Almost every prominent warrior giant of Elbaph had gathered within the underworld arena specially designed for this duel, a place carved into the roots of the colossal Adam tree. Their sheer presence alone kept even the rowdiest beasts and hardened prisoners who called the underworld home at bay. None dared stir when so many giants, each a legend in their own right, had assembled to witness this duel.
It was no ordinary fight.
On one side stood the prince of Elbaph, Loki, hailed as the mightiest warrior of their land. On the other was the man the World Government itself had currently placed alongside Whitebeard—a man whose name carried whispers of fear even across the most remote seas.
I undid my sword-belt in silence, unfastening Shusui and Akatsuki and handing both blades to Dora for safekeeping. King Harald's brows furrowed at my gesture. Across from us, Loki was already warming his massive shoulders, swinging his weapon Ragnir.
The warhammer itself was monstrous—its bluish-gray head like an oversized block of forged stone, square and brutal, larger than a supersized warship. The long haft that jutted from its center was wrapped in white bandages, thick enough to demand two hands, yet Loki brandished it as though it were no heavier than a twig.
"Are you sure about this?" King Harald's deep voice rumbled with unease. His gaze lingered on my empty hands. "Even if you are strong… Loki is not someone you should face barehanded."
I only chuckled, the sound sharp against the silence of the gathered crowd.
"If I use my blades, I'm afraid I'd kill your kingdom's prince. And you've already forbidden me from killing my opponent. My swords are only meant for slaughter. So this is the only way I am afraid."
Without another word, I blurred forward with Soru, taking my place in the center of the stone arena.
"I am worried…" Dora's voice finally broke the tension. Harald turned, surprised at her worried tone, as if expecting fear for me.
"Then you should have tried to convince Rosinante not to accept the duel," Harald muttered. "Or at least to wield a weapon. Facing Loki barehanded is madness."
But Dora's next words made the giant king choke on his breath.
"I am worried big brother Loki will be humiliated. He doesn't understand the kind of monster Brother Ross is. He's just as dangerous with his fists as he is with his blades—or even more so with his fists. With swords, Loki's end would have been swift. Without them… he will be broken, and it is going to be painful. Why did you let Brother Loki issue such a foolish challenge?"
Her accusing gaze turned on Harald, as though the weight of everything unfolding was entirely his fault.
At the center of the arena, Loki stomped forward, his massive frame blotting out the sky as he stepped within the carved dueling circle. His gargantuan form towered over me like a mountain of flesh and steel. Even at over three meters, I was a speck before him—a figure dwarfed beneath his sixty-five meters of fury.
The size difference was staggering, yet the silence of the crowd revealed the truth. My presence, small though I was, pressed like a storm upon the arena despite having it restrained. Even Loki, beneath the sneer etched across his face, felt it—a suffocating pressure that made his grip on Ragnir tighten.
But pride burned hotter than caution.
A flicker of thought crossed his mind, seeing me stand unarmed. For an instant, he considered discarding his weapon to fight me barehanded. But the temptation of humiliating me, of crushing me into the dirt and making me beg for mercy before all of Elbaph, was too sweet to resist. His sneer twisted crueler. He would not grant me that honor.
And so the stage was set.
Two titans, unequal in size, yet equal in the crushing weight of presence, stood beneath the Adam tree as all of Elbaph's warriors watched. The duel had not yet begun, but the air already trembled as though it feared what was about to unfold.
"Is that going to be your excuse once you lose to me… that you fought without a weapon?" Loki's booming voice carried over the arena, laced with mockery. He rested the colossal head of Ragnir against his shoulder as if to punctuate his words, the warhammer gleaming with menace.
I offered only a calm smile, unmoving, waiting for the duel to be declared.
The arena itself stretched vast and circular, carved deep into the stone roots of the Adam tree. Though designed for giants, its sheer breadth made it a battlefield where even someone of Loki's towering size could swing freely without fear of restraint. But my eyes were already measuring the distance, the terrain—I had no intention of fighting so close to the sacred Adam's base. The tree's survival outweighed the duel.
