The deck rose and fell gently beneath their feet, the sea breeze carrying a damp, salty bite.
Madara stood at the bow, the crimson three-tomoe Sharingan slowly turning.
In his mind, the fight at Loguetown's harbor replayed again and again.
That Navy vice admiral, Smoker—his ability was strange. His body could turn into an element, making ordinary physical attacks useless.
But what truly caught Madara's interest was the man who used Rokushiki (Six Powers).
The moment the fist shot out, it would be coated in a hard, black substance.
In Madara's chakra perception, it wasn't chakra, nor was it this world's so-called Devil Fruit power.
It was a force driven purely by the spirit—energy made real by will itself.
Under the Sharingan's gaze, the flow of that energy, the way it condensed, the way it moved—nothing could hide.
He could even see that right before the opponent struck, their spiritual energy would give off a tiny fluctuation, signaling where the attack would come from.
A completely unfamiliar power system… yet it still followed certain shared laws.
"You're thinking about that Marine's power?" Shinju's voice came from beside him.
Madara didn't turn, his eyes still on the horizon. "A technique that attaches willpower to the body. It can grab hold of those who can turn into elements, and it greatly boosts offense and defense. Interesting."
"The system classifies it as Haki—divided into Busoshoku Haki (Armament Haki), Kenbunshoku Haki (Observation Haki), and Haoshoku Haki (Conqueror's Haki). What you saw was Busoshoku and Kenbunshoku." Shinju's voice stayed calm. "Busoshoku is armor made from will. Kenbunshoku is perception made from will. At its core, it's the practical application of spiritual energy."
Spiritual energy… made practical.
Those words echoed in Madara's mind, lighting up every doubt at once.
Everything he'd observed fit perfectly.
So that was it.
The people of this world used a crude method… to hammer spiritual power into a weapon.
"Oi, what're you two muttering about, all mysterious and creepy?" Sanji walked over with a chilled glass of orange juice. He handed it to Shinju, lit a cigarette, and leaned on the railing, wearing a dismissive look. He'd caught a few words, and clearly didn't think much of it.
"Madara is interested in Haki," Shinju said, accepting the drink.
Sanji blew out a smoke ring and glanced at Madara. "That's not something you learn just by staring. It takes endless training. Hey, old man—don't get cocky just because you beat a few Marines."
Madara finally turned. His scarlet gaze settled on Sanji.
He didn't say anything—yet that single look made the rest of Sanji's words freeze in his throat.
"Your next move," Madara said in a low voice, flat and emotionless, "is to lift your right leg upward. Target: my jaw. Fast. Force concentrated at the tip of your foot."
Sanji's body stiffened.
That was exactly what he'd been thinking.
A near-instinctive urge—to teach this arrogant guy a lesson.
That thought had only just formed. It hadn't even reached his muscles.
And yet Madara spoke it out, perfectly.
"Y-you…" Cold sweat beaded on Sanji's forehead.
"This is Kenbunshoku Haki?" Madara ignored Sanji's shock, sounding like he was asking Shinju—or talking to himself.
He'd caught the precursor flicker of Sanji's spiritual energy with the Sharingan, then combined it with tiny shifts in muscle and posture, and predicted everything.
Shinju nodded. "You can understand it that way. In terms of insight, your Sharingan already surpasses basic Kenbunshoku."
At the other end of the deck, Zoro—who had been wiping down his three swords—stopped.
He lifted his head. Under his green hair, his single eye fixed sharply on them.
He'd heard every word. He'd also felt that split-second stiffness in Sanji.
Madara no longer paid Sanji any attention.
He raised his right hand and opened his palm.
He closed his eyes and recalled the way that Marine condensed Busoshoku.
Gather will.
Compress it.
Release it—spread it across the surface of the body.
Madara's control over chakra had long since reached its peak. Controlling spiritual force should follow the same principles.
An invisible power began to gather in his palm.
Zoro's eye narrowed.
He could feel it—something similar to the aura that formed when he used Busoshoku was condensing around that man's hand.
Sanji's cigarette butt dropped to the deck. He didn't even notice.
The skin of Madara's palm began to change.
A faint layer of black—like ink bleeding across paper—slowly surfaced, until it covered his entire hand.
It was pale, unstable, its edges wavering slightly.
