A chill, heavier than the night sea wind, settled over the Cocoyasi docks. It was the cold, sinister aura of Guts, who stood at one end of the pier, his Black-Gauntleted hand gripping the hilt of the Dragonslayer. His killing intent rolled off him in palpable waves, a silent declaration of war.
At the other end, looming from the deck of the Red Force, Shanks and his top commanders stood as an immovable wall. Their relaxed postures were a deceptive facade, barely concealing the immense power they held in reserve. The world seemed to fall silent, holding its breath in anticipation of the coming storm.
"So," Guts growled, his voice a low rumble that promised death. "Which is it, then? Aliens? The leaders of this sick cult...or has some Yonko finally decided to show their face?"
Shanks raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Aliens? Cults? What have you been getting into?"
He jumped lightly from the Red Force, landing on the dock a few hundred meters from Guts, his hands open in a clear gesture of peace, with his commanders following after. "You must be the 'Black Swordsman.' Relax, we're not here to fight. We need to talk."
"I'll do my talking with this," Guts snarled, the words barely audible over the rasp of steel as he drew Dragon Slayer from his back.
At the tavern, a jolt of warning slammed into Robin through her Whisperer ability. Guts was primed for confrontation, and she knew, with chilling certainty, that it was a mistake. "No, Father!" she gasped, her voice tight with fear. Without a second thought, she scrambled onto Richie's back. "Richie, faster! We have to stop him!" The massive lion exploded out of the tavern like a cannonball, racing towards the docks, a blur of white fur.
Buggy, seeing Robin bolt, panicked. "Hey! Wait up! Don't leave me here with that red-haired pervert!" He scrambled after Robin, desperate to escape the dangerous woman. Miranda, who had been watching from her table, let out a soft, amused chuckle. "Now tis is gettin' interestin', kieheheheheh." She stood up and followed them all at a leisurely, confident pace, clearly eager to see how this played out.
Just as Guts was about to swing his colossal blade, a scream echoed down the pier. "FATHER, WAIT!"
Richie, with Robin clinging to his back, skidded to a halt in a shower of dust and splinters. He positioned himself beside Guts, making the swordsman freeze momentarily, his instinct to shield Robin overriding his killing intent.
Robin, her face pale but her voice unwavering, looked directly at Guts. "They are not our enemy," she stated with absolute conviction. "They're here...for help."
The tension remained, thick and almost palpable. Guts stared at Shanks, struggling to reconcile his daughter's words with his own instincts. Shanks, in turn, stared at the small girl perched atop the massive lion, utterly bewildered by the situation.
The tense moment was shattered as someone else sprinted onto the docks, completely disregarding the dangerous figures facing Guts. It was Buggy, his face furious with indignation as his lungs burned from running nonstop.
"FINALLY!" he wheezed, bent down, hands on his knees. He jabbed a finger back towards the receding tavern. "What were you thinking, leaving me with that lunatic?!"
He straightened up, turning his angry gaze towards the man who had drawn Guts's attention, and his expression instantly transformed.
The color drained from his face. His eyes widened, filled with disbelief. His mouth worked silently. He pointed with his shaking finger.
"Sh-Sh-Sh-Sh-SHAAAAANKS?!"
For a single second, Buggy was frozen in shock. Then, decades of bottled-up resentment erupted. His face twisted into a grotesque mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
"YOU! YOU BASTARD!" he roared, charging towards Shanks with the force of a small, enraged missile.
Before anyone could react, Buggy whipped out a gleaming, ornate pistol – a custom creation forged from rare and expensive materials with Guts's investment berries – and fired.
BANG!
He followed up by unsheathing a handful of daggers, using his Bara Bara powers to launch his severed hand towards Shanks's face in a whirlwind of blades.
The attack was a chaotic storm, but Shanks moved with effortless grace. He tilted his head, the bullet whistling harmlessly past his ear. With a casual flick of his wrist, he drew his saber, Gryphon, and deflected the spinning daggers with a series of delicate tink, tink, tink sounds, sending them skittering across the pier like discarded toys.
"Buggy, wait! Calm down!" Shanks said, his voice laced with weary amusement, but also a hint of nostalgia. He didn't even bother raising his sword to a fighting stance. "It's good to see you too, you old idiot!"
"DON'T YOU DARE ACT LIKE YOU KNOW ME!" Buggy shrieked, his voice cracking with rage. He unleashed his Bara Bara powers again, launching his legs through the air like a pair of explosive projectiles, aiming for Shanks's skull.
Shanks just sighed, shaking his head. He sidestepped the flying kick with barely a twitch. "Come on, Buggy, we have guests. This really isn't the time or place..."
The commotion, however, had drawn attention from the Red Force. A young girl with vibrant red and white hair peered over the ship's rail, her face pale with worry.
