Chapter 6: The Ivory Blade at Dawn
Understanding his power was one thing; controlling it was another. Roy soon discovered the terrifying, double-edged nature of the Crush-Crush Fruit. In the hours following his spar with Mihawk, he accidentally reduced a stone bench to gravel, turned a drinking gourd into a fine powder, and with a heart-wrenching crunch, watched his faithful, notched broadsword disintegrate in his hands.
The weapon that had been his companion for years was gone, unmade by his own careless touch. It was a brutal lesson. He finally understood why Mihawk had chosen to dodge rather than block. While the Warlord's supreme Armament Haki would likely have protected his legendary black blade, the risk of Roy's uncontrolled power touching Yoru was a chance a true swordsman would never take.
"You lack all discipline over your new ability," Mihawk had stated, observing the pile of rust-dusted metal that was once Roy's sword. "Mastery must come before application. You are a danger to everything, including your own tools."
"So it seems I can't touch anything for a while," Roy had sighed, the reality of his situation settling in. Determined to gain control, he spent the entire night in the moonlit clearing, focusing until his mind ached. He practiced on leaves, on pebbles, learning to modulate the destructive vibrations, to summon them with intent rather than accident. By the time the first hint of grey touched the horizon, he had achieved a tenuous control. He could now touch the world without breaking it.
As dawn bled into the sky, Roy moved with a new purpose. He slipped into the jungle, his Observation Haki stretched thin like a spider's web. He had been watching all night, and his vigilance was rewarded. The Baboon King, moving with a solitary air, detached itself from the slumbering troop and headed deep into the island's interior.
Roy followed at a distance, his senses sharp. The animal's own primal sixth sense was highly developed, forcing him to stay far back, a shadow among shadows. The king led him farther than he had ever ventured, to a place the baboons usually avoided—a vast, silent field littered with crumbling headstones and rusted weapons poking from the earth like metallic bones. This was the graveyard of Kurai Kana's fallen kingdom, the final battlefield.
The Baboon King moved with purpose through the mournful landscape, stopping before a large, unmarked mound of earth. It began to dig, its powerful arms tearing into the soil with practiced efficiency.
"So it was buried," Roy whispered, a thrill of understanding coursing through him. He had scavenged this field countless times but had never thought to dig. The king had known the treasure's location all along.
Before long, the baboon's efforts were rewarded. It pulled a long, cloth-wrapped object from the earth. As the dirty wrappings fell away, a light erupted, not of reflection, but of its own accord. It was like a sliver of captured daylight, a brilliant, ivory-white glow that pushed back the gloom of the graveyard. The blade, even after being entombed for who knew how long, was pristine. Its surface was a flawless, milky white, and its craftsmanship was so exquisite it seemed less a weapon and more a holy artifact.
The Baboon King held the sword aloft, a look of savage satisfaction on its face as it shook the last remnants of soil from the glorious blade.
"Beautiful," Roy breathed, the word escaping his lips before he could stop it.
The sound, however soft, was enough. The Baboon King spun, its eyes locking onto Roy's hiding place, the white sword—Shiroi, Day—held ready in a defensive stance.
"Woo! Ook!" it barked, a clear, threatening command for the intruder to show themselves.
Roy knew the game was up. Stepping out from behind a moss-covered tombstone, he stood before the king, his hands open and empty.
"Woo woo ook!" the king snarled, recognizing Roy and growing incensed at the trespass.
Roy responded not with words, but with the language of the troop. He let out a long, challenging whine, a sound that spoke of a direct challenge for dominance.
The Baboon King's fury exploded. It paced before Roy, chest puffed out, its knuckles dragging in the dirt. Roy slowly raised his own hands, assuming a boxing stance, and then pointed directly at the luminous blade in the king's grasp.
The message was clear. The challenge was for the sword.
Understanding dawned in the baboon's intelligent eyes. With a grunt of contempt, it drove the point of Shiroi deep into the earth, accepting the challenge on Roy's terms. It would be fist against fist, strength against strength, there among the graves of forgotten warriors.
The king moved first, a burst of simian speed. It dropped to all fours, charged, and midway, its hand snapped out to grab a rusted longsword stuck in the ground. Using the momentum, it launched into a powerful leap, the corroded blade whistling down toward Roy's head.
Roy was ready. His foot hooked under a fallen spear, kicking it up into his grasp. He didn't throw it to kill, but to disrupt, sending the shaft spinning like a staff toward the baboon's midsection. The king was forced to contort its body in mid-air, its swing going wide.
"Now," Roy muttered, "let me show you my power."
As the baboon landed, Roy didn't retreat. He stepped into the attack, his hand shooting out not to strike the baboon, but to clasp the rusted blade of the sword it held.
CRACK-CRUMBLE!
A sound like shattering pottery filled the air. The old sword didn't just break; it dissolved in the king's hand into a cloud of reddish-brown dust and metallic flakes. The Baboon King stared, stunned, at its now-empty grip.
In that single moment of shock, Roy moved. He grabbed the baboon's thick forearm, pivoted his hips, and used the creature's own momentum to heave it over his shoulder. The king, a massive bundle of muscle and fur, was slammed onto the hard-packed earth of the gravesite with a ground-shaking thud.
"Ook!" Roy cried out, the triumphant call of a victor.
The Baboon King lay still for a moment, the wind knocked from its lungs. Then, it slowly pushed itself up. It did not attack again. Instead, it lowered its head in a slow, deliberate nod.
'Woo...' It was a sound of concession. It had lost.
Roy released his grip. He walked past the defeated king, his eyes fixed on the ivory hilt of Shiroi, gleaming as if it had never been touched by dirt or time. He wrapped it carefully in a strip of cloth torn from his tunic, the white light dimming to a soft glow. Slinging the priceless blade across his back, he felt a profound shift. He was no longer just a survivor, or a student.
He had his sword. Now, it was time to learn how to use it from the only man in the world qualified to teach him. He turned his back on the graveyard and the watching baboon king, and began the walk back to the castle, to Mihawk.
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Which sword is your fav ? Mine is Yoru.
I hope Stones are Raining today.