Chapter 22: The Blade at His Own Throat
Naruto rose from the bed when the medicines had burned their fire through him, knitting flesh and soothing bruised organs. He moved as if pain had never known him. Every step deliberate. Every breath measured. He wore the mask of the convalescent, though his body was already whole.
Let them think me broken.
The Anbu garb slid over him like a shadow returned to its master. The cursed gloves locked tight upon his hands, their weight a reminder of oaths carved deeper than flesh.
No one stopped him when he left. Not a guard, not a servant. The Queen's trust, or her blindness, paved his way.
Trusting to a fault… or cunning enough to need no chains. Perhaps her subjects are her eyes, her whispers in the corners. Maybe she lets me walk free, knowing there's nowhere in her kingdom I could move unseen.
Naruto's smirk lingered as he stepped into the open streets. The district sprawled around him, alive with strange beauty. Coral and stone twined in alien architecture, the city breathing like something half-organic. Fishmen and merfolk went about their cycles—commerce, squabbles, laughter—all grist for his mill. His eyes drank it in, cataloguing, dissecting. Every detail had a price. Every routine could one day become a weapon.
"Hey, human!"
The voice dragged him from thought. Naruto turned, neutral, weighing threat and curiosity until he saw the speaker.
An octopus Fishman stood, limbs shifting with lazy menace. Arachne's whisper stirred in Naruto's mind: Master, that's the one who saved you.
Naruto's face softened, his smile crafted genuine. "Hello. My name is Uzumaki Naruto. Thank you for saving me." Polite. Warm. Human.
Hatchan—Hachi—studied him as one might study the gleam of a blade, uncertain if it meant sunlight or danger. There was something in Naruto's bearing, something oddly familiar. A calm that masked violence. A confidence wrapped in sincerity. It put Hachi in mind of a marine once known to him.
The silence threatened to grow teeth, so Naruto broke it first. His voice humble, the sound of velvet covering steel. "It would only be proper to reward you. Tell me, what can I do for you? And your name, if I may—it feels wrong not to know the name of one's savior."
Hachi chuckled, scratching at the back of his head, the gesture guileless. "Name's Hatchan—Hachi's fine. And no need for rewards. I just did what anyone should. Helping felt right."
Naruto's smile held, his tone still gentle, but the insistence behind it pressed like a blade just touching the skin. "A noble sentiment. Still, my mind won't rest without balance. Ask something. A sword—or a pair. Your hands speak of steel long-used."
Hachi hesitated, sensing the human's will. It was not the request of one who enjoyed being denied. At length, he sighed and relented. "If you insist. We're short-staffed at the café. Come lend a hand. That'd be more than enough."
Naruto laughed lightly, a sound that disarmed while his thoughts turned black. Too simple. Too soft. A man asks for a blade, not a broom. Still… his request is honest, and honesty is rarer coin than gold. If this is the path he chooses, so be it.
Outwardly, he bowed his head. "If that is your wish, lead the way."
"Great!" Hachi grinned, hefting a box he'd set aside. His cheer was a discordant tune against the cold music of Naruto's musings.
Once, years ago, I might have walked beside him without doubt. Believed in kindness for kindness' sake. But years turn men to iron. I've seen too much blood to trust smiles without teeth.
Still, he followed.
And he smiled.
The Mermaid Café sang with life. Bright voices, laughter, the clatter of dishes. Colors bled across coral walls and silk draperies, too vivid for a man who measured every hue in shades of blood and shadow.
Naruto worked among them without complaint. Hands that could strangle kings and carve empires now scrubbed floors and scoured plates. He took to it as he took to everything—with the same cold diligence, the same unbending will. Even drudgery could be turned to purpose. The weight of the mop, the angle of the brush, the rhythm of labor—tools of observation, not servitude.
Every moment told him something. The laughter of mermaids with their trays revealed innocence or naivety. The tilt of a customer's head suggested suspicion, hunger, lust. The café itself carried charm—a lure spun of warmth and perfume. And charm was a weapon too.
Then he saw her corner of the world. The fortune-teller. A shadow within all the painted brightness. A curiosity that rooted itself in his mind like a thorn.
A fortune-teller… Knowledge wearing the mask of prophecy. Dangerous. Or useful. Both, most likely.
Later, while Hachi rested from his labors at the stove, Naruto spoke, his voice polite, casual, never careless.
"Hey, Hachi, would it be possible to meet the café's owner?"
Hachi's grin was open, guileless, as he wiped his hands on his apron. "Oh, you want to know your fortune? Sure thing! I'll let her know. She's probably free right now."
Naruto's answering smile looked genuine enough to fool gods. "Thanks. I appreciate it. I owe you."
The octopus waved him off. "No need for that. Give me a moment."