"Father?" Uta's voice called out, small but clear across the water. "What's happening? Are you fighting?"
The moment Shanks heard her voice, his entire demeanor changed. The patient amusement vanished, replaced by an iron-clad seriousness. The game was over. This had to end, now.
"BUGGY, THAT'S ENOUGH!"
Shanks's voice wasn't just loud; it was amplified by a swift, controlled burst of his Conqueror's Haki. It wasn't a knockout blast, but it hit Buggy like a physical hammer blow, sending him staggering backward. The air itself seemed to thicken, pressing down on the clown with the immeasurable weight of an Emperor's will. Buggy crumpled to his knees, his face contorted in pain.
He used his powers to recall his detached hand and legs, tried to stand, but the pressure proved to be unbearable.
Shanks, seeing Buggy kneeling, briefly relaxed, believing the situation was contained.
He was wrong.
He sensed a faint tremor beside him. Guts, who had been a statue of stoic silence, had moved. With a deceptively swift motion, Guts drove Dragon Slayer into the wooden planks of the dock, then reached out and caught Robin as she tumbled from Richie's back, the lion having succumbed to Shanks's Haki. Robin's small body trembled in Guts's arms, her tiny hands clutching at his cloak.
Robin's reaction to Shanks's Haki was minimal, nothing particularly worrying. But to Guts, it was everything. It was a blatant display of power, another threat to his daughter's safety.
Before Shanks could fully defuse the situation, the world froze.
It wasn't merely a drop in temperature; it was a fundamental inversion of reality. The air, once warm and salty, turned stale, replaced by the metallic chill. He felt a creeping dread crawl beneath his skin, a primal awareness of impending doom. A chorus of whispers filled the air—the faint, tortured cries of countless souls screaming in unison, echoing from some unimaginable abyss.
This was Guts's Executioner Haki. A power unlike anything Shanks had ever encountered. It wasn't the domineering presence of a king demanding subservience; it was an absolute cold, a soul-searing wave of pure, unadulterated suffering that clawed at the very essence of being. It was the collective will of the ten thousand innocent victims of Ohara and himself, amplified by every enemy Guts had ever slain, all focused into a singular, agonizing point: Shanks.
As Guts turned back and gripped the hilt of Dragon Slayer, the colossal slab of black iron responded. The blade pulsed with an infernal, crimson light. Cracks of molten fire traced spiderweb patterns across its surface, and thick, viscous magma began to drip from its edge, hissing and spitting as it burned into the wooden planks of the pier. The sword was no longer just a weapon; it was a conduit of damnation, infused with the rage and spectral energy of the late Vice Admiral Sakazuki.
Buggy, Benn Beckman, Yasopp—everyone except the two locked in the epicenter of the clash—was thrown to the ground, struggling against the overwhelming force.
Buggy wasn't merely knocked down; he was fighting to breathe under the sheer weight of it, gasping as Guts's chilling Haki began to claw at his very spirit, whispering promises of eternal torment.
Even Benn Backman and Yasop, these seasoned veterans of countless battles, felt the icy tendrils of despair wrapping around their minds, threatening to shatter their resolve.
The curse announced its existence, every breath an agony, every thought a torment, and it started affecting the living. Only Robin, cradled in Guts's arms, remained untouched, shielded by some unknown force.
Shanks stared at Guts, his face a mask of utter shock and disbelief. What is this power? He wondered, his mind reeling, struggling to comprehend the sheer malevolence emanating from the Black Swordsman. It's not just Haki... It's something far more sinister.
Guts's Berserker Armor began to manifest, dark metal plates erupting from beneath his skin, contorting his body into a grotesque beast-like form. Within the confines of the armor, a deep, guttural growl rumbled, a sound that seemed to emanate from the depths of hell itself.
"So... you are an enemy..."
Every muscle in Shanks's body tensed, his grip on his saber, Gryphon, tightening until his knuckles turned white. He took a step towards Guts with a grim expression. The hallucination from Guts's Executioner Haki intensified, and for a fleeting moment, Shanks saw a blood-red moon hanging in the sky, a chilling omen of death and destruction. "Must we fight, Guts?"
"I want you gone," Guts growled, his voice a distorted rasp from within the confines of the Berserker Armor. "Intact or not...your choice."
Shanks glanced back at his crewmates, who were already recovering. Seeing the resolute look in his captain's eyes, Benn Beckman gave a curt nod of understanding. Shanks then turned back to Guts, and in a swift, decisive move, withdrew his Conqueror's Haki, taking the full brunt of Guts's Executioner Haki head-on. Shanks grunted with the force of the impact, his body momentarily trembling. "Look, I came here in peace, Guts. I just wanted to talk."
