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The Ice Swordsman Reggie
The highest-ranking officer in the Frosthorn Gang, Reggie, was an exceptional swordsman. Once upon a time, he roamed the Grand Line with nothing but his sword, carving out a fearsome reputation. People called him The Ice Swordsman, a title he earned because of his blade—the cursed sword "Ice Oni."
Legend had it that Ice Oni was a cursed blade, sealing within it an evil ice demon. Whoever wielded it would gain the demon's freezing powers… but at the cost of their soul, which the demon would consume upon their death.
Whether the curse was real or not, no one could say for sure. But after Reggie took up the blade, he truly did gain the power of ice. Any enemy struck by his sword would find their wounds instantly frozen, cold poison seeping into their bodies until death claimed them.
For a time, the Ice Swordsman Reggie was a name that struck fear into the hearts of all on the Grand Line.
Until one day… he crossed blades with a young swordsman whose eyes were sharp like a hawk's. From that day forward, the Ice Swordsman vanished from the Grand Line.
Frosthorn Gang's Dojo at Dusk
In the Frosthorn Gang's headquarters, inside the sword dojo, an empty training room was lit by the fading light of dusk. Reggie sat alone inside, polishing a sword with a clean white towel.
If anyone had been there, they would have been shocked—the usually cold-faced, expressionless old swordsman now gazed at his sword with a tenderness that almost seemed like love. In his eyes, it wasn't just cold steel—it was a beloved companion.
But no matter how affectionately Reggie looked at it, the blade gave no response.
Nor was it perfect anymore—the once razor-sharp edge was now lined with chips, and the tip of the blade was completely gone, sheared cleanly off by some powerful weapon.
Reggie didn't mind in the slightest. He continued to polish it over and over with the same quiet devotion.
Knock knock knock.
The sound of knocking came from the door. Reggie's hand paused mid-motion. His brow furrowed slightly, and his face instantly returned to its usual icy mask.
"What is it?" he asked coldly.
From outside came the voice of his senior disciple, Rebut. He had caught the shift in his master's tone and answered respectfully:
"Master, today is your lecture day. The time's almost here—will you be preparing?"
Though Reggie rarely taught students directly, as the master of the dojo he still gave one lecture a week to his true disciples, sharing his understanding of swordsmanship and answering their questions.
"I see… so it's that time again. Very well, you may go."
His tone softened slightly upon realizing he had forgotten.
The Training Hall
Meanwhile, in the massive training hall, over a hundred Frosthorn Gang members—each armed with wooden swords—were sparring in pairs under the guidance of instructors. The hall echoed with the sound of wooden blades clashing, punctuated by occasional yelps of pain.
Aaron was also at the dojo, though not in the main hall. He was outside, in the snow-covered courtyard, crossing real steel with a young man.
The youth's name was Els, fifteen years old and the youngest of Reggie's disciples. He was something of a prodigy in Velia Port, having begun sword training at fourteen and already capable of defeating adults who had trained for five or six years.
Steel rang against steel in rapid succession, sparks bursting with each clash. In mere minutes, they had exchanged over a thousand blows, their footprints crisscrossing the snowy courtyard.
Every so often, Aaron's eyes flashed faintly red—whenever that happened, Els would instantly find himself on the defensive.
To an untrained eye, their skill seemed evenly matched. But any expert watching could tell Els was on the verge of losing. Not because his technique was inferior—if anything, Els's swordsmanship was a step above Aaron's. The difference lay in endurance.
Els was already flushed and breathing harder from the relentless pace, while Aaron—monstrously strong and unnaturally tireless—looked completely unfazed.
"Enough! You monster—your stamina just keeps getting better! Argh… so frustrating. I still couldn't beat you this time!"
After another seven or eight minutes, a sharp pain shot through Els's sword arm. He forced Aaron back with a heavy swing and declared defeat, gritting his teeth in frustration.
"Els, your stamina's improving too. You lasted fourteen minutes this time," Aaron said with a small smile, exhaling deeply.
From the day after he'd joined the Frosthorn Gang, Aaron had come to train at Reggie's dojo every evening after patrol. Since he already had basic sword skills, he quickly moved past wooden-sword drills to real blade sparring.
Within three weeks—while also practicing the Nine Serpent Body Training every day—he had defeated every dojo student with basic swordsmanship. His regeneration ability meant fatigue and soreness never slowed him down, allowing him to train for hours at a pace most people couldn't sustain for a fraction of the time.
His talent combined with this relentless regimen made his progress explosive.
"Really? That's great! I thought you were the only one getting stronger. Just wait—one day, I'll outlast you too!" Els grinned from ear to ear, genuinely happy about his improvement.
Aaron couldn't help but smile back, though with a tinge of envy. He hadn't seen such a pure, unguarded smile in a long time—and knew he probably never would smile that way himself.
Els was pure—a swordsman through and through. He had become Aaron's new peak to climb after defeating every other basic-level swordsman in the dojo. Their similar ages and shared talent had made them fast friends; Els was the first person Aaron had truly connected with since coming to Velia Port.
Summoned by the Master
"Els. Come to the lecture," came a cold voice from nearby.
Aaron turned instantly and saluted the stern-faced old swordsman.
"Yes, Master! I'll be right there," Els replied cheerfully, completely unfazed by Reggie's imposing presence.
Reggie clearly favored Els. He didn't mind the boy's casual manner—in fact, he smiled faintly before turning to leave.
But after a single step, Els tugged at his sleeve and gave him a playful wink. Reggie glanced at Aaron and said evenly:
"You come as well."
Though Reggie didn't particularly like Aaron's less-than-pure intentions, he couldn't deny the young man's talent. If Els wanted him included, so be it—he could serve as a whetstone for Els in the future.
Aaron, unaware of the master's thoughts, was overjoyed. He bowed deeply.
"Yes, Master Reggie."
From that moment on, Aaron knew—he, too, was Reggie's disciple.
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