Naruto waited while his savior vanished into the back, his mind humming. A seer's words are knives. They cut deepest when you think them harmless. But even lies can guide a man who knows how to read them.
When Hachi returned, cheer lighting his simple features, he gestured. "You're good to go in."
Naruto nodded, his gratitude perfectly performed, and stepped into the room.
The air shifted as he entered. A hush where the café had been loud. Coral lamps glowed soft, painting everything in undersea twilight. Incense coiled through the dimness, its perfume clinging like a whisper too close to the ear.
And there she sat. Shyarly. The serpent at the heart of the glass.
Her body was imposing—scaled beauty framed in a presence that bent the room around her. Not just beauty, but weight. The kind of weight that came from knowing things other men feared to name.
Her eyes lifted briefly, catching him in their calm snare. "Just a moment," she said, her attention fixed on the strange instruments set before her.
Naruto stood silent. Patient. On the surface, a polite young man waiting for his host. Beneath, every muscle was coiled, every breath measured. His eyes catalogued the chamber—the layout, the symbols, the faint discolorations on the wall where smoke had kissed too many times. And his Haki stretched, probing. Watching the twitch of her fingers, the stillness in her spine.
She's no ordinary charlatan. She carries her visions like scars. Let's see which she chooses to show me.
He smiled. He waited.
And in that waiting, the tension thickened like blood in water.
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Shyarly had seen her share of men. Bold men, broken men, men puffed up by pride or hollowed out by fear. Heroes by their own telling, villains by everyone else's. Humans in particular had a knack for mistaking luck for destiny.
So when the boy entered—polite smile, measured grace, eyes that drank everything but revealed nothing—she expected another pretender. A bright spark soon drowned by the black depths of Fishman Island's politics. A name spoken briefly, then lost.
But when her power stirred, expectation turned to silence.
The visions came swift, hammer-blows in the dark. No gentle unfolding, no soft curtain parting. He came to her clothed in crimson steel, a red that glowed like fresh blood under the torchlight of battle. His face was older, harder, set in lines of command. He did not sit on a chair—he sat upon dominion. A throne vast enough to dwarf kings, and still it bent beneath the weight of his presence. Men and monsters alike bowed their heads. Reverence and terror were the same coin, and he held it by the fistful.
Then fire.
The vision writhed, twisting on itself. The island lay charred, the sea itself boiling with flame. His throne remained, and he upon it, his lips moving in silent decree. She could not hear the words, but their meaning stabbed through the marrow of her bones: The punishment of going against my will.
The chill that seized her spine was the kind that never left.
Shyarly fought to breathe. "A tyrant," she thought, but the vision had not finished with her.
Another face now. Another Naruto. Older still, stripped of his armor, stripped of his throne. He stood beside a woman—Hina, matured, a presence steady at his side. Beneath them loomed the fox, vast as a mountain, its tails curled around eternity. This Naruto did not glare, nor command, but smiled. His eyes, though—his eyes burned. They held not just power, but eternity itself. They met her gaze across time, and for a heartbeat she felt he saw her. Saw through her. His lips shaped words, but time warped them into silence. The past and future were too far apart, and she too small to bridge them.
The visions fell away like smoke. The incense, the room, her own heartbeat—they all returned, but she was changed. He had reached into her craft and left his mark.
Her hands set the tools aside with deliberate care. The weight of her words pressed against her tongue, knowing that once spoken they would never be taken back.
At last, she met his gaze. His calmness—dangerous in its restraint—unnerved her more than rage ever could.
"Your future is bright," she said, her voice warm, yet heavy as prophecy. "Act on your beliefs, and you shall rule the world."
And for the first time in years, Shyarly wondered whether what she saw was warning… or promise.
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Naruto watched her carefully, as he always did—his eyes sharp, weighing every shift of her lips, every flicker of her gaze. She spoke with sincerity. He could taste it in her voice. Fortune-telling. He had little faith in it—men built their futures on steel and blood, not cards and smoke. Still, her words sparked a warmth in him, a whisper he could shape into something useful. Fate has deemed me worthy to rule? A smile tugged at his lips. "That has a nice ring to it."
Outwardly, he laughed, dismissing it with a shrug. "A fine fantasy. Thanks for the insight."
But Shyarly didn't laugh.
Her eyes narrowed, like a blade sliding free of its sheath. "Don't dismiss me so lightly. I predicted the Pirate Era, and every word of it came true. My visions are never wrong."
She drifted closer, the water curling around her like a living cloak. In a breath she was beside him, shrinking herself down, magic coiling about her form. Her fingers—cool, deliberate—touched his face.
"You're taking this personally," Naruto said, his smile widening, amused at her seriousness.
Her eyes softened, but the weight in them never left. "If you're destined to rule, then raise us with you. Uplift the Fishman race. Pull us from the shadows."