Guts felt a gentle tap on his helmet. He looked down to see Robin's small hand resting against the cold metal. Her face was still pale, but her eyes held a gentle plea. "It's true, Father," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos raging within him. "He didn't come here to fight." As she spoke, a calming aura emanated from Robin's body, a warm, maternal embrace that began to push back against the corrupting energy of his own power.
Guts hesitated, his body rigid with tension. He stared at Shanks, then at Robin, his internal battle raging.
Finally, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of centuries, he receded his Executioner Haki, the infernal glow fading from Dragon Slayer. The Berserker Armor followed, the dark metal plates retracting, leaving him standing once more as a mortal man, though the shadows in his eyes still hinted at the undying beast within.
Shanks, basking in the warmth of Robin's aura, felt not only the lingering remnants of Guts's Executioner Haki dissipate, but also sensed, through his Observation Haki, the tumultuous emotions within his daughter, Uta, beginning to subside. The discordant notes of Tot Musica seemed to quiet, replaced by a fragile harmony.
Buggy, scrambling to his feet, pointed a trembling finger at Guts. "You muscle-bound moron! You nearly killed me!"
Guts ignored Buggy's outburst and gestured towards the tavern in the distance, a silent invitation to talk. He gently set Robin down, then took her hand, his calloused fingers surprisingly tender against her small palm. Together, they walked back towards the tavern, Buggy's incessant complaints fading into the background.
Shanks sighed in relief; the confrontation he had desperately sought to avoid was averted, thanks to Robin's intervention. He offered a silent bow of gratitude to the small figure, though she didn't even look at him. Turning back to Guts, he called out, "I'll be there in a moment. I need to fetch someone." Shanks then strode back towards the Red Force to bring Uta.
As they walked slowly towards the tavern, accompanied by Buggy's ongoing tirade, Guts glanced up at a tall palm tree with a knowing gaze. "An interesting spectacle, wouldn't you agree?"
Miranda, perched on a high branch with her signature grin, gracefully dropped to the ground. She landed with a soft thud, then sauntered after Guts, her eyes gleaming with a predatory glint. "T'bad ye didn't fightt," she purred, her voice laced with playful disappointment. "Me was dyin' t'know what a Yonko's blood tastes like."
Guts let out a low chuckle, a rare sound that rumbled in his chest. "You should thank her, Buggy." He glanced back at the clown, who was still sputtering with indignation. "If not for her," he said dryly, "That bullet from Shanks' crewmate would have taken your left ear clean off. Miranda's knife saved you from becoming a one-eared wonder."
Buggy paused in his tirade, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "I don't need to thank anyone!" he retorted, puffing out his chest defensively. He jabbed a finger towards Miranda, who was now several paces ahead. "That was just her plan to get on your good side! To make you trust her!"
Miranda snorted derisively, her tall frame towering over the diminutive clown. "Whatever ye say, midgett," she drawled, her voice dripping with amusement. With lightning-fast reflexes, she snatched the cigarette pack that Buggy had just taken out of his pocket. Then, with a mischievous grin, she took off towards the tavern, her long legs eating up the distance.
"Hey! Give that back!" Buggy shrieked, his face turning a shade of purple that rivaled his nose. He took off in hot pursuit, his short legs churning furiously.
"Try and catch me with those lil stumps, short stack! Kiehehehehehe!" Miranda called back, her laughter echoing in the air. It seemed she was determined to get her revenge for Buggy's earlier insults at the tavern.
The strange procession made its way from the chaotic docks toward the relative quiet of the village. At the head of the two groups, Guts and Shanks, who had quickly caught up, walked in a tense, heavy silence.
But in the space between them, a different story was unfolding.
Uta, now walking close beside her father, kept glancing at the small, dark-haired girl holding the Black Swordsman's hand. She still felt the lingering warmth of Robin's aura from earlier, a soothing calm that had briefly quieted the raging storm within her own soul. Hesitantly, she slipped away from Shanks's side and approached Robin, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.
Robin met the Yonko's daughter's gaze with her usual calm, observant eyes. She seemed to see far more than she let on.
"Thank you," Uta whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft crunch of their footsteps on the dirt path. "It gets... really loud in my head sometimes. You made it quiet... for a little while."
A small, empathetic smile touched Robin's lips, a subtle curve that hinted at a deep understanding of hidden suffering. She knew what it was like to carry a heavy burden, to be haunted by voices from the past. She simply gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Uta then glanced nervously at the towering, silent figure of Guts walking just ahead of her, his presence like a block of eternal ice. She shivered, clutching her own arm as if warding off a sudden chill.
"But... your father..." she whispered to Robin, her voice trembling slightly. "The thing inside me... it's terrified of him. It feels like... like he can see it, like he knows."