Wiki of The Peak Era:
https://www.notion.so/231c19ff114d80be821cf5e172d43ff1?v=233c19ff114d80e1a0f6000c188e0825&source=copy_link
_____
In this vast world, where people sail the seas in search of glory and fight to impose their justice, there was once a man trapped between the past and duty. His name was Orndold, a former bounty hunter who had once been feared and respected. But now, he was just a sword merchant, a seller tormented by the edge of his own memories.
In his youth, Orndold had been a relentless bounty hunter. He sought neither fame nor wealth—only justice. Every bounty he claimed was another step toward a safer world, or so he believed. With every criminal he defeated, he took their sword as a trophy, a reminder that evil had been extinguished. His collection grew, each blade with a story, each one stained with blood.
But among all those weapons, there was one he should never have taken…
One night, while Orndold was away on a mission, an unknown enemy came to his home. It was a ruthless swordsman, a pirate who had sworn vengeance. His wife, Liora, tried to protect their young son, but she was run through by a cold steel blade. By the time Orndold returned, it was too late.
The killer had fled, but he left behind his weapon: a black katana with a serpent engraving on the hilt. Orndold picked it up with trembling hands, swearing that never again would a sword take away what he loved.
In the days that followed, Orndold couldn't bear to look at his collection. Every sword reminded him of his dead wife, every glint in the metal reflected the image of her spilled blood. He wanted to destroy them, melt them down, throw them into the sea… but he had his son, innocent in all this, who deserved a decent life. That was when the idea came to him: sell them.
1492
In a small village in the South Blue, Orndold opened a modest shop: "Valterra Swords". It was not a cheerful place; the weapons were carefully displayed, but the owner never touched them more than necessary. Customers came, marveling at the quality of some blades, unaware that every sale was agony for Orndold.
—"This sword belonged to a fearsome pirate", he would say in a hoarse voice, omitting that he had wrested it from the hands of a man he left to die slowly.
—"This saber once cut through the mast of a warship", failing to mention that it had also taken the life of a young sailor who was only following orders.
Every coin he received was another step toward freedom, but every sword sold left a deeper void in his soul.
Year 1494
One misty evening, as the sun dipped behind the village rooftops, a man entered Valterra Swords. He made no sound as he walked, yet his presence filled the shop like a silent storm.
Orndold, busy wiping the counter, looked up and met a pair of golden eyes, sharp as knives. The man was tall, dressed in black, with a wide-brimmed hat partially obscuring his face. On his back loomed a black cross: a massive sword.
—"I seek a worthy blade", the stranger said, his voice as cold as steel.
Orndold recognized him instantly—it was Dracule Mihawk. He had not yet reached his peak, but his fame was already spreading like the shadow of a sword raised to the sun.
—"We're about to close", Orndold replied, more out of instinct than reason.
Mihawk didn't react. His gaze swept the shop, lingering on each sword as if he could read their histories just by looking at them.
—"All of these have killed", he murmured. "But none with honor".
Darian clenched his fists.
—"Honor won't bring back the dead".
Mihawk looked at him then with something resembling interest.
—"You were a warrior too".
—"Not anymore".
The young swordsman approached a display case where a curved katana lay, its edge slightly nicked but still lethal.
—"This one?"
—"It belonged to an assassin. He used it to slit a child's throat".
Mihawk withdrew his hand.
—"I want no weapons tainted by cowards".
Orndold nodded, almost relieved. But then, Mihawk pointed to the black katana with the serpent engraving—the one he had never sold, the one that reminded him of Liora.
—"That one".
Orndold's heart stopped.
—"That… is not for sale".
Mihawk didn't press. Instead, he drew his own sword, Yoru, the legendary black blade that would make him infamous.
—"A sword is only as strong as its wielder. If you hate it so much, why not destroy it?"
Orndold had no answer.
—"Because fear doesn't shatter like steel".
—"Then you are doomed to carry it. I'll take that small sword. What's its name?"
—"Kogatana. Take it for free. Consider it a gift from me".
Mihawk gave the faintest hint of a smile. And without another word, he left.
Year 1497
Three years later, another unexpected customer entered the shop. Strawberry, the Marine Commander, a tall man with hair spiked upward. Two soldiers accompanied him but waited outside.
—"I was told you sell weapons of acceptable quality here", Strawberry said, his tone authoritative but not rude.
Orndold felt the weight of the law in those words.
—"I only sell to civilians and merchants. Nothing illegal".
Strawberry scanned the shop with an analytical gaze.
—"Some of these swords have history. I wonder how you acquired them".
Orndold didn't flinch.
—"I was a bounty hunter. These are my… trophies".
Strawberry raised an eyebrow.
—"Do you have a license to sell weapons from claimed bounties?"
Orndold knew he didn't. But he wouldn't admit it.
—"If the Marines want to confiscate them, go ahead. But I have nothing more to offer".
Strawberry studied him for a moment, then sighed.
—"That's not why I'm here". He approached a particular sword, a dagger with the crest of a Goa noble. "This belonged to a slave trader. We've been searching for him for years".
Orndold remembered the man. A despicable wretch.
—"I killed him in a bar. It wasn't a duel, it was a reckoning".
Strawberry nodded.
—"Sometimes, justice doesn't come from us". He paused. "But unregulated arms trade is dangerous. Close shop soon, Orndold. I don't want to have to come back".
And with that, he left.
Year 1500
The years passed. Orndold Junior grew up without understanding why his father trembled while cleaning the display cases, why some nights he woke to the sound of him weeping in the back room. The shop became known throughout the region, and sailors, pirates, and even some Marines came searching for swords.
But no matter how many he sold, the swords seemed to multiply. Just when he thought he was close to freedom, he'd find another hidden in a chest, another forgotten in some corner. It was as if the universe mocked him, condemning him to live among the instruments of his pain.
Year 1501
Nine years had passed. Only five swords remained—five damned blades no one would buy. One of them was the serpent katana, the one that had killed Liora.
One afternoon, a young pirate entered the shop, eyeing the black sword. Orndold felt panic surge through him.
—"This… isn't for sale", he muttered.
—"Everything has a price, old man", the boy replied arrogantly.
Orndold stared at him, and for the first time in years, he felt rage. Not toward the boy—but toward the sword, toward fate, toward himself.
—"Take it. For free", he suddenly said, throwing it to the ground.
The pirate was surprised but didn't question it. He picked it up and left without looking back.
That night, Orndold lit a bonfire on the beach. He took the four remaining swords and, one by one, thrust them into the flames. His son, now a young man, watched in silence.
—"Why now, Father?" he finally asked.
—"Because I can't carry them anymore… nor the memory of your mother", Orndold replied, tears in his eyes. "I need you to live a life without this. Without swords. Without ghosts".
The next day, they closed the shop for good. They packed what little they had and left for another town, far from the sea, far from pirates, far from swords.
Orndold never touched a weapon again. Instead, he learned to cultivate plants, bake bread, and other trades to sustain them. Orndold Junior, meanwhile, became a talented Marine, protecting others so no one would lose a loved one like he had.
Sometimes, when the wind whistled just right, Orndold thought he could hear the clash of steel. But he no longer shuddered.
Because at last… he was free.