Chapter 24 – One Slash to Shatter It All
Tachibana Kyūjō calmly raised his right hand and, with a fluid yet forceful motion, swept away the two long blades pressing down on Rairyūken—his thunder-forged katana, the blade that had never left his side in battle.
His eyes turned sharp and ice-cold as he locked gazes with the man standing several meters ahead.
Ghost Spider—Onigumo.
"This was your choice," Kyūjō said flatly, voice quiet as falling snow but with the weight of a thunderclap. "Don't regret it."
Ghost Spider sneered. "You want a fight? Then let's finish it here and now!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Kyūjō shot off like a golden streak of lightning, slicing through the sky and leaving crackles of electricity in his wake. In a blink, he had cleared the East Mess Hall of Marineford, soaring into the open skies above.
His feet tapped the air—Geppo—step by step, until he shot upward, piercing the tranquil blue sky like a comet.
Onigumo squinted, eyes following the boy's silhouette as it faded into the clouds. He had to admit—the kid was strong.
But their last fight? That didn't count.
He was an Eight-Sword Style swordsman, and back then, he'd only brought two blades. How could he possibly display his true strength?
Getting beaten by a mere training camp brat who hadn't even officially graduated?
No way he was swallowing that humiliation.
Fueled by pride and rage, Onigumo activated Seimei Kikan—the advanced life-manipulation technique of Rokushiki—and extended his long black hair like living tendrils. The strands coiled and twisted mid-air, shaping into six additional arms.
Each hair-arm reached behind him and unsheathed a sword in one smooth motion.
Eight blades. Eight hands.
Ghost Spider was now complete.
His full Eight-Sword Style.
He launched into the sky using Geppo, chasing after Kyūjō like a wrathful god of war, his eight swords gleaming like death itself.
Back in Marineford, several senior officers suddenly turned their gazes upward. Those with sharp Kenbunshoku Haki had sensed it—the clashing presence of two monstrous swordsmen in the sky.
— — —
Vice Admiral Tsuru's Private Quarters
"Nee-sama… is that the 'young monster' you were talking about?" asked Gion—Momousagi—as she peered out the window, her sharp eyes catching the distant flashes in the clouds.
Tsuru took a slow sip of her pink porcelain teacup, then nodded. "That's the one. Don't underestimate him, Gion. I'm certain… Ghost Spider doesn't stand a chance."
Gion raised an eyebrow. "You're serious?" She knew how strong Onigumo was. Could a kid from training camp really surpass him?
Tsuru gave a faint smile. "Just watch."
If not for a fateful encounter in the New World with Garp, Tsuru herself might never have known just how terrifying this boy's potential truly was.
She'd seen it—Garp's rare serious face as he spoke:
"Kyūjō's strength is enough to rival yours and Tokikake's."
If Garp said so, Tsuru had no reason to doubt it.
And it had already been over half a year since then.
Who knew how far Kyūjō had grown?
Gion's curiosity flared. She looked skyward and muttered to herself:
As a fellow swordsman… if you're stronger than Ghost Spider like Nee-sama says…
What happens if I fight you?
— — —
Ghost Spider—Onigumo.
One of the thirty Vice Admirals of the Marines.
And among them, top five in terms of pure combat power.
He also led the Hawk Faction—one of the three hidden political forces within the Navy:
Hawk Faction, led by Akainu: merciless, authoritarian justice. Better to kill ten innocents than let one criminal escape.
Dove Faction, led by Aokiji: balanced, moral-driven. Firm, but humane.
Fish Faction, loosely tied to Kizaru: lazy, pragmatic, and shrouded in ambiguity. Often accused of being Government parasites—or worse, Revolutionary sympathizers.
Onigumo was the sharp edge of the Hawk Faction.
A brutal enforcer of their brand of justice.
He had mastered all six Rokushiki techniques and pushed Seimei Kikan to the extreme, using his own hair to form six additional sword-wielding limbs.
Eight slashes at once. Like eight swordsmen attacking in perfect harmony.
But that power… was also his trap.
He drowned in technique. Lost in complexity.
And in doing so, he failed to grasp the true essence of the sword.
He was still just a "sword user"—not yet a true Great Swordsman.
That's why he kept challenging other swordsmen.
He wanted to rise—earn the title of Admiral Candidate and take his place beside Gion and Chaton.
