"Did u really think u could avoid it by dodging" - Anos Voldigoad
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Three days passed.
Arlo spent them alone.
Sachiko noticed his absence from meals, commented on his dedication to "study," smiled with that affectionate concern she always wore. He returned her smiles. Said nothing about what he was really doing.
Training and Forging.
The first step was materials.
Arlo sat cross-legged in his private courtyard, shadows of roof pooling at his feet. His Observation Haki spread outward, mapping the estate, the surrounding forests, the distant mountains. Everything within ten kilometers registered in crystalline clarity.
He activated Predation.
His shadow writhed. Black tendrils rose from the darkness, reaching toward the earth itself. They sank into the soil, spreading like roots through stone and sediment, searching for what he needed.
Iron ore. Deep beneath the surface, veins of it running through bedrock. The tendrils touched them. The ore began to dissolve, breaking down at the molecular level, flowing through shadow-paths into his Imaginary Space.
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Steel came next. High carbon steel from the family warehouses—materials purchased through their business connections. Arlo had been careful. Ordered them weeks ago through intermediaries. No one questioned a noble family acquiring construction materials. Even if they did he has no need to answer.
The tendrils spread through the warehouse walls, passing through solid matter as if it didn't exist. They touched crates of steel ingots. The metal vanished into shadow.
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Then came the prize.
Wano Steel.
Not common and was also not easy to acquire. But the family had connections to the forges in the Flower Capital. Craftsmen who worked the unique metal found only in this isolated country. Steel that was harder than anything produced elsewhere. Steel that carried mystical properties allowing interaction with Haki itself.
It was how Enma worked. How it absorbed the wielder's Armament Haki and channeled it into devastating cutting power. The Wano Steel served as a conduit, a bridge between will and destruction.
Arlo's tendrils reached the forge district. Touched ingots cooling in stone vats. The steel dissolved into shadow.
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Perfect.
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Arlo opened his eyes. The courtyard looked unchanged. The shadows had left no trace.
Time for the real work.
Far Sight activated.
His consciousness shot outward, spanning distances that made geography meaningless. Wano unfolded beneath his perception—mountains, forests, settlements, all mapped in an instant.
He found Shimotsuki Kouzaburou first.
The swordsmith worked in a traditional forge near the Ringo region. An old man not as old as he is portrayed in canon, bent with age but hands steady as stone. He hammered metal with rhythmic timings, each strike exactly as it should be. Sweat dripped from his brow.
And there, resting on a rack behind him, was Enma.
The blade was magnificent. Even unsheathed, it radiated presence. The purple-tinted steel seemed to drink in light. Intricate patterns ran along its length—folded steel, thousands of layers compressed into impossible sharpness.
Arlo's awareness focused. Raphael went to work.
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The data flooded into Arlo's mind. He felt it settle, integrate, become part of his understanding. Now he knew how Enma was made. How it worked. How to recreate and improve upon its design.
Next.
His awareness shifted, sweeping across Wano until it locked onto another presence.
Kozuki Sukiyaki.
The former shogun worked in a private forge, hidden from the world. His hands moved with the confidence of a master. Before him lay two blades.
Nidai Kitetsu. and Ame no Habakiri.
Arlo's focus narrowed. Raphael analyzed.
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Two legendary smiths. Two sets of techniques. All absorbed, catalogued, ready for synthesis.
But Arlo wasn't finished.
Far Sight swept across Wano again. This time, searching for something specific.
A grave.
The resting place of Shimotsuki Ryuma. Legendary samurai. Dragon-slayer. National hero.
Arlo found it in the northern mountains. A shrine built around a simple stone monument. Flowers left by pilgrims. Incense burning in offering bowls.
And there, placed with reverence beside the grave marker, was Shusui.
The Black Blade.
Even from a distance, through the abstract perception of Far Sight, Arlo could feel its presence. This wasn't just a sword. This was a legend made manifest. A weapon that had permanently transformed through its wielder's mastery.
Raphael scanned it.
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Arlo filed the information away. Shusui's secrets were now his.
Two more targets remained.
