Cassandra easily found the shop, after asking around.
The sword shop sat on a narrow side street of Loguetown, tucked between a spice merchant and a run-down tavern. Its wooden sign was old. The kanji faded by salty air and time, but the place radiated a quiet gravity that made passersby instinctively slow their steps.
The front windows were dusty, crowded with racks of cheap blades and practice swords meant for tourists and hopeful fools. But Cassandra knew better.
She stopped in front of the door.
This place hides the next parts for my collection, she thought with excitement.
When she pushed the door open, a bell chimed softly.
The air inside was cool, dry and heavy with the scent of oiled wood and iron. Blades lined the walls in careful order, from low-quality steel to respectable workman swords. Barrels filled with sheathed katanas stood against the back wall, their handles poking out like quiet sentinels waiting to be noticed.
Cassandra took one step inside and felt three presences brushing against her awareness.
One was sharp. Violent. Hungry.
The other two were… quieter and calmer. Like they were hidden.
After spending a lot of time with her swords and training with swordintent, Cassandra started to feel the presences of her swords. Each meito has his own presence and character and Cassandra started to feel these stronger and more clear with each sword she added to her collection.
She frowned slightly.
Three?
That's odd.
Her instincts told her clearly: one sword here was very close. The remaining two farer away, yet unmistakably special. The imbalance unsettled her.
She moved deeper into the shop.
Behind the counter stood an middle aged man with sharp eyes and a thin smile. He is a short man with black hair that goes to the sides of his head. He has tan skin and wears a blue shirt. His nose is red. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was anything but dull. He watched Cassandra carefully, measuring her with the practiced ease of someone who had spent a lifetime judging warriors by how they walked and if he could exploit them.
"Welcome," the shopkeeper said politely. "Looking for a blade?"
Cassandra met his eyes. "Maybe."
His gaze dropped to her waist.
To Wado Ichimonji.
For the briefest moment, his expression slipped.
Greed flashed across his face like a knife catching light.
Cassandra noticed immediately.
"That sword…" the man said carefully, stepping closer. "May I see it?"
She hesitated only a second.
If I want Yubashiri, she reasoned, I'll need his favor.
She loosened her grip and offered the sword hilt-first.
"Be respectful," she said flatly.
The shopkeeper took it reverently, both hands closing around the scabbard. The moment his fingers touched it, his breath caught.
He slid it free just enough to glimpse the blade.
Perfection.
His eyes shone with barely restrained delight, but he recovered quickly, schooling his face into polite admiration.
"A good blade," he said downplaying it's worth. "The sword isn't in a bad condition."
Cassandra crossed her arms. She knew what was coming next.
He returned it carefully and then smiled.
"You seem like a capable fighter that likes to collect swords," he said. "Tell you what. I'll give you ten swords from this shop for the four you are carrying with you. Any you like." Of course he already knew the other swords and wanted to get them all for his shop.
This stupid girl probably doesn't even know what swords she has, he thought.
The words landed like an insult.
The air shifted.
Cassandra's expression darkened.
Her voice dropped cold and sharp. "You think I walked in here ignorant enough to trade four meito especially a Great Grade sword for junk meant to decorate walls?"
The shopkeeper stiffened.
"You mistake generosity for stupidity," Cassandra continued, stepping closer. "My blades aren't for sale. And they certainly aren't payment."
The man's smile faded.
"I see," he said coolly, but annoyed inside, that he couldn't exploit Cassandra.
Cassandra turned away from him without another word.
Her attention was already elsewhere.
Toward the barrels.
She walked slowly along them, fingertips brushing over the hilts. Most were silent. Dead steel. Tools without spirit.
Then—
There.
Her hand stopped.
A hilt wrapped in dark, worn fabric. The presence radiating from it was vicious, pulsing with a barely contained urge to cut. To kill. To drink.
So that's your character, she thought.
She reached down and lifted the sword from the barrel.
The moment she touched it, the presence flared, testing her. Pressing against her will like a predator sizing up prey.
Cassandra smiled.
