The god ancient people once worshipped as the God of Darkness was named Ers.
He ruled darkness and the gravity of black holes. He could even suppress other gods, and was said to be the one responsible for judging and punishing them.
That was why the Dark Dark Fruit could drag other ability users into its grasp and temporarily strip their powers away. In front of Dark God Ers, even gods could be made powerless.
Which meant the World Government's so called Devil Fruit Encyclopedia was lying again.
That "special Logia" that could not elementalize was not a Logia at all.
It should have been called the Human Human Fruit, Mythical Zoan, Model Dark God Ers.
Ohara's scholars had found Ers's name. Dr. Vegapunk had confirmed it as well, locating records of Sun God Nika in the Tree of Omniscience, along with related ancient texts.
A warm, absurd god.
A liberator who brought laughter.
But even after all that digging, Vegapunk still could not find the true name of the Yomi Fruit.
That absence left Brook uneasy.
Vegapunk believed the god tied to the Yomi Fruit was older than five thousand years. The Tree of Omniscience itself was only five thousand years old. Its collection was vast, but everything inside it was later knowledge.
If the Revive Fruit's god had truly been worshipped by ancient ancestors, like Imu had implied, then the legend might never have been stored in the Tree at all.
Or it had once been there and was erased.
Either way, the World Government's hidden archive had to be deeper than Ohara's tree. Otherwise, Imu would never have known even fragments of that truth.
…
Bran, the Three Eyed Raven, looked conflicted.
In the past two years, he had been peering into Brook's future, and he had indeed seen the name Brook would eventually uncover.
He began muttering like a dying man reading his last will.
"A pure gold ring. Dr. Neqin's rejuvenation knowledge. The North Sea Dion Fist that can store vitality. Dr. Kureha's longevity medicine from Drum Island. Ideally, the blood and bones of a thousand year dragon…"
While he spoke, he dipped his finger in water and wrote one character on the table.
Jin.
Then he went limp, collapsed forward, and clung to Brook's leg like a man who had already sacrificed half his lifespan.
"Damn it… just writing those two words cost me so much. I can't take it anymore. I want an Overlord level, or at least Hell Kings level, Blood Crystal Dandelion from Dr. Crocus!"
Brook looked down at him with an expression that was both annoyed and amused.
"Alright, alright. Stop acting. Your vitality doesn't look that tragic. I'll find what you want as soon as possible."
Then Brook's gaze returned to the water written name.
Jin.
Hell God Jin.
The instant Brook spoke it aloud, something subtle shifted inside him. His Yomi Fruit responded, faintly, as if a locked door had been nudged open.
Was this faith?
A divine Devil Fruit should not vanish as long as someone remembered the name. Just like Sun God Nika.
By that logic, the more people remembered, the stronger the god should become.
Then how could Imu's God of Destruction, a name known only to Imu himself, still be so terrifying?
Imu had wiped Nika's information from the world as thoroughly as possible, yet once the form awakened, it was still overwhelming. Straw Hat Luffy, a rookie who had only sailed for two years, had defeated Kaido, a veteran Emperor who held the Azure Dragon form and ruled the New World for twenty years.
Names mattered.
But power did not always follow simple rules.
After Brook sent Bran away and finalized plans with Antonio to return to the Grand Line, he began rebuilding his understanding of his own abilities from the ground up.
The Dark Dark Fruit and the Yomi Fruit.
No, from now on, they should be called Dark God Ers and Hell God Jin.
Over the past two years, once Brook learned Ers's name and the nature of his authority, the Dark Dark Fruit's development surged. It caught up to the Yomi Fruit, and even showed signs of surpassing it.
Now, with Jin's name in hand, Brook wanted to push the Yomi Fruit back into the dominant position.
Because that fruit was his core.
Because he was still staring into the mystery behind the gates of Jin's hell.
…
While Brook sharpened himself in silence, the Kingdom of Sizkael in the Grand Line began to boil with anticipation.
Their number one swordsman, the great Ito Ittosai, was about to fight a life and death duel against a rising supernova swordsman.
Grand Line.
Kingdom of Sizkael.
Okazuru Island.
Hachimangu Shrine.
A ring had been erected in the large square before the shrine. Vendors poured in. Spectators gathered. The island's economy surged overnight as if the duel itself was printing Berries.