Rocks' vessel first. The pirate captain's unnamed sword. Raphael had already scanned it during the battle with Harald, but Arlo verified the data.
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Then Harald's blade. The giant's sword, proportioned for someone 220 meters tall.
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Five legendary blades. Two master smiths' complete knowledge. Countless techniques and materials analyzed, catalogued, ready for synthesis.
Time to create something new.
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"Agreed. Raphael, use your Alteration subskill. I need a new ability."
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"Yes."
The Codex pulsed within him. That star-shaped presence merged with his soul responded to his desire, feeding power into Raphael's alteration process. Energy flowed through pathways that shouldn't exist, rewriting reality's rules on a localized scale.
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A new tool. Exactly what he needed.
"Now use Skill Creation to create a crafting skill. Something that combines all the blacksmithing knowledge I've acquired. Call it Craftsman."
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Arlo felt the knowledge settle. The techniques of two legendary smiths merged with his own understanding, filtered through Raphael's analytical precision and enhanced by the Craftsman skill.
He knew how to forge a blade now. Knew it with the certainty of someone who'd spent decades at the anvil.
Time to put it to use.
Arlo stood. His shadow expanded beneath him, growing until it covered the entire courtyard. Black tendrils rose, weaving together into complex patterns. The air grew cold.
He reached into his Imaginary Space. Drew forth the materials. Iron. Steel. Alloys. Wano Steel.
They materialized in the air before him, floating in geometric arrangements. Each piece precisely measured. Each ratio calculated to perfection.
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"Show me the synthesis."
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Data flooded his vision. The perfect sword. A blade that combined Enma's Haki channeling, Shusui's indestructibility, Ame no Habakiri's supreme cutting ability, Nidai Kitetsu's supreme sharpness, and the raw power behind Rocks' and Harald's weapons.
The design was elegant. A longsword, slightly curved, approximately 110-120 centimeters in length. The blade would be dark purple, almost black, with red accents running along the fuller. The edge geometry would create a cutting surface that could slice through anything given enough force. The handle would be wrapped in shadow-black material, ergonomically perfect for Arlo's grip.
And it would be a conductor, perhaps a channel. A weapon designed to drink in limitless amounts of Haki and transform that energy into pure destructive potential.
Arlo activated Transmutation.
The materials began to move. Iron and steel flowed together, molecules realigning, impurities burning away in invisible fire. The Wano Steel integrated into the matrix, its mystical properties spreading through the entire structure like veins through flesh.
The sword took shape.
Slowly. Methodically. Each atom positioned with surgical precision.
The blade formed first. Dark metal cooling in the air, edge sharpening to impossible keenness. Patterns emerged along its length but they also had functions. Channels for Haki flow. Reinforcement structures to prevent shattering under extreme stress.
The crossguard came next. Ornate, twisted, designed to protect the hand while allowing full mobility. Then the handle, wrapped in material that would never slip, never fail.
The sword hung in the air, complete.
But not finished.
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"How long?"
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"Start the protocol"
The sword vanished into his shadow, disappearing into Imaginary Space. In that realm where time held no meaning, Raphael began the work. Channeling Arlo's Armament Haki—immeasurable, endless—through the blade's structure. Second after second. Hour after hour. Year after year, compressed into a single instant.
The blade drank it in. Absorbed the Haki, let it seep into every molecule, every atom. The metal began to change. Darkening. Hardening. Evolving.
Black Blade transformation.
In the physical world, Almost 2 days have passed.
In Imaginary Space, centuries of exposure compressed into that moment.
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Arlo smiled.
Time to name it.
"Venuzdonoa. That's what I'll call you."
The name settled into the blade's consciousness. Accepted. Acknowledged.
Venuzdonoa. Inspired by the legendary sword of Anos Voldigoad. The Destroyer. The Abolisher of Reason. The weapon that defied logic itself.
This blade was nowhere near that level. Not yet. But one day...
One day it would be.
Arlo stood in the center of the courtyard. The moon hung overhead, painting everything silver.
He needed to see it. To hold it. To confirm what had been created.
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"Now now calm down I have all the time for this. Show me the full ritual."