— — —
Hundreds of meters above Marineford.
Kyūjō slowed his ascent and turned mid-air.
Below him, Onigumo was closing in fast—eight blades drawn, bloodlust leaking from every inch of his body.
Their eyes met.
But Kyūjō's cold, indifferent stare from above… felt like mockery.
Like he didn't even see Onigumo as a threat.
It stung.
Since when does a training brat dare look down on me…?!
Kyūjō raised an eyebrow.
I told you I wasn't going all out last time. If you can't keep up, that's not my fault.
But to Onigumo, drunk on rage and pride, the only thought left was simple:
Kill him.
Without hesitation, he unleashed all eight blades—eight massive air slashes roaring upward like crescent-shaped shockwaves.
Each strike targeted Kyūjō's heart.
But the boy's expression didn't change.
Ever since awakening Infinity, fights like this—against weaker opponents—felt more like training dummies than real threats.
Kyūjō rotated mid-air, now facing downward.
The wind ruffled his hair and coat, flaring his sleeves like wings.
He gripped Rairyūken tightly, the blade still sheathed at his hip.
Then, he inhaled.
Deep.
Slow.
Inhale… exhale...
The rhythm of battle synced with his breathing.
Air flowed not just into his lungs, but through every pore of his body.
His stance shifted—one foot forward, one behind.
The stance of Iai-jutsu.
One that had been carved into his bones through endless repetition.
Hundreds… no, thousands of times.
Kyūjō wasn't just aiming to win.
He was going to break Onigumo.
He was going to crush his pride—and shatter the myth of his Eight-Sword Style.
To carve into him the one unshakable truth of the sword:
In the world of true swordsmen, numbers mean nothing.
To defeat Ghost Spider…
One slash is enough.
Dark violet Haki began to coat his right hand—Busōshoku Haki, refined to its sharpest edge.
No light.
No fanfare.
Just silence.
Like a blade waiting to fall.
His left hand rested on the sheath. His right gripped the hilt.
And then—
He took the opening stance of Iai-jutsu.
Kyūjō wasn't just aiming to defeat Ghost Spider's body.
Today... he was going to crush the man's pride.
Today, Kyūjō would prove one truth that echoed through the world of swords:
In a real duel... numbers mean nothing.
To defeat Ghost Spider—
One slash is enough.
A deep violet layer of Busōshoku Haki silently coated Kyūjō's right hand. It didn't glow. It didn't roar. It simply lingered in the air... like the breath of death, waiting to be released.
His left hand pressed lightly on the sheath, his right hand firmly gripping the hilt of Rairyūken.
He didn't move an inch.
His entire body felt like an arrow—drawn, held, and aimed with deadly precision.
Then—
In the blink of an eye, his body transformed into lightning.
A flash of blue tore through the sky, crashing head-on into the eight air blades Ghost Spider had unleashed.
"Thunder Breathing – First Form – Busōshoku Mode: Thunder God!"
Rairyūken slipped from its sheath with almost illusory silence.
The slash cut through the air waves effortlessly—like slicing through shadows.
And in the next moment, Kyūjō was already behind Ghost Spider.
He didn't look back.
With calm poise, he slid the blade back into its sheath and began descending toward the ground, returning to the Marine base below.
At that exact second—
All eight of Ghost Spider's swords cracked, snapped, and shattered in perfect unison!
A terrifying gash slashed clean through his torso—from left shoulder to right waist—blood erupting violently like a fountain out of control.
Onigumo's body, on the verge of death, began spiraling downward through the air.
Gravity tugged him faster and faster, and with it... his insides unraveled.
Entrails, organs—everything inside him spilled out in a grotesque cascade of gore.
Even his half-digested stomach contents spewed forth—yellow, green, deep red, milky white—all mixing into a disturbing mess of fluids.
The grotesque sight finally snapped the upper ranks of the Marines out of their daze.
Vice Admiral Momonga reacted first.
He sprinted toward the landing zone and shouted behind him:
"Move! We have to catch him before he hits the ground!"
"A fall from that height will kill him for sure!"
But before the group of Vice Admirals could reach him...
A golden flash streaked past them all.
Standing midair with both hands buried in the pockets of his Justice coat, sunglasses reflecting the sky, was a man with a lazy smile:
Admiral Kizaru.