Hachimangu Shrine was the sword school founded by Ito Ittosai. It was famous across the Grand Line, and swordsmen came from far away just to request guidance.
Yet the main figure of the event, Dracule Mihawk, had vanished after submitting his challenge. No one knew where he had gone.
In the training grounds, Ito Ittosai drew his great sword, Fushato, and brought it down on a black gold whetstone.
The stone split cleanly in two.
The fresh disciples gasped.
The older disciples did not. They had seen their master's true strength before.
At fifty two, Ito Ittosai had comprehended the heart of the blade, surpassed ordinary masters, and returned home as a true swordsman. He established his school, accepted disciples, and spread his Ito Ittoryu.
Now, twenty years later, the seventy two year old Ittosai carried more of the dignity of a long seated authority.
And less of a swordsman's unstoppable edge.
"A notorious rookie," he said coldly, wiping his blade. "Does he think he can use my age, step on my corpse, and climb into fame? Ridiculous."
Ono Tadaaki, the eldest disciple of Hachimangu Shrine, stepped forward with his sword and bowed respectfully.
"Master, why not leave that Navy Hunter to us? There's no need to speak of morality with pirates like him. We brothers can take him down."
His tone was loyal.
His eyes were not.
In his heart, his master was old. This was the moment to build his own name. If he crushed Mihawk, he could secure his status and even grasp the right to inherit Hachimangu Shrine.
The thought made his blood burn hotter.
Ito Ittosai glanced at him, and he understood those little ambitions instantly.
A cold light flickered in the old man's eyes.
I have a son. I have a grandson. How could it ever be your turn?
But when Ito Ittosai's gaze drifted toward his own blood, his disappointment returned like a familiar ache.
His son, Ito Sawakoshi, was lustful and weak.
His grandson, Ito Makoto, was no better.
In that moment, the great swordsman felt something heavier than age.
He felt the bitterness of having no successor at all.
------------
Ito Ittosai's mood darkened the moment he noticed it.
Not all of his disciples were looking at Ono Tadaaki with the same wary distance as before. A small group stood with him openly now, their eyes full of agreement, as if the eldest disciple had already become their true pillar.
So he's won over that many already.
On ordinary days, it was easy to see why.
On one side stood Ono Tadaaki, capable and polite, strong enough to make the younger disciples feel safe.
On the other was Ito Sawakoshi, the so called young master, who spent his time chasing women and harassing female disciples, dragging the Ito name through the mud.
This world respected strength above everything. Without Ito Ittosai's shadow protecting them, Sawakoshi and Ito Makoto would be dead sooner or later. Maybe they would not even need a famous swordsman to kill them. A random female swordsman with an axe could do it.
And Ono Tadaaki knew it.
In his heart, he even imagined himself as the savior.
If his master handed Hachimangu Shrine to him honestly, he would take care of the Ito bloodline, at least for a time. That was the story he told himself.
But if the shrine was passed to Sawakoshi instead, then once Ito Ittosai died, Hachimangu Shrine would still belong to Ono Tadaaki in the end. At most, he would carry a little stigma.
Sawakoshi and Makoto were not qualified to inherit this dojo.
"Be patient," Ito Ittosai said calmly, his eyes steady, his voice gentle enough to soothe the room. "I have my own arrangements."
The disciples bowed and answered as one, but inside Ito Ittosai, something cold was spreading.
He was beginning to want his eldest disciple dead.
His son and grandson might be useless, but that did not give an outsider the right to covet Hachimangu Shrine.
He had misjudged how far Ono Tadaaki's ambition would grow, and how shamelessly he would wear it.
This time, Ito Ittosai had already contacted the Navy's higher ups.
If he helped them capture the Navy Hunter, Mihawk, then he could send Sawakoshi and Makoto into the Navy. Give them uniforms. Give them titles. Give them a shield strong enough to keep them breathing.
Then he would sell Hachimangu Shrine to the Navy and turn it into a naval branch, a swordsmanship training base. His son could cling to military rank, and the Ito line could survive.
Because if the dojo fell into Ono Tadaaki's hands, Sawakoshi and Makoto would die mysteriously the moment Ito Ittosai's grave was sealed. The Ito inheritance would be cut off, clean and final.
Still, even as he laid out this plan, Ito Ittosai felt a familiar bitterness.
He despised that father and son pair.