A hush fell as King Harald strode to the edge of the arena. His massive frame dwarfed even the other giants gathered, his fur-lined mantle trailing like a banner of authority. Raising his hand, his deep voice thundered across the crowd with the solemn weight of tradition.
"Warriors of Elbaph! Hear me! We stand this day as our forefathers stood, when pride and honor were settled not in whispers or blades in the dark, but before the eyes of gods and giants alike! Today, a challenge has been issued—by my son, Loki, prince of Elbaph."
A roar of approval rippled through the giant crowd, their cheers echoing like rolling thunder through the cavernous arena. Harald let the noise crest before raising his hand again.
"He has called out Donquixote Rosinanate, the foreigner, before all. And Rosinante has accepted. By the ancient law of Elbaph, a duel such as this cannot be refused once initiated. The terms are clear."
The king's gaze turned, sharp as an executioner's blade, first to Loki and then to me.
"If Rosinante loses—he shall be banished from Elbaph, never again to set foot upon this sacred soil. He will be cast out, not as a warrior, but as an exile with no claim to the brotherhood of our halls."
The crowd stirred, some giants muttering their approval, others shaking their heads. Harald's voice grew harsher, resonating like a war drum.
"But should Loki, my son, the blood of kings, fail in this duel… he shall surrender all that he holds by right of birth. His title, his standing as prince, the inheritance promised him, and above all—his claim to the treasure of Elbaph."
The mention of the treasure of Elbaph silenced the crowd like a hammer blow. Even the rowdiest warriors fell still. The treasure was not only an heirloom but also a symbol of divine favor, bound to the might of Elbaph's kings. Harald's eyes bore into Loki, who sneered but did not waver.
"Such is the price of pride, my son. You have chosen this path."
Then the king raised his axe—a weapon as ancient as the Adam tree itself—and drove its head into the earth beside him, the sound booming like thunder.
"Now hear the rules, as laid by our ancestors: No killing. The duel ends only when one can no longer rise or when one yields before all. No outside interference. This is a matter of honor between warriors alone. And let it be remembered—the one who gives up forfeits not only the duel but their claim to pride itself."
The crowd erupted in approval, pounding weapons against shields, their chants shaking the ground: "Elbaph! Elbaph! Elbaph!"
Harald's gaze shifted to me. For the briefest moment, his stern expression softened, as though he weighed something unsaid. Then he raised his voice one final time.
"The challenge is struck! The terms are bound! By the law of gods and giants—this duel begins!"
He swung his arm down like a great banner falling. The air itself seemed to tense. Loki's sneer widened as he hefted Ragnir, every inch the war god preparing to crush an insect. I did not move.
Only the faintest smile touched my lips, as the storm of Elbaph prepared to break.
Loki's massive frame tensed even before King Harald's arm had finished cutting the air. His pride as the prince of Elbaph—his birthright as the strongest among giants—demanded he end this duel with overwhelming force. Lightning surged across the surface of Ragnir, his colossal warhammer, the bluish-gray head crackling with arcs of divine fury.
The crowd roared as Loki raised the weapon high, both hands gripping its bandaged shaft. His muscles rippled like mountains shifting, veins glowing faintly with the force of giant's haki as he swung downward. The weapon carved through the air, splitting the atmosphere itself—the speed impossible for something so massive.
BOOM!
The hammer fell with apocalyptic force. Lightning exploded outward, tearing through the underworld sky like a rift between worlds. Sound ruptured into a deafening crash that rolled through the caverns of Elbaph's roots, and for a heartbeat, even the Adam Tree trembled. Every giant watching braced themselves, some shielding their faces from the violent storm of dust and sparks that followed.
But then—silence. No crater. No shattered earth. The ground had not split beneath the weapon. Eyes strained through the crackling storm. And when the haze cleared, the sight froze the breath in every throat.
I stood there—an insect before a titan—one arm raised. My clawed hand, coated in rippling armament, had caught the head of Ragnir. Dug into it. Held it aloft as though the hammer weighed nothing. Loki's massive arms strained, every muscle bulging, tendons quivering, as he tried to drive his weapon down. But no matter how he pushed, Ragnir did not move.
