The sun had barely cleared the jagged horizon when Kaizen emerged from the mist-laden cliffs, his coat still damp from the previous day's rain. The wind carried the scent of salt and blood, a reminder of the lieutenant Goro's defeat, but it was only a prelude. Reports from his informants had reached him while he was perched on the cliffs: multiple lieutenants, each with bounties exceeding half a billion berries, were converging toward a single port town to gather supplies, recruit men, and prepare for operations deeper into the New World. They are unaware of the hand that watches, Kaizen thought, his Sixth Eye flaring beneath his eyelids, painting the world in spectral precision. Every motion, every intent, every lie hidden behind a smile or a gesture was visible before it could even manifest.
Kaizen's katana, Kurogami, hung lightly against his back, its edge glinting faintly under the morning light. The weapon felt alive, humming softly, as if aware of the coming violence. He descended the cliffs with a grace that defied gravity, moving silently over rocks slick with morning dew. The path below was treacherous, yet Kaizen's every step was deliberate, controlled, each movement calculated to avoid detection. By the time the first lieutenant scouts saw him, it was already too late.
They had emerged from the treeline, a squad of six, weapons drawn, their expressions a mixture of bravado and unease. Kaizen's Sixth Eye flared, and he could see the nervous tension in their grip, the hesitancy in their stance. They are ordinary soldiers, and yet they carry the arrogance of men who think they command the sea. In a heartbeat, Kaizen's blade was drawn. The motion was fluid, effortless, yet deadly. He struck at the first man, severing his weapon before the man could even raise it. The second lunged, but Kaizen sidestepped, spinning in a seamless arc, the tip of Kurogami brushing the man's chest with surgical precision. Blood mingled with the morning mist, a crimson contrast to the gray stones.
The remaining men hesitated. Kaizen's eyes, though calm, were a storm. He advanced, every movement a lesson in inevitability. The Sixth Eye flared again, highlighting the exact moment each man would strike, the force behind their attacks, the angle of their defenses. Kaizen met them in a dance of steel and rain, his katana slicing through arms, swords, and armor with the precision of inevitability. By the time the battle ended, all six lay incapacitated, some unconscious, some bleeding, none alive enough to retaliate. Kaizen exhaled slowly, sheathing his blade. One wave down, the storm approaches.
From the cliffs above, Kaizen observed the lieutenant leaders arriving. These were no ordinary men; each bore the reputation of cunning and brutality, men who had survived in the cutthroat world of the New World through intelligence, power, and ruthlessness. The first, a brute named Hideo, carried a fruit ability that allowed him to manipulate steel, bending it to crush or slice at will. The second, a swift and silent woman named Saki, could vanish from sight, leaving only the faintest ripple of air, her attacks almost impossible to anticipate. The third, an older man named Ryuzo, wielded dual swords, famed for his lightning-fast strikes and unpredictable style. A test unlike any before, Kaizen thought, adjusting his stance. And it is mine to master.
He descended into the town itself, shadows blending with the fog. Every alley, every rooftop, every surface became a potential battlefield. Kaizen's presence was a ripple in the air, subtle, invisible, yet absolute in influence. The Sixth Eye illuminated the positions of the lieutenants with unerring accuracy. Hideo was moving along the main street, his armor gleaming faintly, hands shaping steel into jagged blades. Saki darted along the rooftops, almost ethereal, her movements precise yet impossible to follow for ordinary eyes. Ryuzo stalked the marketplace, scanning for Kaizen with an intensity that betrayed his experience.
Kaizen struck first, leaping from the shadows with a speed that made him seem like lightning incarnate. He engaged Hideo, their powers clashing in a storm of steel and magnetized metal. Hideo's steel bent and twisted, slicing at Kaizen with unnatural force, yet Kaizen's katana moved like liquid, cutting through the metal assaults without so much as nicking his coat. Sparks flew, echoing through the empty streets, illuminating the fog in jagged bursts. Each strike from Kaizen was precise, deliberate, calculated not only to disable but to teach—a brutal lesson in futility.
Meanwhile, Saki attacked from above, a shadow with claws, her movements nearly invisible. Kaizen's Sixth Eye flared, the world slowing to a clarity beyond comprehension. Every twitch, every slight motion of Saki's body was mapped before it happened. He intercepted her midair with a sweeping arc of Kurogami, the edge slicing through her trajectory and sending her crashing into the stone pavement with controlled force. She recovered quickly, rolling to her feet, eyes wide with disbelief. So she is not ordinary, Kaizen acknowledged silently, anticipating her next attack, predicting her every step.
Ryuzo advanced cautiously, dual swords gleaming in the diffused morning light. Kaizen met him with a calm that belied the intensity of the duel. Steel clashed, sparks erupted, and the sound of their blades reverberated like thunder across the narrow streets. Each strike was a conversation, each parry a negotiation of life and death. Kaizen's experience, combined with the Sixth Eye, allowed him to anticipate Ryuzo's unpredictable style, countering and striking with lethal precision. The air seemed charged with energy, every breath and every movement magnified in tension.
Hours passed—or perhaps mere minutes; time had lost meaning within the maelstrom of combat. The town became a canvas of destruction: market stalls shattered, cobblestones cracked, wooden beams splintered. Yet Kaizen remained untouchable, a force of inevitability moving through chaos. By the time the battle reached its climax, all three lieutenants were incapacitated, their bodies sprawled among the wreckage, barely conscious, utterly defeated.
Kaizen stood in the center of the ruin, rain beginning to fall again, washing away the remnants of blood and battle. His katana hung at his side, silent, patient, as if it had known from the start that victory was inevitable. He did not gloat, did not celebrate. This was merely a step in the larger path—the first ripples of a storm that would sweep through the New World. The Black Hand had spoken, and the message was unmistakable: Kaizen was coming, unstoppable, unrelenting, and invisible until it was too late.
From the shadows, he disappeared once more, leaving only whispers of inevitability. Ahead lay even greater challenges: Empires of pirates, lieutenants beyond imagining, and Emperors whose power dwarfed anything Kaizen had yet faced. Each confrontation would demand more than strength—it would demand cunning, foresight, and the mastery of every tool at his disposal: his fruit, his katana, and the terrifying clarity of the Sixth Eye.