The seas broke like glass against the cliffs of Elbaf, the island where mountains were mere hills and forests rose as high as
cathedrals.
Even before Magnus and his crew stepped further inland, they could feel it: the weight of history, the pulse of a land built on war.
The horns had not stopped since their arrival.
Each call shook the valleys like thunder, echoing across fjords and forests.
Every horn blast summoned warriors from their homes, and from every ravine and hillside, giants came.
Their shadows blotted the sun as they marched, axes resting on shoulders, shields slung across backs large enough to flatten entire ships.
In the great hall of the giants a cavernous chamber carved into the ribs of a mountain Magnus stood at a table that could have served as the deck of a galleon.
Across from him sat Brogy and Dorry, the two ancient captains whose laughter shook the walls even as their eyes burned with bloodlust for the battles ahead.
Kael, Bullet, and Gryphon stood at Magnus's side, their forms dwarfed by the gathering of giants, yet none looked small.
The table was covered with maps not of seas, but of the skies.
Charts of Mariejois, sketches of its fortresses, rough outlines of its walls.
The hand of a giant had tried to capture the mountain-top city, though none alive on
Elbaf had ever set foot there.
Magnus's voice cut through the chamber.
"Elbaf will be the spear. Your army will march first. Their shields will be the wall that breaks Marine lines. Their axes will be the storm that clears our path."
Brogy slammed his fist against the table, the wood creaking like the hull of a ship under cannon fire.
"Aye! Let the gods themselves tremble when Elbaf's axes rise!"
Dorry's grin was all teeth.
"We'll carve the skies red, Captain Magnus. By the time we are done, Mariejois will be naught but rubble!"
Magnus nodded once, his eyes sweeping the map. "Bullet will be the hammer. When their gates hold, he will break them. Kael, your power will sow chaos among their lines. Gryphon will lead the vanguard of giants, tearing apart their first wave."
His finger pressed hard into the map at the very heart of Mariejois. "I will find Mira. And I will cut down any god who stands between me and her."
The room fell into silence for a breath. Then the roar of giants erupted, a sound like mountains collapsing into the sea.
The days that followed were filled with fire and iron.
Kael sparred against giant warriors, his spear clashing against weapons that could crush ships.
With every blow, the Saru Saru no Mi awakened more within him his speed, his agility, his cunning strikes echoing the trickster-god he now embodied.
Giants roared approval as he danced between their blows, his spear finding gaps even in their massive defenses.
Bullet fought not with steel, but with fists. He faced entire squads of giants at once, each strike from him cracking earth, toppling trees and sending warriors reeling.
His laughter rang through the valleys as though the clash itself were a feast.
Even Gryphon joined the drills, his massive frame leading younger giants into mock charges, their battle cries shaking the sky.
Magnus did not train. His mind mapped every strength, every weakness, every piece of the war machine he was building.
When he drew Shusui in the quiet of the night, its black blade hummed with crackling haki, as though eager for the storm to come.
On the eve of their oath, the giants held a feast.
Fires roared as high as towers, roasting sea kings whole upon iron spits.
Barrels of mead larger than houses were rolled out, their foam spilling like waterfalls.
The giants sang songs of wars long past of duels that lasted a hundred years, of battles that split seas.
But as the night deepened, a new song rose.
They sang of Magnus Delmar, the pirate who came not for gold or glory, but to defy the gods themselves.
Bullet bellowed with laughter, Kael sat silent and steady, Gryphon roared with his own verse.
Even Brogy and Dorry raised their voices, their thunderous tones weaving Magnus's name into the legends of Elbaf.
The fires of the feast had died, and the war drums had gone quiet.
Elbaf slept beneath the shadow of Treasure Tree Adam, its colossal branches blotting out half the sky.
Magnus stood apart from the camp, his gaze on the horizon, when footsteps shook the earth behind him.
Brogy and Dorry approached, each carrying something wrapped in heavy black cloth.
Their usual booming laughter was absent replaced with a grim weight.
"Captain Magnus," Dorry rumbled, his voice low, almost reverent. "There is… something you should see."
They laid the bundle down before him.
Brogy knelt, which alone was a sight the giant's knees grinding against stone as he lowered himself to Magnus's level.
"This blade," Brogy said, "was not forged by our kind. Nor by men. It appeared one day, deep within the roots of Adam, where even our smiths dared not go."
Dorry's eyes, sharp as axes, flicked to the cloth. "The elders say it is cursed. The young whisper it is divine. We do not know its name. Only that it cuts not flesh, but the very world."
Magnus's gaze sharpened. He crouched, pulling away the cloth.
What lay beneath was no crude weapon, but a katana.
Its structure was elegant, alien among the axes and clubs of Elbaf.
The guard was a rectangular tsuba, black with silver lining.
The hilt wrapped in crimson leather, the scabbard lacquered black, etched faintly with designs that seemed to shift under the torchlight like rippling water and fading echoes.
The moment Magnus's fingers brushed the hilt, the air itself vibrated.
A faint hum, like the resonance of a struck bell, spread outward.
The grass bent as though pressed by invisible force.
Slowly, he unsheathed it.
The blade gleamed pale silver that shimmered not with reflection, but with something deeper.
The edge was impossibly fine, so sharp it seemed to part the light itself.
Along its length faint inscriptions glowed, runes that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
The giants stepped back instinctively.
Magnus's eyes narrowed. "This is no ordinary sword."
Dorry's lips curled into a grim smile.
"Legends say it is the sword that cuts reality itself. Some call it the blade that severs illusions, others say it is the weapon of gods. We do not know how it came here. Only that it should not exist."
Magnus held it aloft, and for an instant, the world around him blurred.
The wind faltered. The stars above flickered, as though the blade had sliced through their reflection in the heavens.
Shusui hummed at his hip, black lightning sparking faintly as though the two blades recognized each other, not as rivals, but as instruments of a single destiny.
Magnus sheathed the katana again, the hum fading.
"Reality-cutting…" His tone was calm, but his eyes gleamed with quiet hunger. "Then this blade has found its master."
Brogy and Dorry exchanged uneasy looks, but neither spoke.
Magnus rested the new sword at his side, alongside Shusui. Two legends, now bound to his hand.
"Void and Shadow," he murmured. "One cuts the flesh. The other, the world itself."
He looked to the horizon once more, where Mariejois awaited.
"The gods will not withstand this storm."
When dawn came, the feast fires had burned down to embers.
Magnus stood upon a cliff overlooking the valley.
Below him stretched an army of giants, shields glinting in the sun, spears raised high.
Tens of thousands, their banners rippling in the wind, the serpent sigil of Elbaf writhing as if alive.
The war drums began to beat. Slow and Relentless. Each strike rolled across the land like the heartbeat of the world itself.
His cloak whipped behind him, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the Holy Land waited.
His voice was low and steady, but carried across the cliffs like a blade drawn in silence.
"Mariejois will fall. Mira… wait for me."