had to be avenged—with Ragnar's life.
"Let them leave?"
"Red Hair... shouldn't you worry more about how you're going to leave alive today?"
"You think the death of your third-in-command is enough?"
Ragnar scoffed, a cold smirk playing across his face.
"The death of another Emperor—that will be enough."
The moment his voice fell—
A tidal wave of killing intent erupted like a supernova.
Above the New World, the tightly wound clouds were ripped apart by the sudden eruption of pressure.
"You're not even worthy of speaking Yasopp' name!"
Shanks' fury spiked.
His Conqueror's Haki surged, blasting the sky as lightning snaked wildly through the heavens.
The blade of the Griffon, wrapped in his Haoshoku and Busoshoku Haki, turned into a sword of pure, crackling lightning.
"Divine Departure!" (Kami no Koku, 神避)
The sky roared as Shanks swung the blade—a sweeping, horizon-cleaving strike aimed straight at Ragnar.
"Gol D. Roger!"
Kaido, who was still exchanging blows with the remaining Red Hair Pirates, saw the motion and instantly froze, pupils shrinking in shock.
He recognized that technique. He'd seen it before.
The man who once ruled the seas with nothing but a blade, the three colors of Haki, and unshakable will.
The Pirate King.
Even Kozuki Oden, who scarred Kaido, had been gravely wounded by that dying man's strike.
Even Whitebeard, in his absolute prime, could only draw with that man after three days and three nights of earth-shattering battle.
"Ragnar!"
Kaido instinctively opened his mouth to shout, to warn, but—
A defiant voice cut through the storm.
"Divine Departure?"
"Hmph."
"The Pirate King's blade is not to be revered... but surpassed."
Ragnar stood unmoving, his body glowing faintly.
Unlike others chasing the title of Pirate King or trying to become the next Joy Boy...
Ragnar wanted neither.
He didn't want to be the second Roger, or the second Joy Boy.
He would be the first Ragnar.
One who would surpass all the myths and ancient kings.
"Arrogant bastard!"
"Captain Roger's legacy isn't something you can surpass!"
"Even being the second Roger is beyond you!"
Shanks' voice roared with wrath. His fury now burned brighter than even the pain of losing Yasopp.
Because Gol D. Roger wasn't just his captain—he was the man he admired more than anyone.
Shanks didn't want to replace him.
He simply wanted to protect the ideals he believed Roger embodied—and pass them on to Luffy.
Boom!
A quiet flame unfurled behind Ragnar.
No… not quiet.
At first, it was a gentle curl.
Then it surged—skyward, divine, unstoppable.
The clouds turned red.
Then to cinders.
Even the darkness that blanketed the night was burned to nothingness.
In the middle of the battlefield, only gold remained.
The Samadhi Divine Fire dyed the heavens gold, melted the sea into liquid gold, and wrapped both armies in its impossible brilliance.
The whole world—sky, sea, and soul—was illuminated by that sacred fire.
The sudden eruption of golden light stunned everyone on the battlefield.
Even Kaido—hardened by countless wars—was briefly taken aback by the spectacle before him.
He hadn't expected Ragnar to unleash such a divine and overwhelming presence.
"Nezha's Samadhi True Flame..."
A deep, solemn voice echoed like a divine proclamation from the heavens.
The towering pillar of Samadhi Fire, which had pierced the sky moments ago, condensed abruptly and surged behind Ragnar.
In the blink of an eye, the blazing column collapsed inward—vanishing without a trace.
In its place rose a deity-like figure, a hundred meters tall—three heads, nine eyes, and eight arms, wreathed in blazing fire ribbons, standing atop golden Wind-Fire Wheels.
It was Nezha, reborn from fire and myth, now taking form under Ragnar's control.
At that moment, divine light flared from the vertical eye on Ragnar's brow—the Eye of Truth—casting a blinding glow across the battlefield.
The flame-forged Nezha raised his arms high, and as his eight palms opened, they summoned forth divine relics:
The Qiankun Circle
The Huntian Ribbon
A searing Golden Brick
The Nine-Dragon Fire Shield
Twin Yin-Yang Swords
The Soul-Slaying Banner
And a blazing Fire-Tipped Spear
Each mythic artifact, once wielded by Nezha himself, was recreated by Ragnar using pure Samadhi Fire and grasped firmly by the deity's eight flaming arms.
In that instant, a torrential wave of heat—so intense it warped space—swept across the sea for a full kilometer in every direction.
Even the clouds above recoiled, as if the heavens themselves were scorched.
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