Location: The Red Blade – Calm Belt Waters
The Red Blade glided silently through the notorious Calm Belt—a sea so still, it was almost unnatural. No winds. No waves. Just mirror-like water stretching endlessly under the open sky.
But silence was never peace.
On the ship's deck, Ankit stood barefoot, swords drawn, shirt drenched in sweat. He moved in the center of a sparring circle traced with chalk, each step perfectly measured.
Twin Flow Style: Fourth Sequence – Gale Echo Slash.
He spun, blades flashing in a cross-pattern. The force of his slash split a practice dummy into quarters, the fragments scattering before they hit the deck.
System Sync: 32.0%
Skill Mastery (Twin Flow Style – Sequence IV): 74%
He lowered his blades, chest heaving. But it wasn't exhaustion that kept him tense.
It was the weight of his own name.
340 million.
Not for crimes. Not for victories.
For potential.
Below Deck – Map Room
Shanks was quiet as he listened to Benn Beckman's report.
"They've split into cells," Benn muttered, pointing at a sea chart marked with red pins. "The underground bounty hunters. Three factions confirmed. None of them work for the Marines."
Makino leaned over the chart. "Meaning they're being paid under the table—government black funds. Cipher Pol hands-off."
Beckman nodded grimly. "Exactly. And they're not just after Ankit anymore. They've seen what we can do. They're prepping for war."
Shanks didn't react outwardly. His fingers just tapped lightly against the map.
"Let them come."
Elsewhere – Within the Sable Confederacy (New World)
A grand, ancient temple overlooked a sea of storm clouds. Beneath it, the elite gathered.
Each wore cloaks of different color, stitched with sigils resembling the Seven Relics.
At the front stood a tall man with a narrow face and slicked-back silver hair. His left eye was glass, his right—burning gold.
Name: Dagon Levrein
Leader of the Bounty Faction: Ashen Creed
He raised a bounty poster of Ankit.
"This one," he said. "The Twin Blade. The Stormmark Carrier."
"Too dangerous to kill. Too valuable to lose."
He turned to the crowd.
"So we claim him. And if the Red-Haired Pirates stand in our way—"
He crushed the poster in his hand.
"We remove them from history."
Back on the Red Blade – Midday
"Again!" Ankit barked, sweat running down his face.
He had begun sparring with crew members daily. Not just with his swords—but against polearms, daggers, spears. He forced himself into impossible odds, demanding more from his instincts.
He'd even asked Makino to fight him with real knives.
She refused—at first.
Now, she lunged at him with a curved blade, aiming directly for his shoulder. He parried—barely.
"Too slow," she said. "You keep thinking you're defending yourself. But they're not coming for you, Ankit. They're coming for us because of you."
Her voice held no malice. Just fact.
Ankit dropped his stance and lowered his eyes.
"I never wanted this."
Makino sheathed her blade. "Then fight like someone who doesn't want to lose it."
Nightfall – Personal Quarters
Ankit sat alone.
He stared at the parchment Aelros had given him—the shard of ancient seal script that triggered his latest memory echo. On its surface, a half-etched rune pulsed faintly with blue light.
His system activated without prompt.
"Stormmark Protocol – Fragment Decryption in progress…"
Accessing Ancient Combat Data – Variant Flow Techniques Detected.
Images filled his mind—blurred echoes of battles from centuries past.
A twin-sword warrior, half his face burned, fighting a beast made of mist and bones. His style was… calm. Cold. Calculated. Nothing like Ankit's fluid motion. And yet—so similar.
Data Integrated: "Spectral Cut (Prototype)."
Requires System Sync 35.0% to stabilize.
He leaned back, eyes stinging.
He was learning faster than his body could handle.
And still, it didn't feel like enough.
Elsewhere – Marineford
In a sealed archive chamber beneath the main command tower, three Cipher Pol agents stood before a glowing rune map.
A red dot blinked.
Then another.
Then a third.
An officer stepped into the room with urgency.
"Report to the Five Elders: The Ashen Creed has mobilized. Targets—Shanks and the anomaly. Timeline—unclear. Strategy—contain or discredit."
The lead Cipher Pol agent—Agent Kurova, known for wiping out a rogue Revolutionary cell alone—sighed.
"We waited too long. The Hunters' Creed is no longer underground. They're building religion around the Stormmark."
He stared at Ankit's profile on a steel data plate.
"And the world... might just follow them."
Red Blade – Strategy Table
Shanks spread new intel across the wooden table. "Three Hunter Factions confirmed," he said.
Benn continued: "Ashen Creed. Bonechain Syndicate. The Hollow Fleet."
Makino added, "Each led by an ex-government dog turned free contractor. Mercenaries with deep money behind them. They're trying to take us down without calling attention."
Ankit spoke for the first time.
"Why not make it public? Why hide the bounties?"
Shanks looked him in the eye.
"Because the truth scares them more than our blades do."
That Night – Storm Gathers
Winds howled.
A single message bird—piercing white feathers, blood-red beak—landed on the mast.
It carried a black scroll.
Makino read it aloud:
"To the Twin Blade, the Stormmarked:
We of the Ashen Creed do not wish your death.
We seek understanding. Surrender yourself within three days to the Drift Altar off Virmor Isle.
Refusal will be taken as declaration of open war.
— Dagon Levrein"
Ankit stood silently.
Then said, "War it is."
🔹 SYSTEM PANEL – Ankit 🔹
System Sync: 34.6%
Skill Level (Twin Flow Style): 8.5
New Combat Download: Spectral Cut (Prototype)
Channel kinetic flow into an invisible strike delay. Difficult to predict. Requires high timing precision.
Mental Strain: Moderate
Recommended: meditation or sparring cooldown before next sync boost.