He glanced down at Ghost Spider's mangled form—now covered in every unspeakable body fluid imaginable: yellow, green, red, white...
Kizaru's expression twitched.
Just minutes earlier, he and the other Admirals—along with Fleet Admiral Sengoku—had been watching the entire fight from the upper command room.
And what they saw…
The full power Kyūjō displayed had left the entire room in stunned silence.
His strength was already well above the Vice Admiral class.
And while he hadn't yet reached the realm of an Admiral, it was clear—Kyūjō was standing at the doorstep of that domain.
Normally, those with power of that caliber would be given the honorary title of Admiral Candidate.
But there were only three people in that bracket now: Gion, the "Pink Rabbit." Tokikake, the "Chaton." And the strategist Vice Admiral Tsuru.
Among everyone who'd witnessed the fight...
The most shaken wasn't Kizaru.
It was Sengoku himself.
Because he knew something no one else in that room did.
Tachibana Kyūjō… was only sixteen.
Last year, Sengoku had already been astonished when the boy earned the rank of Vice Admiral at age fifteen.
But this year?
He had surpassed even that—already worthy of being called an Admiral Candidate.
If he kept growing like this...
What about next year?
And the year after that?
Sengoku was lost in thought—completely forgetting about the still-falling Ghost Spider.
Fortunately, someone hadn't.
Ghost Spider's direct superior, Admiral Akainu, wasn't the sentimental type. But he still had a shred of responsibility for his own men.
Though the main base was far from the East Wing, and Ghost Spider was falling too fast for Akainu to reach...
He gave a simple command to his colleague.
Kizaru sighed.
As Ghost Spider came dangerously close to slamming into the ground, Kizaru finally moved.
With his signature deadpan drawl, he muttered:
"Have you ever been kicked... at the speed of light?"
A golden blur exploded from his leg—light condensed into a blinding arc.
His kick struck Ghost Spider from the side, altering his fall trajectory in an instant and sending him crashing into the arms of the rushing Vice Admiral Momonga.
Momonga, who was flanked by several others just arriving—
—
Meanwhile...
The one responsible for all this chaos?
Tachibana Kyūjō couldn't have cared less.
His boots hit the ground smoothly.
And without looking back, he walked off—heading straight for the East Mess Hall.
After all, he hadn't even finished lunch yet.
Ghost Spider's interruption was the main reason he was in such a hurry.
Kyūjō knew—once you saw something disgusting during a meal, your appetite could be ruined for the rest of the day.
Fortunately, while in Infinity Mode, he had shut off all sensory input before the "mess" above could trigger his gag reflex.
—
Vice Admiral Tsuru's Private Villa.
The silver-haired veteran draped her coat of Justice over her shoulders and stepped out. Gion followed closely behind.
What had started as a simple spar between swordsmen...
Had now become a serious incident.
A Vice Admiral lay on the brink of death.
In the Navy's strict hierarchy, duels between officers weren't uncommon and were often overlooked.
But when a cadet—someone who technically wasn't even enlisted yet—nearly kills one of the top five Vice Admirals?
This was no longer "just a spar."
It was a political landmine.
Ghost Spider wasn't some mid-tier officer. He was the commander of a key Marine base and had authority over a vast ocean territory.
Now…
Who was going to replace him?
The Fleet Admiral had no backup officers at that level just lying around.
That was why Tsuru didn't wait for a summons.
She and Gion were already on their way to the command center to discuss what came next.
Trailing behind, Gion stared blankly at the sky, her hand clenched around the hilt of her katana, Konpira.
And in her heart, a quiet thought echoed:
If it had been me standing there instead of Ghost Spider…
Could I have blocked that slash...?
But that question—
Could only be answered by one person.
Tachibana Kyūjō.
—
As Tsuru and Gion entered the main office, other senior officers began trickling in.
In the center of the room, Sengoku pressed his fingers to his temple with a long sigh, then leaned toward the communications officer beside him.
"Go to the East Mess Hall," he said quietly. "Bring that boy here."
The officer nodded.
He didn't need a name.
Of course he knew who Sengoku meant.
Who else could it be?
The source of today's mayhem.
The personal protégé of an Admiral.
Tachibana Kyūjō.
When the officer finally arrived at the East Mess Hall...
He found "Young Master Tachibana" casually enjoying his grilled Sea King meat.
And in his heart, he could only sigh.
In this world... background really is everything.
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