"Found you," she whispered.
Behind her, the shopkeeper's eyes widened.
"That sword!" he began sharply.
Cassandra turned, holding the sheathed blade loosely at her side.
"This is the one," she said. "I would like to purchase this one."
The cursed blade hummed softly, displeased, but intrigued.
The moment Cassandra lifted the sword from the barrel, the air inside the shop seemed to tighten.
The shopkeeper's face paled.
"Wait," he said sharply, stepping out from behind the counter. "That sword is cursed."
Cassandra glanced at him over her shoulder. "I know."
The man swallowed. "Its name is Sandai Kitetsu. It thirsts for blood. Every owner it has ever had, met a violent end. I strongly advise you, not to buy it."
Sandai Kitetsu is a moderately curved katana with a white edge and a distinct blue hamon, that has the appearance of flames. Its tsuba is golden and shaped like a rounded cross pattée. The hilt is wrapped in reddish-brown leather, with a golden clasp around its middle and a golden kashira pommel.
The sheath of the sword is deep red and continues the design of the hilt. It has two golden clasps in short succession around its middle and the kojiri end cap is also golden.
The blade hummed faintly in its sheath, as if irritated at being talked about.
Before Cassandra could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the back room.
A stout woman emerged, hands on her hips, apron dusted with flour and oil. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto the sword in Cassandra's hands.
"Oh? A customer?" she said. "What do I hear about not selling?"
The shopkeeper stiffened. "Woman—"
"Sell it," his wife repeated firmly. "If she wants it, let her take it and pay us."
Cassandra turned fully now, amusement flickering across her face.
The shopkeeper sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. "You don't understand. That damn sword is cursed. When somebody dares to pick it up… they eventually die an early and brutal death. I don't want her death on my plate."
Cassandra stepped forward.
"Then let's see, if my luck is greater than the curse."
Before either of them could stop her, Cassandra loosened her grip and tossed Sandai Kitetsu up into the air.
The blade spun rapidly, glinting as it rose, then began to fall, edge-first toward her exposed arm.
The shopkeeper gasped. "Are you insane?!"
The sword screamed.
Not aloud, but in intent.
It wanted her blood.
Cassandra did not move.
She did not flinch.
She stared at the falling blade, her presence pressing outward calm, absolute, overwhelming.
At the last possible instant—
The sword twisted.
Its edge turned away.
The blade struck the floor below Cassandra's arm with a solid thunk, embedding itself harmlessly into the wood.
Silence fell over the shop.
The cursed blade trembled once, then it went still.
The shopkeeper stared mouth open.
"…It accepted you," he whispered.
Cassandra smiled faintly. "Of course it did."
Suddenly, the shopkeeper named Ipponmatsu straightened up. His eyes burned with excitement. He turned and rushed into the back room.
"Wait here!" he shouted.
His wife blinked. "Hey, what are you doing?!"
Moments later he returned, carrying a sheathed sword on a wooden stand with reverent care.
"This," he said proudly, presenting it to Cassandra, "is Yubashiri. A fine blade. Not cursed. Loyal. Smooth. A beautiful and finely crafted sword. It is one of the 50 Skillful Grade Blades."
Cassandra immediately felt the gentle presence, she had sensed earlier. Only now it was directly in front of her.
Yubashiri is a long katana with a black handle. It has a cross-shaped guard and a black lacquered sheath. The blade itself is normal in appearance and its pattern was midareba or irregular pattern. Though mostly black, the sheath and the handle both had thin yet elaborate gold designs on them.
She reached out, just slightly, and nodded. "Yes. This one too."
The shopkeeper bowed deeply. "Take them. Both of them. Free of charge."
His wife's jaw dropped.
"FREE?!" she roared. "Are you out of your mind?!"
He didn't even look at her. "A sword shop exists to serve swordsmen worthy of steel."
Cassandra laughed softly, genuinely pleased. "I like it."
She secured both swords at her side, already feeling how they would move with her. How they would obey.
Then she paused.
