The pressure vanished.
One moment the world was crushing Jack Sparrow flat against the ice, lungs screaming, bones trembling under a will that did not care whether he lived or died.
The next, it was gone.
Jack sucked in a ragged breath and almost laughed at how cold the air felt going down his throat. His knees were still bent, his sword point dug into the snow to keep him upright, but the invisible hand around his chest had loosened.
Across from him, Don Chinjao straightened and rolled his shoulders once, as if shrugging off an old coat.
Jack raised his head slowly. Blood ran down the side of his face, dripping from his chin and staining the snow. His vision swam, dark spots creeping in at the edges, but he forced his eyes to stay open.
He grinned.
"So," Jack said hoarsely, voice rough as gravel, "was that a king's will… or an emperor's?"
For a moment, Chinjao simply stared at him.
Then he laughed.
It was loud, genuine, echoing across the ice like thunder rolling over frozen seas.
"You're insolent," Chinjao said, wiping a smear of frost from his beard. "Even on the brink of death."
Jack coughed, spitting blood onto the ice, and tilted his head. "Occupational hazard."
Chinjao's laughter faded into a wide, toothy smile. His eyes burned with something Jack recognized—interest.
"You have the will of the new era," Chinjao said. "Whether you survive today or not."
Jack snorted weakly. "Thanks… but I don't need acknowledgement from a fallen star of the previous era."
For a split second, the temperature dropped again.
Then Chinjao laughed again, louder this time.
"Good," he said. "Good. You shouldn't."
He took a step forward, boots crunching against ice. "Then let me see how far that arrogance carries you."
Jack's smile wavered as Chinjao's gaze shifted.
Not to Jack, but behind him.
Toward where Ragetti lay sprawled in the snow, unmoving, face half-buried in frost.
Chinjao spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather.
"In the seas you dream of crossing," he said, "death is not an if. It's a when."
Jack's breath hitched.
"Even legends lose everything," Chinjao continued. "Golden Lion Shiki ruled the New World… and still watched his crew die."
Jack's eyes widened.
Chinjao raised his fist, vibrations already rippling through the air, the telltale hum of Hasshoken building beneath his skin.
"So tell me, boy," Chinjao said softly, "can you handle the death of your crew?"
Jack's blood ran cold.
"No—" Jack croaked, forcing his legs to move. Pain exploded through his body as he stumbled forward, muscles screaming, vision blurring. "You bastard—!"
Chinjao's fist came down.
Toward Ragetti.
Jack didn't think.
There was no room for thought.
No room for strategy, no room for cleverness, no room for trickery or luck or drunken bravado.
Jack threw himself between Chinjao and Ragetti.
He raised Wado Ichimonji with both hands.
The blade screamed as it met the punch.
A shockwave ripped outward, blasting snow and ice in every direction. The ground cratered beneath Jack's feet, cracks spiderwebbing across the frozen surface.
Jack dropped to one knee.
Blood sprayed from his mouth.
But the fist did not land.
The sword—his sword—was black.
The blackness was uneven, raw, crawling along the blade and bleeding into his forearms like ink spilled on skin.
Armament Haki.
Jack stared at it, eyes wide, disbelieving even as his body shook.
"…Is this," he rasped, coughing again, "what they call Armament Haki?"
Chinjao stumbled back a step.
His eyes were wide now, shock plain on his face.
"You awakened it," Chinjao said slowly. "Here. Like this."
Jack wheezed out a laugh. "Figures. I'm terrible at… timing."
Chinjao threw his head back and laughed, a booming sound that echoed off the ice.
"The seas are doomed," he declared.
"Absolutely doomed."
His laughter cut off abruptly, his expression sharpening once more.
"But don't misunderstand," Chinjao said, stepping forward again. "This doesn't mean you win."
Jack pushed himself upright, legs trembling. His arms felt like lead, his chest burned with every breath, but his grip on the sword tightened.
"Didn't think it did," Jack said. "Still… I've got one thing left."
Chinjao tilted his head. "Oh?"
Jack shifted his stance, blade angled just so. The black coating flickered, unstable, threatening to vanish at any second.
He smiled through blood and pain.
"Drifter's Promise"
He poured everything into that single strike—fear, rage, pride, stubbornness, love for the idiots he called his crew, the promise he had made in a quiet dojo years ago, his father's last words, his refusal to kneel to anyone.
Chinjao met him head-on.
Hasshoken thundered as Chinjao punched forward with all his might.
Steel met fist.
Will met will.
The explosion swallowed them both.
Snow and ice blasted skyward, the shockwave tearing through the ice sheet and carving a massive crater into the ground. The mountain behind them groaned, shedding chunks of ice that shattered on the frozen plain.
When the dust settled, the wind howled through the silence.
Jack Sparrow lay sprawled in the snow, sword fallen from his hand, chest barely rising.
Unconscious.
Chinjao stood at the edge of the crater, breathing heavily.
He touched his chest where Jack's strike had landed.
"That sniper..." chinjao said, twirling a bullet in his hand, "caused me to be distracted for a split moment. In that moment, he hit me," Chinjao muttered.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"I really am getting rusty."
In the distance, Augur looked at Chinjao twirling the bullet he had shot, a small satisfied grin on his face.
"I did as you said.... Captain."
Footsteps crunched behind him.
The Happosai's crew had arrived at last, Sai at their head. He stared at the devastation, eyes wide.
He had never seen this place like this.
Never seen his grandfather laugh like that.
Sai's gaze snapped to Chinjao's head.
"…Grandfather," he said, voice rising, "your drill—!"
Chinjao blinked.
He reached up.
Touched his head.
Froze.
The flattened dome was gone.
In its place—sharp, proud, unmistakable—the drill had returned.
Chinjao's eyes widened.
Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter, louder than before.
"Hahahaha! That boy!" he bellowed. "He performed a miracle!"
Sai stared in disbelief.
Chinjao turned, still laughing, and gestured toward Jack's fallen form.
"Treat them," he ordered. "All of them. See to it personally."
Sai hesitated, confused—but nodded. "Yes, Grandfather."
Then Sai remembered.
"…Grandfather. Bege is fighting our men at the shore."
Chinjao's laughter faded.
A dark grin replaced it.
"Good," he said. "Then I'll test my drill."