They didn't scatter at the sight of a stranger, though Argentus's intimidating aura—an almost physical pressure that seemed to radiate from his lean, scarred frame—and the broken iron spear strapped to his back drew more than a few wary glances.
He ignored them. He wasn't here to rob peasants or terrorize farmers.
As he rounded a corner near the edge of the village, passing beneath a torii gate that marked the boundary between the residential area and the training grounds, he spotted a figure that stood out sharply against the backdrop of peaceful villagers.
Leaning against a wooden fence with his arms crossed and an expression of profound boredom on his face was a young man who looked to be about Argentus's age—maybe thirteen, maybe fourteen.
He had short, moss-green hair that stuck up in every direction like he'd just rolled out of bed. A dark green haramaki—a traditional wrapped sash—was tied around his waist over a simple white shirt. And most notably, most impossibly, he had three swords sheathed at his right hip.
Not one. Not two. Three.
Argentus stopped walking, his eyes narrowing with interest.
Three swords? That wasn't just unusual. That was a statement. A distinct fighting style he'd never encountered before.
And the aura coming off this guy... it wasn't soft like the farmers. It wasn't dull. It was sharp, like a blade that had just been polished to a lethal edge and was waiting for an excuse to be drawn.
Argentus changed direction and walked straight up to him, his boots crunching on the gravel path. He stopped just short of looming over the swordsman, though at his full height he had a slight advantage.
"Oi," Argentus said, his voice flat and commanding.
The green-haired teen looked up slowly, one eyebrow twitching in mild annoyance. "Huh? Who are you?"
"I heard there's a famous dojo here," Argentus said, thumbing the strap that held his broken spear to his back. "Can you take me there?"
The swordsman's annoyed expression shifted slightly, replaced by a flicker of interest. He pushed himself off the fence with a confident smirk crossing his face and rested his hand casually on the white-hilted sword in his sash—the one positioned so he could draw it with his teeth.
"The Isshin Dojo?" the guy said, his tone carrying just a hint of pride. "Yeah, I train there. Best swordsmen in the East Blue, probably. I was just heading back myself, actually."
He turned and pointed confidently down a narrow path that led directly toward the thickest, darkest part of the forest—which was, notably, in the complete opposite direction from where the faint sounds of training (wooden swords clacking, students shouting) were coming from.
"Follow me," the green-haired guy said, already starting to walk with absolute certainty. "There's a shortcut through here. You're lucky you found me, or you'd probably get lost in this maze of a village."
He glanced back over his shoulder with a cocky grin.
"I'm Roronoa Zoro, by the way. Try to keep up."
One Hour Later
Argentus stopped dead in his tracks.
He planted the butt of his broken spear into the soft forest earth with a heavy thud and pointed an accusing finger at a massive, moss-covered boulder shaped vaguely like a sleeping bear with one paw raised.
"I'm pretty sure," Argentus said, his voice completely flat and devoid of emotion, "we passed that exact stone four times already."
Zoro froze mid-step.
The green-haired swordsman's entire body went stiff, his shoulders hunching slightly. A distinct shade of crimson began creeping up the back of his neck, visible even against his tan skin, spreading to his ears like spilled wine.
He whirled around, his expression a volatile mix of indignation, panic, and wounded pride.
"It just looks similar!" Zoro barked, waving a hand dismissively and a bit too aggressively. "All rocks look the same in forests! They're... they're rocks! Besides, the terrain here is shifting. It's a natural defense mechanism the dojo uses to keep out intruders!"
"A shifting terrain," Argentus repeated slowly, his eyebrow climbing toward his hairline. "Is that why we walked in a perfect circle that brought us back to the same clearing three times?"
"Shut up! I know exactly where I'm going!" Zoro snapped, his voice rising defensively.
He puffed out his chest like an offended rooster and pointed confidently to the left, his arm fully extended.
"The dojo is definitely that way. I can feel it. Swordsman's intuition."
"Are you absolutely sure?" Argentus asked, his tone dripping with barely concealed skepticism.
"Yeah!" Zoro insisted with complete conviction.
Then, without lowering his arm or acknowledging what he was doing, he slowly began to rotate his entire body in place like a broken compass needle. His outstretched arm swept past north, past east, past south, until he was pointing in a completely different direction—straight into a dense, impenetrable thicket of thorns and brambles.
"I meant that way," Zoro corrected, his voice not even slightly less confident. "Obviously. The first direction was a test."
Argentus stared at him for a long, silent moment. A very long moment.
Then he sighed—a long, suffering exhale that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.
"Right," Argentus said tiredly, rubbing his temple. "So the single guy I randomly picked from a crowd turned out to be a complete and utter directional idiot."
"DIRECTIONAL IDIOT?!"
The transformation was instantaneous.
The vein on Zoro's forehead didn't just throb—it looked like it was about to burst through the skin. The air around him changed instantly, the bumbling, comedic atmosphere evaporating like morning mist and replaced with something sharp and dangerous. Killing intent rolled off him in waves.
"Who the hell are you calling a directional idiot, huh?!" Zoro growled, his voice dropping an octave into something genuinely threatening.
His hands moved in a blur.
Cling. Clang.
In one fluid, practiced motion, he drew two katana—one in each hand—the steel singing as it left the scabbards. Then, with a final, defiant gesture, he clamped the white-hilted blade—the Wado Ichimonji—firmly between his teeth, biting down on the wrapped hilt with audible force.
"I'm going to carve that arrogance right off your face," Zoro mumbled around the blade, his eyes burning with fierce intensity. The three swords caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy, gleaming like a promise of violence.