Neither of them had inherited even a fraction of his sword talent. He had failed to discipline them, and now he could only hope the Navy would show them how dark the world truly was.
"Master is wise," Ono Tadaaki said, smiling as he bowed.
His tone was respectful.
His eyes were not.
But he did not dare question the old man. Not yet. He could not beat Ito Ittosai now.
After displaying his strength, Ito Ittosai sheathed Fushato.
It was a confidence boost for the ordinary disciples, and a warning to Ono Tadaaki.
I'm still here.
And it worked.
Morale in Hachimangu Shrine rose. The dojo began to speak as if victory was already guaranteed, as if the Navy Hunter had come only to be buried.
Outside, Hachimangu Square grew louder by the day. Citizens from nearby islands flooded into Okazuru Island to witness the duel.
A swordsman showdown like this was worth crossing seas for.
…
Ludang Island, Kingdom of Sizkael.
In a forest far from town, a young man practiced alone.
Short black hair. Sharp yellow eyes like an eagle's glare. A burgundy patterned shirt that moved with every step of his blade.
His swordsmanship was simple in concept and brutal in execution.
One hit kill.
No flowery tricks. No wasted motion.
His normal strike was his finishing move, and his finishing move was just another strike.
Recently, Mihawk had also grasped another style, Shinto style.
It raised the weight of every swing, as if each cut carried his strongest intent. With the first rough fusion of Tachi style and Shinto style, he had already stepped into the outline of a true great swordsman.
If he defeated Ito Ittosai, then at twenty one, he would claim the throne of a great swordsman.
Then he could enter the New World with confidence and challenge the dark swordsman Jubei.
Steal the Supreme Grade blade, Yoru.
After that, his eyes would rise even higher.
The Six Hell Kings of the Hell Pirates. Brook, ruler of the New World. Even Kozuki Oden, who had become a Hell Kings.
Mihawk still called them the Hell Pirates, not the Hell Guild. He had not stepped into the New World yet, and the Grand Line newspapers he picked up still used the old name often enough that it clung to his habits.
He looked down at the large sword in his hand, Nagaisai.
He had stolen it two years ago, and it had served him well.
But now it felt too light. It could no longer pull out the full power of his Tachi style and Shinto style.
Maybe Yoru was better suited to him, a blade built for overwhelming force and unmatched offense.
And it was not just a Supreme Grade sword.
It was a black blade, covered in countless gems.
Cool. Unapologetically cool.
Even if it was longer than his own height, that did not stop Mihawk from wanting it.
When his practice ended, he did not enter town to eat.
He hunted.
He cooked for himself.
A wandering swordsman who lived alone learned quickly not to trust taverns and restaurants. He had been poisoned once. Set up by pirates and pirate hunters, the kind of trash that smiled while sharpening knives behind their backs.
He had slaughtered many people before his anger finally cooled.
…
New World, Doragonzo Island.
This time, Brook did not ride a flying ship with Shiki and the others.
He traveled alone, quietly, hidden within the deep ocean transport fleet of the new Shipping King, Umit.
Umit was Umid's grandson.
His father had been severely injured in the battle for the King's Fragments and retired, leaving the family's underground routes and shipping empire in Umit's hands.
After the rise of Seastone battleships, the Umi family was the first to secure shares from the Universal Government. They were the first to open routes through the Calm Belt, cutting travel time to the North Sea and West Sea down to a fraction.
Inside a special transport ship drifting with deep ocean currents, the underground emperor who shook the world, Shipping King Umit, stood behind Brook like a servant.
He stared at Brook's back with reverence so thick it bordered on worship.
"Brook sama is sixty eight this year, right?" Umit said softly, unable to hide his awe. "You look exactly the same as you did on your wanted poster thirty years ago…"
His voice grew sharper with hunger.
"I really want a pure gold ring."
Umit had collected every bounty poster issued for Brook since he was a child.
In his eyes, Brook was the reason the Umit family rose to the throne of the underground shipping world.
But Umid had never gathered enough merit to earn Brook's favor. Not enough to receive the ring that granted immortality.
So now Umit's desire was burning, deep and endless.
To become a core figure of the Hell Guild.
To receive Brook's gift.
To put a pure gold ring on his finger.
And to live forever, just like Brook and the cadres of the Hell Guild.
.....
[Check Out My Patreon For Advance Chapters On All My Fanfics!]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03]