Naruto arched a brow. "Allies, then? You'd have me tether my fate to yours. Why?"
Shyarly's lips curled into something sly, something knowing. "Because we can give you strength. Because I have the ear of the king. Because together we can forge something sharper than either of us alone."
Naruto chuckled, low and genuine. "You're clever. I like that. People who think ahead are useful… and dangerous." His gaze turned inward, flickering with the heat of a vision not born of magic but of will—a world shaped by his hand, chaos ground down to silence beneath his rule. His voice carried that weight when he spoke. "I may not know what fate demands of me, but I know this—I'll shape a better world, with or without prophecy."
"Then be yourself," she whispered.
Her lips brushed against his. A pact sealed in warmth, in silence. Magic surged as her form shifted—tail melting to legs, scales to skin, leaving her bare and human before him.
Naruto's brow lifted, amusement and hunger mixing in his gaze. "I don't mind this… but what's the purpose?"
Her cheeks flushed, though her tone held steady. "This seals our bond. Betrayal will break us both, and danger to one will echo to the other. A contract written in flesh and magic. As real as any throne."
A smirk split his lips, mischief and heat alive in his eyes. "Then I accept." His voice dropped to a rough edge. "I've needed an outlet anyway."
His hand found the back of her head, dragging her closer, and his mouth crushed hers with intent. She melted, a soft sound escaping her throat, body trembling beneath the weight of his claim. Power laced the kiss—her submission feeding his hunger, her faith awakening something primal that stirred and roared in his blood.
When they broke apart, her breath came quick. His gaze burned, golden and unflinching.
"You're a stunning creature," he said, the words sharp, heavy. "Are you certain?"
Her eyes, dazed and burning, locked to his. The queen of visions reduced to a trembling woman before him. "Yes," she whispered, the last of her composure broken. "Conquer me, my king."
And in that moment, it wasn't prophecy that bound them—it was choice, lust, and ambition, braided into a chain neither would escape.
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Naruto sat alone in the hush of his quarters, the ship creaking gently as it cut through the sea. The book lay open in his hands, the gift of a queen who thought too kindly of him. Fishman Karate—an art of bending water itself, even in the air, to strike and crush. Elegant. Precise. Lethal. He traced the diagrams with a gloved finger, his mind alive with possibilities.
"She outdid herself," he muttered. "If I can master this, even the air will bleed for me."
His thoughts strayed to the princess—Shirahoshi. A fragile thing, too soft for the world she was born into, yet there was something about her. He had left her smiling, a child with a necklace glittering like the sea's skin, clutching a toy as if it were treasure beyond measure. Her laughter still lingered in his ears. A sound of innocence. A sound he might one day twist into loyalty.
"She's important," he told himself, lips curling faintly. "She'll remember me. I'll make sure of it. One day, she'll matter."
The smile soured as his thoughts turned. Beneath the calm veneer, the storm. A thorn buried deep in his flesh. Axel. Dead weight that thought itself a man. He'd tolerated the stench of him long enough.
It's time for you to die, Axel.
Naruto closed his eyes, not in peace, but in focus. The air in the cabin thickened as his will seeped outward, invisible and merciless. His conqueror's haki unfurled like a tide, crawling through the ship, seeping through walls, finding its prey.
Axel slept when it found him, and perhaps that was a mercy. His eyes snapped open as the weight crushed him, an invisible hand closing around his chest. He tried to scream but no sound came. Tried to move but his body betrayed him. The pressure grew, heavier, heavier—until his heart cracked beneath it.
A few seconds. An eternity. Then silence.
Naruto opened his eyes again, calm and steady. He turned another page in the queen's book, the diagrams of flowing water waiting for him. A faint smirk touched his lips.
"One more piece of trash swept aside," he murmured. "And many more yet."
The hum of the ship's engines filled the quiet, steady and untroubled. But within Naruto's mind, storms sharpened their claws.
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Naruto thought it done. He believed Axel had been erased with the clean cruelty of conqueror's haki—a flicker of will pressed into flesh until the man's heart burst like a rotten fruit. An annoyance excised, a problem dissolved. But belief is the sweetest lie, and Naruto, for all his cunning, swallowed it whole.
Far from the sea, in a palace that glittered with wealth enough to feed nations, another man stirred. He sat draped in silks and shadow, a throne curling around him like a lover's arm. His face was Axel's, but worn differently—the same skin, the same bone, the same smirk, but carved deeper with authority.
"So… he wields it already," Axel murmured, voice smooth as wine poured over steel. "Conqueror's haki, and with precision. A child sharpening knives meant for kings."
He leaned forward, fingers brushing the console built into his throne's arm. The scene replayed before him—Naruto's will pressing down, the puppet's death writ across a decoy's features. Axel let the silence linger, studying the moment as though it were art.