"Santoryu!" he declared, his stance shifting into something predatory and battle-ready.
Argentus didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Didn't show even a flicker of concern.
Instead, he slowly, deliberately, unslung the heavy iron spear from his back. He spun it once in his hand with a casual flick of his wrist, testing the weight and balance. The shaft cut through the air with a low whoosh, kicking up a small breeze that scattered leaves.
He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, shifting his weight into a combat stance—low, balanced, ready to explode in any direction.
"Come on then," Argentus said, a sharp, predatory smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Let's see if your swordsmanship is better than your navigation skills."
Zoro didn't wait for a second invitation.
"Oni... Giri!"
The declaration ripped through the forest clearing like a battle cry.
Zoro exploded forward, his boots tearing chunks of earth from the ground as he launched himself at Argentus. He crossed his two hand-held katana across his chest in a scissor formation, creating a deadly pincer designed to crush and slice simultaneously.
He moved fast—faster than any street thug or bandit Argentus had dismantled on the cannibal island. This was trained speed, refined through years of drilling the same techniques until they became muscle memory.
But Argentus wasn't normal.
His Observation Haki flared instinctively, expanding outward like ripples on a pond.
Before Zoro's boots had even fully left the ground, before the first microsecond of forward momentum had translated into measurable distance, Argentus saw the attack. Not with his eyes—with something deeper. The trajectory of the strike painted itself across his mind in brilliant red lines. A brutal, direct assault aimed at his sternum, designed to either cleave him in half or force a desperate block that would leave him off-balance.
Argentus didn't retreat. Didn't leap backward to create distance.
Instead, he stepped into the guard, closing the gap even further.
He thrust the butt of his iron spear forward with explosive speed, his entire body weight behind the strike. He wasn't aiming to block the descending swords—that would be a contest of strength he might lose. Instead, he targeted Zoro's wrists, aiming to disrupt the attack at its source.
Thwack!
The reinforced wooden shaft collided with Zoro's right wrist just as the swords were about to snap shut like the jaws of a steel trap. The impact was perfectly timed, catching Zoro mid-technique when his muscles were already committed to the motion and couldn't adjust.
The collision threw Zoro's aim completely off-course. The "Oni Giri" that should have cleaved Argentus from shoulder to hip instead sliced harmlessly through empty air beside his ear, close enough that Argentus felt the wind pressure ruffle his silver hair.
"Too wide," Argentus critiqued calmly, his voice carrying no strain despite the intensity of the exchange.
In the same fluid motion, he spun the spear overhead, reversing his grip and bringing the blunt end down toward Zoro's exposed head in a crushing overhead blow.
Zoro's eyes widened fractionally—the only outward sign of his surprise. His combat instincts, honed by thousands of hours of training, took over.
He barely managed to cross both hand-held katana above his head in an X-shaped guard, angling the blades to deflect rather than absorb the full impact.
CLANG!
The sound of iron meeting steel rang out like a bell, echoing off the surrounding trees and sending a flock of birds scattering into the sky.
Sparks flew where metal scraped against metal. The ground beneath Zoro's boots cracked, spiderwebbing outward from the sheer downward pressure. His knees bent slightly, his entire body compressing as he struggled against the weight of the blow.
Argentus was pressing down with terrifying strength—not the wild, unfocused power of a brawler, but controlled, deliberate force applied with mechanical precision.
"You're strong," Zoro grunted, his voice strained. His teeth were grinding against the wrapped hilt of the Wado Ichimonji clamped firmly in his jaw. "But not strong enough!"
With a roar that came from deep in his chest, Zoro twisted his entire body, using his core and legs to generate rotational force. He shoved Argentus's spear aside, redirecting the pressure rather than trying to overcome it.
The moment he created an opening, he spun into a tornado-like rotational slash, all three swords becoming a whirling vortex of steel.
Argentus jumped backward, his boots leaving the ground in a controlled hop. The tip of Zoro's blade grazed his coat, slicing through the outer layer of fabric but missing flesh by millimeters.
"Not bad," Argentus admitted, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. He leveled his spear tip at Zoro's throat, the point hovering steadily in the air. "But you're telegraphing your intent. You're screaming your attacks before you make them."
It was true. To Argentus's Observation Haki, Zoro's killing intent flared like a bonfire before each technique. The moment Zoro decided to attack, his spirit announced it to anyone capable of sensing it.
"Shut up!" Zoro yelled, his pride stung.
He sheathed his two hand-held swords in one smooth motion—but he wasn't retreating. He was repositioning, shifting his stance into something different.
"Tiger... Hunt!"
He lunged again, this time with a different approach. He placed his two katana behind his head, gripping them in a reverse hold for a devastating downward crushing blow designed to smash through guards rather than slice around them.
Argentus narrowed his eyes, his Observation Haki painting the attack's trajectory in his mind.
I see it.
Instead of blocking or parrying, Argentus waited. He let Zoro commit fully to the attack, let him cross the point of no return where momentum made changing direction impossible.
Then, at the last possible microsecond—so close that Zoro's descending blades displaced the air around Argentus's head—he sidestepped.
It was minimal movement. Just a precise shift of weight from his left foot to his right, his upper body swaying two inches to the left. A dodge so economical, so perfectly timed, that it looked like he'd simply phased through the attack like a ghost.
As Zoro flew past him, carried forward by his own momentum and unable to stop, Argentus swept his spear low in a wide horizontal arc.
WHACK!
The iron shaft caught Zoro cleanly behind both ankles, hooking his legs out from under him mid-stride.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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