Chapter 35: The Sword from Hell
Alone in the shattered arena, Ragnar pondered Hatake Sakumo's words. His fighting style was singular. Brutally effective, but ultimately a one-note symphony of overwhelming force. He amplified his physical power with Armament Haki and the nascent Spiral Force. That was his entire repertoire.
As a shinobi, lacking a signature, high-level ninjutsu was a glaring vulnerability. Every jonin had at least one A-rank technique in their arsenal, some even dabbling in forbidden arts for that decisive, city-leveling edge. Techniques like the Tailed Beast Bomb, Shinra Tensei, Chibaku Tensei—these were the benchmarks of ultimate power.
The realization crystallized. He was young. He had time. He had the Phoenix Fruit's potential. He would not remain a blunt instrument. To face the monsters of this world, he needed his own trump card, a perfected technique born from his unique fusion of powers.
DING!
A sudden, brilliant light materialized before his eyes—a golden treasure chest. It hung in the air, pulsating with latent energy. Fighting a Kage-level opponent, even in a controlled spar, had triggered a substantial reward. Anticipation surged, but he was still surrounded by the remnants of the dispersing ANBU. With a thought, he stored the chest away in his system space.
"I did not anticipate your strength to be quite so… substantial. It exceeds the reports," the Tengu ninja said, approaching as the other operatives melted back into the shadows.
"The captain was holding back," Ragnar replied, his tone neither proud nor dismissive. After a brief exchange, he offered a respectful bow and took his leave.
The Tengu watched him go, a thoughtful frown hidden behind his mask. "A genius, yet without the expected arrogance… Quite different from the 'ruthless upstart' the clan whispers about. It seems some narratives are being… carefully shaped." A quiet, weary sigh escaped him. "The machinations of a great clan… there is too much one cannot control."
…
Leaving the underground complex, Ragnar changed back into his simple civilian clothes, his ANBU identity once again a secret. The night over Konoha was deep and quiet, the village a haven of stillness in a world sliding toward chaos. A rare peace.
Returning to his spartan cabin, he noted that despite his week-long absence, there was no layer of dust. Someone had been here, cleaning. The gesture was small, anonymous, and oddly touching. Kushina? Tsunade? He couldn't be sure and set the mystery aside for now.
After a quick, cold shower to wash away the grit and tension, he sat cross-legged on his bed. With a focused thought, the golden treasure chest manifested.
He opened it.
Light, sharp and hot, spilled out. Lying within was a sword.
It was a katana, roughly a meter in length, with a pronounced curve and a wide blade. It lacked a blood groove. The steel was patterned with a distinct, beautiful flame-like grain, the mark of masterful fold-forging. The hilt was simple, unadorned. But the most striking feature was the faint, purple miasma that seemed to seep from the blade itself, coiling in the air like a malevolent spirit.
"A sword?"
Ragnar's hand closed around the hilt. The metal was shockingly cold, and a jolt, like a static charge of pure malice, shot up his arm. Simultaneously, knowledge flooded his mind.
Enma. One of the 21 Great Grade Swords. Forged by the smith, Kozuki Sukiyaki. Known as the "Sword That Cuts to Hell." Its peer is the supreme blade, Yoru.
"This sword?" A wave of fierce delight washed over him. This was Zoro's later blade, a weapon that ranked among the very finest in that other world. It was the blade that had left a permanent scar on the "Strongest Creature," Kaido. Its reputation was fearsome.
And it had a unique, dangerous trait: it could absorb its wielder's Haki autonomously, amplifying and unleashing it in devastating, unpredictable slashes. In its original story, a casual test swing from its new master had sheared through a massive tree and carved a chunk from a mountainside.
Huh?
Ragnar felt a strange pull in his arm. He looked down. His right arm had subconsciously activated Armament Haki, and the black energy was being siphoned directly into Yama. The purple miasma intensified, glowing with an eerie light. The flame patterns on the blade seemed to writhe, transforming into flickering black will-o'-the-wisps.
"It really is a demonic blade," he muttered.
"But I wield you. You do not wield me."
He focused. Conqueror's Haki erupted from his core, a psychic tsunami of domineering will. The entire cabin seemed to groan under the pressure, the air growing thick and heavy. His Haki was not yet that of a Pirate King, but its essence was the same—the power to make kings kneel.
The Yama sword trembled violently in his grip. For a moment, the siphoning stopped. Then, as if in reluctant acknowledgment, the stolen Armament Haki flowed back into his arm. The purple aura dimmed, the ghostly flames dying down, leaving the sword looking deceptively ordinary.
"Good. Serve me, and I will see you bathed in the blood of worthy foes. Defy me, and I will see you broken and discarded," Ragnar stated, his voice flat and final.
The blade gave one last, faint shiver and fell still. The pact, for now, was struck.
Exhaling slowly, he laid Yama beside him. A weapon of this caliber was a game-changer, a hidden ace.
He then pulled up his system status.
Host: Ragnar
Abilities: Conqueror's Haki Lv2, Observation Haki Lv2, Armament Haki Lv3, Tornado (Lv2), Shave (Lv2), Moon Walk (Lv2). Next level for all requires 10,000 EXP.
Devil Fruit: Tori Tori no Mi, Model: Phoenix (Lv3). Next level requires 10,000 EXP.
Weapon: Yama (Great Grade Sword)
Experience: 8,300 / 10,000
The spar with the White Fang had yielded nearly a thousand experience points. It was time to invest.
"First, the Haki," he decided. He allocated the experience, feeling the familiar surge of deepening comprehension as Conqueror's, Observation, and Armament Haki all ascended to Level 3. He followed by upgrading Shave, Moon Walk, and Tornado to Level 3 as well.
Five thousand experience points vanished in an instant, but the result was a uniform elevation of his core abilities.
He closed his eyes, immersing himself in the new thresholds.
Observation Haki had undergone the most dramatic change. When he focused, his perception didn't just extend further; it deepened. He could feel the presences around him not as blobs of life, but as distinct entities—the restless chirp of a cicada outside his window, the slow pulse of a rooting plant, the skittering of a small rodent in the underbrush. It was a chorus of life, all visible to his mind's eye.
But there was more. As he emptied his mind, aligning his breath with this expanded awareness, he began to perceive the world itself in a new way. Not just the living things, but the forces that comprised nature. He could feel the restless flow of the wind, not just as moving air, but as a current of energy. He sensed the latent heat in the earth, the potential of fire. He perceived the moisture in the air and soil, the essence of water.
These were forces ninjas manipulated with chakra transformations, but they were usually invisible, intangible. Now, to Ragnar's heightened Observation, they appeared as shimmering, interwoven streams of energy. He felt, for the first time, that he could almost… communicate with them. Not control them yet, but understand their flow, their essence.
It was the first, profound step toward something greater. The path Hatake Sakumo had hinted at—a technique that was not just power, but a fusion of power and understanding—now seemed not just possible, but inevitable.
He opened his eyes. In the dim light of his room, they gleamed with a new, sharper light. Beside him, the Yama sword lay still, a partner in the shadows, waiting for its first true taste of hell.
(End of Chapter)
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