Chapter 36 Zoro's DeterminationZoro attempted to swing his sword in that delicate moment as he nearly exhausted his breath.
The sound of the blade cutting through the air seemed slightly different, sharper, and the cut on the boulder deepened.
Zoro repeated this process.
Swing, adjusting his breathing, sensing his internal energy.
Swing, adjusting again.
Sweat quickly soaked the bandages around his newly healed wound, the salt stinging the new flesh.
His muscles began to ache, his arm began to tremble.
But Zoro seemed oblivious, simply swinging his sword again and again.
In his mind, Mihawk's thrust, Luffy's block, were broken down into their most basic trajectories, then integrated into each of his attempts.
Occasionally, in moments of extreme concentration, when Zoro's breathing and sword swing reached a serendipitous harmony, an unstable, dark red glow would flash across the blade, like a fleeting spark.
This was followed by a momentary increase in the speed of his strikes, and a deeper, more resounding crack as the blade struck the rock, sending stone chips flying.
But then, a searing pain, as if being torn apart, shot through his body, causing Zoro to stagger backward, cough violently, and even vomit blood-tinged saliva.
But Zoro's eyes showed no fear, only an even stronger focus.
He remembered that fleeting feeling, remembered the brief resonance between his breath and will before the excruciating pain struck.
After resting for a moment, until his breathing calmed, Zoro stood up again.
This time, he no longer sought to channel that power to the blade, but instead tried to concentrate all his spirit and will in the instant he swung the sword!
His breathing became rapid and violent.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
The flashes of the blade left deep, crisscrossing marks on the rock.
Zorro's hand was split open, blood flowing down the hilt of his sword, staining the bandage.
The old wound throbbed with a tearing pain, but he seemed oblivious.
Only the thought of "severing" remained in his mind, along with his constantly synchronized breathing.
The sun gradually rose higher, then slowly slanted westward.
The massive black rock was covered with hundreds, even thousands, of knife marks, the deepest cutting nearly half a foot into the rock.
Zoro's body was as if he had been pulled from water; sweat mixed with blood, forming dark red puddles at his feet.
His lips were cracked, but his eyes shone with a frightening light, like burning will-o'-the-wisps.
At dusk, after a desperate, all-out diagonal slash, Zoro collapsed, exhausted, lying on his back on the cold rock, his vision blurring.
His weapon fell from his hand to his side; only the Wado Ichimonji remained, tightly gripped in his mouth.
Zoro gazed at the sky, dyed blood-red by the setting sun, his consciousness fading.
But in that fleeting moment of confusion, he unconsciously recalled Hawkeye's sword strike that sliced through space, Luffy's unbreakable defense…
His breathing, without him even realizing it, naturally adjusted to an extremely long rhythm.
Completely different from his previous deliberate control, as if some kind of instinct had been awakened within his body.
Zoro's eyes widened abruptly, and with his last ounce of strength, he sat up, gripping his weapon once more.
Without adopting any stance, simply following that natural breathing rhythm, he focused all his remaining spirit and the last vestige of power he had just gathered onto a smaller rock in front of him, channeling it into a simple downward slash.
The blade moved silently.
No crimson flashes, no astonishing speed.
But when the blade was still several feet from the rock, the rock facing him suddenly cracked open with a sound, a fissure as thin as a hair!
The edges of the fissure were smooth, as if sliced by an invisible blade.
Zoro remained frozen in his thrusting stance.
He stared blankly at the crack that had appeared out of nowhere in the rock, then looked down at the long sword in his hand, finally feeling the strange throbbing in his chest.
"Ha...haha..." Zoro's parched lips parted, letting out a hoarse, unpleasant laugh, which grew louder and louder, echoing among the deserted reefs, drowning out the roar of the waves.
The setting sun sank below the horizon, its last rays casting a blood-red silhouette upon him.
When Zoro rowed his small boat back to Baratie, it was already evening.
Baratie was brightly lit, the faint clinking of dishes and cups filling the air, as if it were struggling to resume normal operations.
Zoro avoided the crowds and headed straight for the kitchen.
Zeff leaned against the kitchen back door, smoking his pipe and gazing at the stars.
Hearing footsteps, he turned and saw Zoro, who looked as if he'd been pulled from a pool of blood.
"Still alive?" Zeff exhaled a puff of smoke.
Zoro ignored the unfriendly opening.
He walked up to Zeff, pulled a few dirty gold coins and a handful of jewels from his pocket, and placed them on the wooden bucket beside him.
"Food and medicine money."
Zeff glanced at the meager payment and scoffed, "Trying to feed a beggar?"
Zoro didn't reply, only saying, "I'm leaving."
"Where to?"
"The sea with more monsters." Zoro looked southeast, towards Reverse Mountain, the direction of the Grand Line.
Zeff sized him up, his gaze lingering for a moment on the new scars on his body: "To surpass that straw hat guy, or Hawkeye?"
Zoro's answer was without hesitation: "To become the world's greatest swordsman! They are my benchmarks!"
Zoro added, "Tell that guy with the round eyebrows that his food is alright."
Zeff looked at him, grinning, a sinister smile, almost approving, spreading across his weathered face.
He turned and pulled a pre-prepared canvas package from behind the door, tossing it to Zoro.
"Get lost. There's some dry rations and fresh water inside. Don't get lost and die at sea, disgracing the swordsmen."
Zoro caught the package, nodded, didn't thank him, and turned to leave.
As he reached the path leading to the dock, he seemed to sense something and looked up at a lit window on the second floor of the restaurant.
Sanji stood there, holding an oil-paper package, looking at him.
Through the darkness and the faint, mingled aromas of blood and food, the two men exchanged a glance.
Sanji tossed the oiled paper package down.
Zoro caught it; it was warm to the touch, containing roasted meat and flatbread that kept well, their fragrance wafting through the oiled paper into his nostrils.
Sanji didn't speak, only nodded, then closed the window.
Zoro stuffed the oiled paper package into the bundle Zeff had given him, tightened his grip on the three swords on his back, and strode towards the dock.
He untied the dilapidated sampan, barely big enough for one person—this was his boat.
The night was deep, the stars dim.
Zoro rowed, and the small boat silently glided into the dark sea, heading southeast, towards the Sea of the Strong.
He had no specific destination, only a direction.
"Luffy, Hawkeye…you've shown me true heights."
"Before I reach that place and cut you all down…"
"I, Roronoa Zoro, will never be defeated by anyone again!"
"The title of World's Greatest Swordsman is mine!"
"Wait for me! We'll fight again at the pinnacle of the world!"
The small boat sailed further and further away, finally merging completely into the darkness. The lights of Baratie, shrinking into a blurry, warm halo behind it, were gradually left behind.
Zeff, leaning on his cane, stood on the highest observation deck until the faint silhouette of the ship completely disappeared below the horizon.
He took a puff from his long-extinguished pipe, gazing at the faint trails of stars in the southeast, and muttered to himself, as if speaking to the sea breeze, and also to himself:
"Another reckless fool…Go, go and turn that sea upside down."
The sea breeze blew by, carrying the distant sound of the tide.
…