"The form is crude. The condensation efficiency is too low," Madara said as he opened his eyes, staring at his hand with clear dissatisfaction.
"For a first try, getting that far is already beyond human," Zoro said, rising to his feet. His three swords hung at his waist as he walked over step by step. "Ninja… what kind of existence are you?"
"Just ordinary people who learned a more efficient way to use energy," Madara replied. He withdrew the Haki, and the black coating faded away.
"If I coat Susanoo with this kind of armor…" Madara murmured. In his crimson eyes, the three tomoe spun rapidly, linking into a complex pattern.
The next instant, an oppressive surge of power burst out of him.
Purple energy took shape around his body, forming a massive ribcage-like frame. From within it, a thick arm of the same energy extended, hovering over the deck.
The Thousand Sunny groaned under the pressure, as if it couldn't quite bear the weight of that presence.
Sanji staggered back several steps, slamming into the cabin wall, his face full of disbelief.
He'd never seen a power so strange—and so overwhelming.
Was this really something a person could do?
Zoro held his ground, forcing himself to withstand the pressure.
His body trembled—not from fear, but from excitement.
He gripped the hilts of his three swords, every muscle tightening.
"Use your strongest move," Madara's voice echoed from within the purple construct, cold and lofty. "Use that black armor. Cut this arm."
Zoro didn't waste words.
He clenched Wado Ichimonji in his mouth, and gripped Sandai Kitetsu and Yubashiri in both hands.
"Santoryu (Three-Sword Style)…"
"Oni Giri (Demon Slash)!"
His figure vanished in an instant, turning into a crossed slash that crashed into the purple arm.
This was his signature technique—an attack that could cut steel.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Three harsh metallic impacts exploded across the deck.
Zoro felt as if his arms had slammed into a mountain made of diamond.
A tremendous rebound surged through the blades into his whole body. His hands split open, and he was thrown backward, tumbling several times before finally stopping.
He looked up at the arm.
On the purple chakra armor, only three faint pale marks remained.
Zoro's mind went blank.
His full-power strike…
Was that all?
That sense of despair was even stronger than the day he lost to Mihawk in the East Blue.
Back then, Mihawk had beaten him with a small blade.
But this man made him understand something worse—
His attack didn't even qualify as "damage."
"Too weak," Madara said, disappointment utterly unhidden.
"Now, let me show you… real armor."
The moment the words fell, the purple Susanoo arm began to change.
A deep black spread from the base, quickly coating the entire arm.
This wasn't just color—it was a transformation.
What had looked like energy became like the hardest obsidian, radiating a sinister, heavy presence.
This was the product of Madara analyzing Busoshoku Haki, then combining will and chakra in his own way—wrapping Susanoo in a new kind of armor.
Zoro stared blankly at the jet-black giant arm. From it, he felt a pressure far purer and heavier than his own Busoshoku—by an absurd margin.
Madara casually swung the arm toward Zoro.
Zoro only felt an irresistible force slam into him.
His body flew like a ragdoll, smashing into the main mast and leaving a huge dent as wood splintered outward.
He went still, his consciousness dropping into darkness.
The deck fell into a dead silence.
Sanji stood frozen, mouth open wide enough to swallow an egg.
The purple frame and arm slowly dispersed. Madara returned to normal, as if the world-shaking giant had never existed.
"Your use of power is far too shallow," he gave his final evaluation.
Shinju walked to the mast and looked at the unconscious Zoro, frowning slightly.
He raised a hand, sending a gentle energy into Zoro's body to treat his injuries.
"Madara, you went too far."
"I only made him face reality," Madara said calmly. "The weak should lower their heads before the strong."
Shinju didn't respond.
He knew Madara's style.
This blow, painful as it was might be a good thing for Zoro.
Shinju lifted his gaze to the boundless sea.
On the system interface, the data stream on Haki had finished parsing.
[Core Power System "Haki" Analysis Complete]
[Analysis Accuracy: 100%]
[Compatible for fusion development with existing energy systems such as chakra, mana, etc.]
A new door had opened.
The ship cut through the waves, heading for the next stop on the Grand Line—
A kingdom of endless yellow sand.
Alabasta—forward.
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For 20+ Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!] [[email protected]/Draumel]
[Thank You For Your Support!]