Gasps tore through the crowd. Some of the elder giants stumbled to their feet in disbelief, their jaws hanging open.
"Impossible…" one whispered, voice trembling. "He stopped Ragnir with his bare hand…"
Loki snarled, his teeth bared in fury. Sweat beaded his brow as he poured more strength into the weapon, lightning screaming violently across the surface. "You… are NOTHING before me!" His roar shook the arena, his feet digging into the stone as if to find more leverage. But still—the hammer remained locked in my palm, as immovable as if the earth itself had chosen to deny Loki's will.
I looked up at him, calm. My other hand clenched into a fist, obsidian-black as haki coated it, veins of black lightning dancing across my skin.
"Then allow me," I said evenly, "to show you the weight of what nothing truly is."
The fist struck.
BOOOOOOM!
The sound was like the heavens splitting open. My punch slammed into the side of Ragnir with the force of a meteor. The shockwave blasted outward, throwing dust and wind in all directions. Giants in the audience staggered back, some even dropping their weapons as the ground quaked. Loki, despite his monstrous size, staggered violently as the hammer was wrenched from his grip, hurled aside by the sheer momentum of the strike.
He tried to cling to the weapon—his fingers dug into the shaft—but the blow was too great. The warhammer was ripped away, clattering across the arena, carving a trench into the stone before embedding itself deep into the wall of the cavern. Loki's massive frame swayed, off balance. And before he could recover—I was already there.
In the blink of an eye, I appeared before his face, my body glowing with the violent ripple of haki, black lightning arcing across my form. My presence pressed against him like a storm made flesh. Loki's eyes widened, his sneer faltering as instinct screamed of danger he had never known.
"You should have picked on someone your own size, Loki." The words barely left my lips before my fist blurred.
CRACK!
The blow connected square against his jaw. To the watching giants, it was as though a mountain had been struck by a falling star. Loki's chin buckled inward, a crater carved into his flesh by the sheer density of the strike. His colossal body—sixty-five meters of giant heritage—was lifted clean from the ground. The impossible happened before all eyes: the prince of Elbaph was launched.
He soared through the air like a broken colossus, crashing into the distant earth with a deafening roar.
BOOOOOOM!
Loki's impact tore through the underworld like the wrath of the gods. The frozen earth shattered beneath him, dragged into a ravine as his body plowed through the ground, carving a scar across the land until he finally slammed into the distant shoreline. The shockwave rattled the entire island, cracks splintering outward from the point of impact.
The crowd stood frozen. Thousands of giants, warriors who had faced sea kings and emperors of the sea, stared in utter disbelief. Not one in their lifetime had imagined Loki—the pride of their people, heir to Elbaph's throne—being tossed aside like a rag doll by a human who wasn't even the size of his finger.
"By the gods…" an elder whispered.
"That was… our prince?" another stammered.
"Impossible… it cannot be…!"
Some younger warriors dropped to one knee, clutching their chests as they realized the truth. Fear—not for Loki, but of the foreigner—gnawed at their pride. Even Harald, standing tall at the edge of the arena, clenched his fists tightly. His stern eyes betrayed only a flicker of shock.
"Brother…" Dora whispered, her hands trembling as she gripped the scabbards of the swords she had been entrusted with inside her palm. But her voice was not of fear—it was awe.
On the distant shore, Loki's massive body shifted, coughing violently. Blood ran down his chin as he tried to push himself up, his pride refusing to surrender. But his arms trembled, his muscles shuddering under the invisible weight pressing him down.
I appeared above him, standing on his chest as though his titanic body was nothing more than a battlefield beneath my feet. The sheer force of my haki radiated downward, pinning Loki flat. His eyes bulged in disbelief, a helpless snarl escaping his lips.
"This…" Loki gasped, "this is not… possible…"
My fist rose, glowing with haki so dense it shimmered like molten iron. The air around it distorted, vibrating with destructive power. Black lightning whipped violently from my body, lashing against Loki's frame.
