The forest was quiet.
Mist wove through ancient roots and drifted between trees older than memory. Hunnt walked beneath them without a sound. His cloak brushed against the bark, catching morning dew as he passed. Behind him, far down the valley, the Felyne Village stirred awake — faint smoke from chimneys, hammer strikes, and laughter rising with the dawn.
He stopped at the ridge and looked back. A tiny red flicker broke through the haze — Pyro's scarf, glinting in the early light as he led drills among his people.
Hunnt smiled softly. "You're doing it, partner."
Then he turned east. No trails, no hunters, no one to hurt if things went wrong. It was time.
The forest deepened as he went. The air grew heavy with earth and rain, the scent of pine mixing with damp soil. He dropped his pack beside a boulder and sat cross-legged beneath a towering tree. His gauntlets rested across his knees, steel dull from battles and burns.
For a while, he simply breathed. The rhythm steadied him — inhale, hold, exhale. When he closed his eyes, his mind split between two worlds.
He remembered Pyro collapsing under the force of his first eruption. He remembered the monster's fear. And deeper still, he remembered faces from a world long gone — Luffy's reckless grin, Rayleigh's calm gaze, Roger's laughter shaking the sky, Shanks' silence heavy with will.
Hunnt whispered, "Conqueror's Haki. The will of kings… or the burden of one who can't control it."
He pressed his palms to the earth and drew a slow breath. "Let's begin."
The first pulse came unbidden — violent and raw. The air around him tore open with soundless pressure. Trees bowed. The ground cracked in a ring beneath him. Birds exploded from the canopy, vanishing into the sky.
Hunnt winced, teeth clenched. The power felt alive, writhing through his veins like a storm he could barely contain. He forced it down, pressing his will inward until the trembling stopped. Leaves fell in slow, cautious spirals.
His breath came sharp. "Still too wild."
Hours turned to days. The forest became his arena. Each release grew smaller, each flare sharper. Where once the air screamed, now it whispered. By the third morning, the wind no longer fled from him. His aura flowed instead of crashing.
He exhaled slowly, sweat tracing the curve of his jaw. "Better. Less rage. More control."
When he stood, the soil underfoot no longer bore cracks. It hummed gently, almost approving.
Night found him in a clearing lit by fireflies. He drew concentric circles into the dirt, marking distance. Smooth pebbles became his test. He focused, breath deepening until the world narrowed to the stillness between heartbeats.
Pressure gathered behind his sternum. A tremor of will — then release.
The outer ring of stones toppled. The inner circle remained untouched.
"Good."
He tried again. The wind rippled, gentler this time, guiding instead of destroying. Only the outermost stones shifted. The rest stayed firm.
Hunnt allowed himself a thin smile. "Rayleigh, I'm catching up."
For the first time, the energy didn't feel like fury. It felt like breathing — invisible, natural, his own.
When dawn rose again, he stood at the center of his practice field, surrounded by fallen leaves that bowed outward in perfect symmetry. The forest watched him in silence.
He looked at his hands and saw faint sparks dancing between his knuckles. "Stage two," he murmured. "I can finally aim it."
The following days he turned his focus to the body. Breath became rhythm; rhythm became flight. Every morning, he climbed the cliff's edge and leapt into open air.
His heel struck the void with a dull boom — once, twice — and the world held him. He kicked again, rising higher. Each strike of air demanded balance; each step stole strength.
At first he could manage five before gravity reclaimed him. Then ten. Then twenty. Each time he fell, he hit the lake below with a crash that sent ripples to shore. Each time he surfaced, gasping, he laughed.
"Alright," he'd mutter between breaths. "Again."
He began linking the two — the will and the movement. On the tenth day, he leapt and let his Haki pulse midair. The blast struck too hard. Clouds shredded apart. The forest below groaned.
Hunnt tumbled down, coughing dust and lake water. "Still clumsy. Too heavy."
He rested briefly, then climbed again.
This time he matched the timing — breath, pulse, strike. The shockwave curved forward, bending trees instead of breaking them. The air rippled where his focus pointed, sharp but clean.
Hunnt grinned through exhaustion. "Precision, not force."
The rhythm consumed him. Days blurred together. Dawn to dusk, sky to water. Each motion carved control deeper into muscle and mind. His heartbeat set the tempo; his will became the instrument.
But mastery demanded more than repetition. It demanded failure.
One evening, under violet skies, he pushed too far. His legs trembled midair. The next step faltered. He plummeted into the lake with a roar of displaced water.
He floated on his back, breath ragged, watching the stars flicker through the rippling surface. The water shimmered faintly with traces of his power.
"Even kings fall," he murmured. "Getting up's the difference."
He sank deeper, eyes open beneath the water. His Haki pulsed softly — no longer outward, but inward, aligning with his heartbeat. The lake responded with gentle waves. Fish circled him instead of fleeing. The world didn't fear his will anymore; it harmonized with it.
In that quiet depth, Hunnt understood what the others had shown him — what he had missed while chasing strength.
True command wasn't domination. It was harmony.
When dawn broke, fog rolled through the valley. Hunnt stood on the cliff's edge once more. His breath steamed in the cold air. Every muscle ached, but inside he felt weightless.
He exhaled. The forest stilled.
When he opened his eyes, the air around him shimmered faintly, a quiet distortion rather than a storm. He raised one hand. Energy gathered there, invisible but undeniable.
He released it.
The shockwave struck a distant boulder. It cracked cleanly in half, dust spilling outward, while the ground beneath his boots didn't even tremble.
Hunnt stared, disbelief giving way to a grin. "Rayleigh would call that good enough."
He looked down into the lake's reflection. Rings of pressure rippled outward, smooth and even. "Luffy… Roger… Shanks… I finally get it."
The power that once crushed the air now moved like a heartbeat — strong, steady, alive.
By nightfall, a small fire burned beside him. He sat near it, knees drawn up, notebook balanced across his thigh. The pages were filled with ink and dirt, sketches of motion and scattered thoughts.
He began to write.
Power uncontrolled is cruelty.
Power refined is choice.
Today, I learned restraint.
He smiled faintly at the words. "You'd laugh if you saw me now, Pyro," he said, poking at the fire with a stick. "Training alone like some monk in the woods."
A soft breeze brushed his hair. For a heartbeat, he thought he heard a faint "Nyaaah" carried in the wind. He chuckled quietly. "Guess you're watching anyway."
He closed the book and looked toward the horizon. The faint orange glow in the distance marked volcanic clouds — the borderlands of Draconis.
"Next comes coating… infusion." His voice was calm, steady. The firelight caught the faint shimmer of his eyes, burning gold for a moment before dimming.
He rose, stretching sore limbs. The air around him pulsed once, silent and certain.
He started walking east. The forest parted for him, leaves stirring gently but not from fear. His aura breathed with him now — no longer a storm, but a steady current following each step.
At the ridge, he stopped and turned west. The Felyne Village shimmered faintly under the moonlight, its lights like tiny stars scattered across the valley.
"Keep them safe, Scarlet Paw."
He faced forward again. The wind rose behind him, carrying faint ripples through the clouds. They split quietly, letting the first light of dawn spill through.
Hunnt stepped into it. His silhouette merged with the glow, each stride certain, unhurried.
The Path of the King's Will was not about domination.
It was about command — over fear, over failure, over the self.
And as he walked toward the frontier of Draconis, the quiet hum of his Haki followed him — a heartbeat beneath the wind, a promise echoing through the world that had begun to listen to the will of a king.