"That use… I hadn't considered it," he admitted softly. "He's inventive. Dangerous. In another world, perhaps, I would have taken him as my own. A pity the boy stepped where he shouldn't. Crossed a line he couldn't see."
The thought died with a flick of his wrist, cast aside like ash.
The doors groaned open—heavy, gold-veined slabs that bowed to no man but him. A servant entered, tall, faceless behind his mask of iron and cloth. The garb was ceremonial, funereal, a uniform to serve power without ever glimpsing its edge. He knelt low, head bent in practiced submission.
"How may I serve, Master?" The voice was steady, empty of everything but obedience.
Axel's smirk stretched into something sharper. "Send word to the Admiral. A threat stirs in the deep. Uzumaki Naruto has dared to kill a World Noble. That alone condemns him. The law demands his head… and I will see it taken."
The servant bowed, silent acceptance, and withdrew into shadow.
Axel reclined in his throne, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The light caught in his eyes, cruel and gleaming.
"He thinks the game finished, that his hand struck the final blow." His smile became a predator's grin, teeth bared to the dark. "But the board has only just been set. Let's see how long a boy can stand once the world itself turns its gaze upon him."
Beyond the palace walls, orders would be carried across oceans and whispered into the ears of giants. Admirals stirred in their sleep, ships waited for sails to rise. And all the while, Naruto sat with his book, blissfully unaware that the eye of the World Government was opening—an eye that never closed, and never forgave.
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The book still smelled of saltwater, its pages slick with the knowledge of Fishman fists and flowing currents. Naruto traced its lines like scripture, drinking in every subtle cruelty and secret. Then the knock came—soft, but carrying the weight of interruption.
"Naruto. Master Mjosgard calls for you."
The guard's voice betrayed urgency, though it tried to wear the mask of duty. Naruto slid the book shut, fingers lingering at the spine. Annoyance flickered across his face like a shadow cast by candlelight. Another leash tugged. Another chain rattling. He rose and followed.
The corridors to Mjosgard's quarters seemed narrower than usual, lit by lamps that bled yellow into the dark. By the time they reached the door, the air already stank of tension.
"Come in." The voice from within was sharp, brittle as glass under strain.
Naruto stepped inside. Mjosgard sat waiting, his posture strained, his authority dulled under suspicion. His eyes fixed Naruto with the weight of a judge who wished for no trial.
"Did you kill Axel?"
The words cracked like thunder.
For an instant Naruto let his face wear shock—eyes wide, mouth poised at disbelief. His body spoke offense where his tongue stuttered outrage. "How could that be?" His voice trembled with a practiced edge, each syllable the iron of innocence forged in fire. "We've all been alert! Sir, are you saying Master Axel has fallen? Then if my hand bears guilt—"
His fingers curled into a blade, hand lifting with the certainty of execution. He aimed it at his own throat, eyes filled with tortured resolve. "I'll atone with my life!"
The air thickened in the beat that followed. Mjosgard's face blanched, composure cracking. "STOP!" he roared, flinging himself across the space to seize Naruto's wrist before death could take root.
Naruto froze. Trembling hands, ragged breath—he played his part well. He looked up at Mjosgard with guilt etched deep enough to wound. Relief painted across his features like a broken man saved from his own madness.
"There's no need," Mjosgard rasped, the weight of command lost beneath sorrow. "Axel is dead. The hand behind it unknown. But…" His eyes darkened with unspoken knowledge. "…Axel left his snare. He made it so that, should he fall, suspicion would rot upon you. His death brands you guilty, no matter your innocence."
Naruto's disbelief came easy, but the rage underneath clawed at his gut. "Why? Why lay such venom at my feet?" His voice carried bewilderment, but his thoughts were knives. Even from the grave he poisons me. The bastard doesn't rest, not even in death.
Mjosgard slumped back, heavy as stone collapsing into dust. "Listen well. The truth won't save you. To the ones above, killing an innocent is cleaner than risking a guilty man free. They'll send officers—monsters draped in justice. They'll come for your head. You must go, boy, and you must go now."
Naruto stepped back, expression a portrait of conflict while resolution tightened around his heart like a vice. "Thank you for warning me," he said, solemn and steady. His words fell like the last rites of a dying man. "Tell Z. Tell the others… I love them."
He turned, spine rigid, face calm as stone. But behind his teeth, the snarl twisted, unseen. Axel. A plague. Even in death your filth clings. But I'll burn it away. I'll burn everything that stands in my path.
"Take care," Mjosgard called, voice weary, broken against the silence.
Naruto stepped into the corridor. His stride was measured, deliberate, yet each step thundered with the storm within him. Plans had to shift, masks had to change. The hounds of the world had been loosed, and he would need to dance with them or die beneath their jaws.