"Meteor Fist."
The words fell like a death sentence. And then—impact.
DOOOOOOOOOOM!
The world seemed to end. My glowing fist crashed into Loki's ribs, the sound like the sky collapsing. The shockwave that followed ripped through the entire underworld. The earth beneath him screamed as it shattered, buckling, then collapsing altogether.
The ground caved inward, the very stone devoured by the momentum of the blow. A crater—vast and gaping, larger even than Loki's own body—swallowed him whole. Dust and debris roared skyward in a column, the aftershock rattling the island for miles.
Giants staggered as the land split beneath their feet, some clutching each other to stay upright. The tremor rolled out like a tidal wave, shaking the Adam Tree's roots and sending fragments of ancient stone crashing into the abyss.
When the dust cleared, silence consumed Elbaph's underworld. There, at the heart of the crater, Loki lay broken. The prince of Elbaph, the son of Harald, heir to the blood of the ancient giants—his massive body half-buried beneath the collapsed earth, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged gasps.
And standing atop the ruin, my figure small as a speck against the devastation, fist still smoking with haki's glow—was me. The crowd could not speak. For the first time in centuries, the warriors of Elbaph had no words.
What they had just witnessed was not a duel. It was a rewriting of history. A human had brought a god to his knees.
The crater still smoked when Loki stirred. His body, broken and battered, trembled as he forced his colossal arms against the shattered earth. Blood ran down his chin in crimson rivulets, staining his golden beard, and each breath was ragged, torn from lungs that felt like they had been crushed.
But he rose. Slowly, defiantly, he planted a massive hand upon the ground, his knees scraping against the shattered stone as he tried to drag himself upright. His chest heaved, ribs splintered, but his eyes burned—not with fear, but with pride. With the fury of a prince who refused to fall before anyone, least of all a human.
The giants watching stirred. Some clenched their fists. Others, the younger warriors, let tears stream silently down their faces. They wanted to shout for him to yield, to stop this madness, but the words refused to leave their lips. The duel was sacred. To speak against it would be to spit upon the honor of their people.
"Stay down, Loki," Harald muttered under his breath, his voice a low growl. His great hands gripped the pommel of his sword, knuckles white with restraint. His son was being destroyed before his very eyes, yet the law of their ancestors bound him.
Loki's towering form finally rose to one knee. He spat blood onto the fractured earth and snarled, "I am the prince of Elbaph! No insect—no human—will bring me low!"
I did not wait. Before his massive body could fully rise, I appeared at his side. My clawed hand raked across his cheek, coated in haki so dense it tore through flesh like molten iron. Loki's head snapped sideways, his enormous frame buckling under the impact as his blood sprayed like rain across the crater.
The crowd gasped as the giant prince fell once more, his face slamming against the shattered stone. The sound echoed like a boulder crashing into the sea. But I gave him no reprieve.
BOOM!
My fist sank into his stomach, the haki-coated blow bending his spine inward with a sickening crack. Loki's body convulsed as bile and blood spilled from his mouth.
CRACK!
Another strike slammed into his ribs, the bones groaning like timber snapping beneath an axe.
BOOM!
A hook to his jaw, lifting his skull high before smashing it back into the dirt. Each blow was merciless, surgical in its brutality. I was not fighting to defeat him—I was dismantling him piece by piece, shattering the illusion of invincibility he wore like a crown. My strikes left craters in his flesh, each impact exploding with shockwaves that rattled the watching giants' bones.
Loki roared with each hit, his defiance echoing louder than his pain. Again and again, he tried to rise, his colossal body trembling as he pushed against the ground. Again and again, I cut him down, fists and claws tearing into him until his massive body seemed less a warrior and more a ruin—a monument to folly.
The crowd began to murmur.
"Enough…"
"He'll die if this continues…"
"Our prince…"
But no one moved. To interfere in a duel was heresy. To rob Loki of this defeat would be to rob Elbaph of its honor. So they stood still, their hearts torn, their pride chaining their bodies as they watched their prince be brutalized.