"One more thing," Cassandra said. "Do you happen to have another famous blade in the back?"
The shopkeeper froze.
Slowly, his eyes widened.
"…How did you know?"
He turned and hurried into the back yet again, this time moving far more carefully. When he returned, he carried a sword wrapped completely in thick, dark cloth.
His hands trembled slightly, as he set it on the counter.
"This blade," he said quietly, "has never been displayed. I got it a while back, but never found out it's name. The sword isn't listed in the guide book for meitos, but I can assure you, that it has the quality of a Great Grade sword."
He began to unwrap it.
The cloth slid away and Cassandra's eyes widened.
The cloth slid away completely.
For a heartbeat, Cassandra forgot how to breathe.
The blade resting on the counter was unmistakable.
Blackened steel with a subtle mirror sheen, elegant and restrained. The hamon was faint, almost ghostlike, visible only when the light struck it just right. The hilt was wrapped simply, without excess ornamentation, as if the sword itself rejected vanity.
Her chest tightened.
"…Yūrei," Cassandra whispered.
The name left her lips without thought.
The shopkeeper froze.
"You know this blade?" Ipponmatsu asked slowly, eyes fixed on her face.
Cassandra did not look away from the sword. "I named it."
That answer earned her his full attention.
"This katana has no recorded name," he said carefully. "It appeared years ago, passed through collectors, never staying long. No smith has ever claimed it. No lineage. No grade. And yet—" He gestured toward it. "Everyone who holds it knows, it is special. So how could you have named it?" He did not believe her claim.
Cassandra ignored his question and finally looked up. "What do you want for it?"
Ipponmatsu inhaled, then exhaled through his nose.
"Five hundred million Beri."
The number hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
His wife let out a sharp laugh. "Now that will pay rent."
Cassandra didn't react. No anger. No disbelief.
She simply nodded once.
"I understand."
Ipponmatsu's brows knit together. "You're not going to argue?"
"No," Cassandra said. "You're not wrong."
She reached out and gently rested her fingers against the scabbard, just for a moment. The blade felt warm. Familiar. Like an old friend she hadn't expected to see again.
So this is where you ended up, she thought.
Her mind drifted back to her old apartment. To the blood on the floor and to steel singing through the air. To dying with a smile, knowing her swords were safe from the thief.
Cassandra didn't care if the sword followed her, or if it was a gift from the god who reincarnated her. She was just really happy, to be united with her beloved Yūrei.
Slowly, reverently, she withdrew her hand.
She stepped out of the shop a few minutes later, the bell chiming softly behind her.
Seven swords rested against her now.
Shigure
Yamaoroshi
Kashu
Wado Ichimonji
Sandai Kitetsu
Yubashiri
Yūrei
She walked through Loguetown's crowded streets in a light daze.
A gift from a god, she thought suddenly.
The idea made her huff a quiet laugh.
"That bastard," she muttered. "You really did reincarnate me properly."
Eventually, practicality caught up to her.
Seven swords were… inconvenient.
She stopped at a leatherworker's stall near the docks and eyed the various carrying cases. Backpacks. Wrapped rolls. Crates.
Then she saw it.
A long, reinforced shoulder carrier designed for musicians, with a wide mouth. It was sturdy looking, with internal straps and padded sections. The carrier reminded her of a banner case crossed with a quiver. It was long enough for blades and rigid enough not to bend. Not the most elegant, but functional.
Better than a golf bag, she decided.
She bought four of them.
For now, only one was needed. The rest were folded neatly and stored away for the future.
She secured most of her swords inside, adjusting the internal straps so the hilts sat at staggered heights for easy access. Yūrei stayed at her side.
As Cassandra stepped back into the sunlight, a sudden noise rolled through the air.
A lot of people were shouting and a crowd seemed to have gathered.
The distant clang of metal and raised voices echoing from the central plaza.
Her instincts flared.
"That idiot," she muttered amused, already turning. "You could never stay quiet, could you, Luffy?"
She adjusted the strap over her shoulder and began walking back toward the harbor and the ship.