Year 1507 of the Sea Calendar, the seventh year since the public execution of the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, and the seventh year of the Great Age of Pirates.
On a nameless island near the Calm Belt in the West Blue, a young man stood, cold-eyed, facing the massive creature before him.
Opposite him loomed a beast with the head and body of a serpent. Its maw was filled with jagged fangs, and on its back unfurled a pair of wings that, when spread, seemed to blot out the sky itself.
For anyone of lesser courage, just the sight of this monstrous serpent filling the heavens would have been enough to die of sheer fright.
The creature stretched nearly ten meters in length, its entire body covered in gleaming azure scales.
Yet the young man before it showed not the slightest trace of fear or panic. Instead, there was a flicker of excitement in his eyes. Standing at around one meter eighty, his golden hair danced freely in the wind.
His upper body was bare, save for a strip of beast hide tied around his waist. Across his torso were countless scars, long since healed into hardened marks.
These scars told their own story—a story of battles survived, of pain endured. They explained why this seemingly small figure could stand before such a monstrous foe without trembling.
The serpent's vertical pupils glimmered with a trace of awareness as it studied the youth, then slowly reared upright.
Suddenly, its wings unfurled with a thunderous sweep, and its cavernous maw opened to unleash an earth-shaking roar.
"Roaaarrr!!!"
The terrifying sound sent leaves swirling through the air and made the towering trees around them quake in fear.
Hidden within the deafening roar, nearly invisible, a streak of green light shot forth, aimed directly at the youth's face.
The sky darkened overhead as the sound pressed down. But the youth's composure never faltered.
With a faint grin, he tilted his head ever so slightly. The attack passed within a hair's breadth, missing him by mere millimeters.
The green streak struck a colossal tree behind him, and instantly the wood corroded, leaving behind a gaping hole before the entire trunk collapsed with a crash.
Leaves rained down in clouds as the tree fell.
Standing amidst the fluttering leaves, the youth's eyes held only disappointment.
"So that's all you blue-scaled serpents can do? The same old tricks, over and over?" he muttered. "Pathetic. No imagination at all. How boring."
"Fine then. Let's end this little game."
A flicker of killing intent flashed in his gaze. He stomped once on the ground and vanished from sight.
The serpent's pupils tightened. The boy had slipped through its attack as if it were nothing. Instincts buried deep in its blood screamed at it—this small figure was dangerous.
It had to flee.
Without hesitation, the serpent beat its wings, soaring upward and darting toward the distance.
Its wings were not only for intimidation, but also its escape route, reserved for situations just like this.
Faced with prey too troublesome, the serpent would retreat quickly and search for easier targets. That was the law carved into its bloodline.
But this time, its instinct for survival sealed its doom.
Rokushiki : Shave.
Like a phantom, the youth appeared above the serpent's head in the sky.
"Tempest Kick: Soaring Slash!"
In an instant, a crescent of flying energy shaped like a bird carved through the air, shrieking toward the serpent with overwhelming force.
The serpent's eyes glinted with bloodlust as it let out another piercing cry.
Rather than dodge, it accelerated, rushing headlong toward the boy.
When paths cross, the brave triumph.
At the very last instant, it twisted gracefully, slipping past the slash. The boy's strike instead ripped into the ground below, splitting earth and stone apart with a deafening roar.
The serpent then dove at the free-falling youth, a raging torrent of wind in its wake.
But instead of fear, the young man's expression twisted into frenzied delight.
"Yes! That's it! That's it! Come on! Kill me! Kill me if you can! Hahaha!"
His laughter was wild, mad, drenched in bloodlust. For a moment he looked less like a man and more like a lunatic consumed by battle.
But just as the serpent was about to collide with him, the mania vanished. His eyes turned cold, filled with nothing but icy killing intent.
In a voice devoid of emotion, he spoke:
"Mud Solidification: Demon Wings."
At once, his back writhed unnaturally. From his flesh erupted a pair of grotesque wings, solidified from hardened mud. With a single beat, the wings carried him effortlessly aside, evading the serpent's suicidal charge.
And in that same moment, an opening revealed itself.
The serpent had overcommitted to its strike and could no longer change course. Its plan to escape by diving forward was useless now.
Leaving its back exposed was a fatal mistake.
"Mud Solidification: Thousand Feather Assault."
The demon's wings behind him twisted and warped, birthing countless blades of hardened mud. They shot forward like a storm of brown feathers, tearing through the serpent's scales and flesh.
The air filled with the wet, sickening sound of blades sinking into flesh.
Its once-impenetrable scales shattered like paper before the assault, its body riddled with gaping wounds.
Moments later, the massive serpent plummeted, lifeless.
The youth hovered in the air, watching the carcass crash into the forest below. For a long moment, his eyes lingered on it, a flicker of melancholy and sorrow breaking through the cold mask.