Dora stood with her hands pressed to her lips, tears in her eyes. She had known her brother Ross was strong. But this—this merciless trampling of a giant prince—was something beyond strength. It was domination. It was a nightmare turned real.
Loki coughed, rolling onto his back, one arm clutching at his broken ribs. He wheezed, "I… will not… yield."
I appeared above him once more, haki rippling like black fire around my arm. My fist descended, smashing into his chest with such force the ground collapsed further, dragging his titanic frame deeper into the earth. Blood erupted from his lips, spraying across his chin as his scream was drowned in the explosion of stone and dust.
The giants staggered from the shockwave. Some looked away. Others could not tear their eyes from the sight. Rosinante was not humbling their prince. He was erasing him.
Loki, to his credit, refused to lie still. His arm reached upward, massive fingers trembling as though to grasp me. He tried to push himself up once more, but his body betrayed him. His strength—once the pride of Elbaph—was failing.
I ground my heel into his chest, pinning him down. My gaze was merciless, my voice calm as ice.
"Folly," I said, loud enough for all giants to hear. "That is what this was. You thought yourself a god. But you are just a spoiled child who mistook his size for strength."
Loki's eyes widened, rage and humiliation warring with pain. He opened his mouth to roar, to protest—but my fist silenced him, crashing against his jaw with a thunderclap that sent his head slamming back into the crater floor.
Harald's face was carved from stone, but within his heart, fire raged. He wanted to call out. To order this slaughter stopped. But he could not. The duel was sacred. His son had issued the challenge. To rob Rosinante of his victory—or Loki of his shame—would desecrate the law of Elbaph itself.
So Harald stood, fists trembling at his side, and bore witness as his son was trampled. Blow after blow rained down, each strike echoing across the cavern like the beating of war drums. Blood pooled beneath Loki's broken body, staining the earth red. His once-proud form twitched weakly, every rise met by another punishing strike that forced him deeper into the crater.
The giants had never seen such cruelty. Not from an enemy. Not from a friend. Never from one so small. Rosinante, the foreigner, was not merely victorious. He was merciless. And the prince of Elbaph—the pride of giants—lay shattered, broken, and silent beneath him.
Every corner of Elbaph trembled at the sight of its broken prince. The sacred mountains howled with avalanches. The seas along the shoreline frothed in turmoil. Even the Treasure Tree Adam—the heart of the giant race—groaned, its colossal branches swaying like an elder in pain at the plight of the ancient bloodline beneath its roots.
I had already decided. One more strike, and Loki would not just lose. He would never rise again. The scars I left would outlast even his giant's lifespan.
But still…
He moved.
Barely conscious, his body shattered, his breath ragged—yet Loki's pride was not ready to die. From within the crater, his broken frame twitched, and with a guttural roar that sounded more like a death rattle, he forced himself to rise. Blood streamed from his lips, bones cracked audibly with each motion, but he raised his arm—the last of his strength pouring into one desperate, reckless punch.
The crowd gasped, horror and awe mingling. Their prince—beaten beyond recognition—still refused to yield.
I looked down upon him, calm, resolute. My body ignited with a radiance that split the heavens. Black lightning of Conqueror's Haki coiled around me, feeding into the inferno that burned from my form until I became a miniature sun descending upon the battlefield.
The air split with the roar of my haki. My body glowed like a blazing sun as I descended from the heavens, my fist raised high, my voice shaking the skies.
"GALAXY IMPACT!"
The heavens themselves seemed to weep as my strike fell. Loki, battered and broken, still found the madness to raise his gargantuan fist in defiance. Every shred of his pride, every last ember of his strength, he poured into that final blow.
The two fists collided. The collision was apocalyptic.
"BOOOOOOM!"
The island of Elbaph convulsed. Entire cliffs crumbled. Avalanches of snow cascaded down the distant mountains. Even the sacred Treasure Tree Adam groaned, its ancient branches swaying under the force of the impact as though the world itself feared what had been unleashed.
But there was no contest.