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The air around Arlo began to shimmer. Then, as if responding to an unseen command, countless black runes materialized. They floated in the air, inscribing themselves on invisible surfaces, creating a three-dimensional magic circle that surrounded him in all directions.
The runes pulsed with dark light. Ancient symbols that predated language. Concepts made manifest.
The ground beneath his feet began to glow. More runes appeared, spreading outward in concentric circles, each layer more complex than the last. The entire courtyard transformed into a geometric construct of impossible mathematics.
Then the particles came.
Innumerable black particles of light, gathering from nowhere. They coalesced in the air before him, forming a shadow. A void in space shaped like a sword, yet possessing no object that could project such a shape.
Arlo held out his hand.
The shadow responded. It rose from the ground slowly, as if being drawn from an infinite depth of void/nothingness. The particles swirled around it they looked like darkness embodiment, defining its edges, giving it form without substance.
His fingers closed around the hilt.
The shadow inverted.
Reality folded. Light became darkness. Darkness became steel.
Venuzdonoa materialized.
A dark longsword, elegant and deadly. The blade was deep purple, almost black, with red accents that seemed to pulse with inner light. The edge gleamed with impossible sharpness. The handle fit his grip perfectly, as if it had been made for him alone—because it had.
Arlo lifted the sword. It weighed nothing. It weighed everything. The blade hummed with contained power, with potential waiting to be unleashed.
He could feel it. The pseudo-consciousness lurking within the steel. It had no personality, no voice, but it knew him. Recognized him as its wielder. Or for better word As master.
I am Venuzdonoa.
The thought wasn't his, yet it was. The blade's will, such as it was, communicating through their connection.
Arlo smiled.
"You're still incomplete," he said quietly, speaking to the sword as if it could hear him—and perhaps it could. "Right now, you're at the bottom of Unique Grade. Strong, yes. Deadly. But not yet what you'll become."
He turned the blade, watching light play across its surface.
"When you reach Legend Grade... when you develop a true soul, a true will... I'll name you properly. Give you a name by the naming ritual that resonates with your purpose. And then we'll climb higher. Beyond Legend. Beyond God. Beyond Genesis. All the way to Destroyer."
Venuzdonoa. The sword's consciousness pulsed in acknowledgment. It understood. It would wait. It would grow.
They would grow together.
Arlo swung the blade once. A practice cut, testing the balance.
The air split.
A thin line appeared in reality itself, visible for half a second before sealing. The cut had been that sharp. That precise. He hadn't even channeled Haki into it.
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"Noted."
He held the sword up, examining it one final time. The craftsmanship was flawless. Every aspect of the legendary blades he'd analyzed had been incorporated, refined, synthesized into something new.
Enma's Haki channeling. Shusui's indestructibility. Ame no Habakiri's precision. Nidai Kitetsu's sharpness. The raw power of Rocks' and Harald's weapons.
All of it, combined into a single blade.
By One Piece standards, this is a Supreme Grade Sword. The highest classification. A weapon that stands alongside the greatest blades in history.
By Tensura standards, it's barely Unique Grade. Weak. Unimpressive.
But that's fine.
Because I'm going to make it grow.
Arlo stabbed the sword into the ground. The blade sank through stone effortlessly, disappearing until only the hilt remained visible. The steel dissolved into shadow, leaving only a dark outline at his feet.
Sheathed. Stored. Ready to be summoned whenever needed.
He looked up at the moon. Three days had passed since the integration. Three days of solitary work, scanning legendary blades, creating skills, forging a weapon that would accompany him for years to come.
Now he had Venuzdonoa.
And in his hands, it would become something that defied comprehension.
The Destroyer. The Abolisher. The blade that would one day cut through the very concept of limitation.
Arlo turned and walked back toward his room. The shadows followed him, darker than before, carrying within them the weight of a weapon that would one day reshape reality.
Behind him, the courtyard returned to normal. The runes faded. The particles dispersed.
Only the shadow at his feet remained, a thin line marking where Venuzdonoa waited.
Ready.
End of Chapter 7
Next: The sword's first true test. Sachiko's growing concerns. And somewhere in the distance, legends continue their dance...