After killing Ōnoki, Shanks let out a long breath. The cold, lifeless look on his face slowly faded, the pressure around him dissolving.
"Tch… I thought I got rid of you a long time ago," he muttered, eyes dropping to the tattoo burning faintly on his arm. "How are you still here?"
He knew this mark.
The abyssal seal given to him by "THE WORLD."
The thing that made him immortal.
Ageless.
And completely under ITS control.
Back in his old world, when the Sea King bit his arm off—along with the mark—Shanks thought he was finally free. Ever since, his body tried to regrow the arm with the mark still etched into it, but he kept suppressing it with his Haki. For nine years, he fought the seal with pure will and Haki alone. That was one of the reasons his Haki had reached such absurd levels—he'd been wrestling with the will of "THE WORLD" every single day.
But now the mark had returned.
How… and why?
Shanks had a theory.
Two, actually.
First—the mark have never truly left. Maybe he only suppressed it so completely with Haki that he assumed it was gone. Something that demonic and ancient… it was bold to think it was only physically attached to him. More likely, it was bound to his soul. If that was the case, then it followed him here. And he'd been suppressing it subconsciously the entire time without noticing.
The second part of his theory was even worse.
He'd never been pushed into a corner like that before—not in this world. Never forced to use every last drop of his Haki, leaving himself wide open. Against Ōnoki, he dropped his guard for a moment. And in that moment…the mark slipped free.
"Well… that's my theory anyway," Shanks thought as he scratched his head, annoyed more than anything.
He sighed again and stared out at the desert.
Dark.
Empty.
Cold.
He only now noticed how freezing the wind was.
"Clothes first," he muttered.
He picked up whatever food Ōnoki had been carrying, wrapped it under his arm, and started walking toward Iwa. His footsteps echoed softly across the sand.
Everyone now believed he was dead.
Konoha included.
If that was the case…
Then nothing tied him down anymore.
"If I'm dead, I might as well go on my own adventure," Shanks said quietly to himself.
He tightened the cloak around his shoulders and kept walking toward Iwa—his first stop as a "dead man."
-----
By the time Shanks reached the outer gates of Iwa, the sun was already rising. The guards barely gave him a second look. Just a scrawny ten-year-old with almost no chakra. He told them he was visiting from one of the small villages in the Stone Country, and they waved him through without trouble.
Having tiny chakra was useful after all. No one bothered to check him seriously.
But the moment he stepped properly into the village… something felt wrong.
He kept walking calmly, but inwardly his senses sharpened. Ever since entering Iwa, he could feel… things. Countless human-like presences. In the walls. In the ground. Inside the stone pillars. Even under the streets. Everywhere his Haki stretched, he could sense them—silent, motionless, watching nothing and everything at the same time.
It was insane.
If he didn't know better, he would've thought the whole village was alive.
Still, none of these creatures were reacting to him. They didn't move, didn't shift in his direction. And this world was full of strange ninjutsu—maybe this was some sort of sensory network or protection seal. Shanks decided not to poke around.
He found a cheap inn, paid for a small room, and crashed on the bed. The long night, the fight, the mark, the cold—he felt all of it catch up at once. He fell asleep almost instantly.
When he woke up hours later, the village was lively. Markets loud, workers shouting, shinobi moving across rooftops. Shanks headed toward the center of the village, trying to blend in. Eventually he entered a tavern, sat at the counter, and ordered some sake.
Seeing his age, the bartender wanted to refuse, but there is nothing that a small amount of fear inducing conquerer haki couldn't solve.
It was quiet at first. Just morning chatter and old men complaining.
Then the atmosphere shifted.
Whispers spread.
People burst into the tavern with pale faces.
"The Tsuchikage—!"
"He's dead!"
"He was found stabbed straight through the heart!"
"An arm missing—someone tore it off!"
Shanks didn't react. He drank quietly, eyes half-closed.
Ōnoki's name passed from mouth to mouth. Panic grew. Shinobi scrambled outside, orders were shouted, bells rang across the village.
Shanks simply finished his cup.