In the span of a heartbeat, Loki's strength was devoured. His fist caved inward as bones snapped like brittle twigs. First his knuckles, then his wrist, then his forearm—shattering one after another in a chain of brutal destruction. His elbow buckled, his bicep tore, and by the time the force reached his shoulder, the entire limb was nothing but ruin.
The shock didn't stop there. My descending fist drove through his guard, crashing into his ribs with the weight of a collapsing star. The sound of splintering bone echoed across the arena as Loki's chest buckled inward, blood exploding from his lips.
The end was here. But then—
"YASOTAKERU!"
The cry cut through the storm like a thunderclap. From the sidelines, a figure shot forward, his silhouette wreathed in the aura of a king. Gaban. The Left Hand of the Pirate King. His axe, blackened with the coils of conqueror's haki, swung upward with divine ferocity.
My fist met his weapon.
"BOOOOOOM!"
The collision was beyond comprehension. A sun met a storm, and the sea itself could not endure. The ocean at Elbaph's shore erupted outward, waves hundreds of meters high dragged into the void as the clash devoured the waters. The horizon screamed white as sea and sky were split apart, leaving behind a yawning scar that stretched into infinity.
The giants staggered, clutching the ground for support as the air was ripped from their lungs by the sheer pressure of the two blows. Never in their lives had they witnessed such a collision—not between giants, not even in their oldest sagas.
"Ya-san…!" gasps broke from the crowd as relief washed over them. The bloody nightmare was halted. The brutal storm of the duel was finally broken.
I stood, my arm trembling faintly from the clash, my fist still humming with the aftershock of haki. Gaban's axe remained steady, though the veins on his forearms bulged with the strain. He was smiling faintly, his eyes hard.
"That's enough, Rosinante," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "You've made your point. He has learned his lesson. If you go further, you won't just defeat him—you'll break him beyond repair. For my sake… let it end here."
He was invoking more than words. He was invoking our past, the bond of comradeship that stretched back to another age.
I narrowed my eyes, my smile returning, sharp and cold. "Heh… seems like he doesn't want to give up, Gaban-san." I gestured with my chin toward the crater, where Loki, with one ruined arm, still tried to rise. His body twitched, trembling, his pride dragging him upward though his flesh refused to obey. "Didn't the rules of the duel state no one was to interfere?"
The crowd fell silent again, their gazes shifting between us. The words were true. To interrupt a duel was sacrilege.
Gaban chuckled, tilting his axe onto his shoulder. "Well… I'm not a giant. So the laws of Elbaph don't apply to me, I suppose." His eyes flicked toward King Harald, who stood at the edge of the arena, fists clenched so tightly blood dripped from his palms. "King Harald," Gaban declared loudly, "with this… I say the duel ends. Because of my unsavory interference, we'll call it a tie."
The word tie echoed through the air like a thunderclap of its own.
The giants shifted uneasily, their pride stung, but none dared challenge it. Because they all knew the truth: Loki had been utterly destroyed. Declaring him the loser would have scarred his honor forever. But to call it a tie… it gave the prince a thread of pride to cling to, a way to stand without bowing his head completely.
I raised a brow at Gaban's clever words but said nothing. Instead, I let my arm fall back to my side, the glow of haki fading as I exhaled slowly. "A tie, huh? Fine. I'll give you that one, Gaban-san. For old time's sake."
The crowd sighed in relief, a collective release of breath they hadn't realized they were holding. Harald's shoulders sagged, though his eyes burned with the weight of what he had witnessed.
Dora rushed forward, kneeling at the edge of the crater where Loki lay broken. Tears streaked her cheeks as she tried to lift her brother's battered form, her voice trembling as she called for Mansherry.
"Dora," I said, my tone softer now, though still edged with disdain, "have Mansherry heal him. I've no intention of being the ungrateful one who left your prince in pieces. Consider this my respect to your people."
The words stung the giants as much as they soothed them. I had granted their prince a way out, spared him the humiliation of a clear defeat. But all knew the truth. Donquixote Rosinante had not simply beaten Loki. He had shattered him.
And though the duel was called a tie, the giants of Elbaph would never again look at their prince—or the man who broke him—the same way.