The stone arena still trembled from the excitement of the previous battles.
Names were called one by one, and fighters were eliminated. Blood on the stones dried, only to be soaked again with fresh streaks.
Roronoa Zoro stood in the shadow of a stone column, eyes half-closed, breathing calm.
For him, this was just another stage.
The announcer shouted:
"Round Two! Eight fighters remain!"
Names were read.
Zoro's next opponent was a thin man with a needle-like sword. His eyes were sharp and emotionless.
As they faced each other, the man said:
"I don't strike… I slice."
Zoro said nothing.
The fight began.
The man vanished.
Only the rush of air could be heard.
Suddenly, a line of blood appeared across Zoro's arm.
The crowd held its breath.
"He wasn't even seen moving!"
The man attacked again, this time from behind.
Zoro raised his sword in his mouth, the blades sparking against each other.
His eyes hardened.
"You're fast…"
He stood still. No longer chasing the opponent's moves.
He listened.
The sound of breath.
The sound of footsteps on stone.
The tearing rush of air.
When the third strike came—
Zoro advanced, not retreat.
Blades clashed.
In a single spin, he struck a diagonal cut.
The opponent's clothing split from chest to waist.
He collapsed to the ground, unconscious but alive.
The crowd was silent.
This time, no one laughed.
Sunset approached.
Only four fighters remained.
On the upper platform, a man in a white robe holding a long sword watched carefully. His gaze was steady, weighty.
He was the champion of the previous tournament: Shirugane.
When the semi-final began, Zoro faced him.
Shirugane spoke calmly:
"Three swords… interesting. But here is where your path ends."
Zoro slowly drew each of his three swords.
The metal glimmered in the sunset.
Begin.
The first clash was like an explosion. The shockwave even reached the stands.
Shirugane's power was different. Every strike precise, flawless, merciless.
Zoro had to take a step back.
One strike cut his shoulder.
Blood seeped through his robe.
Shirugane said:
"You have strength. But you're still raw."
Zoro's eyes went cold.
He remembered his humiliation.
He remembered his defeat.
He remembered the vow he had made.
"Raw?"
Suddenly, the wind picked up.
Zoro's strikes gained weight. Not just speed, but intent. Resolve.
A horizontal strike.
Shirugane blocked it.
Strike two—downward.
Sparks flew.
In a single instant, Zoro spun and attacked from an unexpected angle.
His blade grazed Shirugane's sword and left a deep cut along his side.
Silence.
Shirugane took a deep breath… then smiled.
"Finally… you're serious."
He executed his final strike.
A vertical blow with all his strength.
The ground split.
Dust rose.
For a few seconds, no one could see anything.
When the dust settled—
Shirugane's sword lay in two pieces.
Zoro's blade hovered above his throat.
The arena fell silent.
The referee's voice trembled:
"Winner… Roronoa Zoro!"
The crowd's roar shook the sky.
But Zoro lowered his sword.
He wasn't proud. He wasn't joyous.
Just calm.
Shirugane, kneeling, asked:
"You didn't fight for the title… did you?"
Zoro sheathed his swords.
"No."
The final prize—a rare blade with a silver scabbard—was brought forward.
Zoro took it in his hands.
He felt its weight.
Drew it slightly.
It was good.
But not enough.
He handed it back to the referee.
The crowd was stunned.
"Why?!"
Zoro gazed out toward the sea.
"This isn't the one I'm looking for…"
No one asked further.
That night, without celebration, without farewell, he left the island.
Behind him, the tournament had ended.
But for him—
It was only one more step.
And thus, the Samurai Tournament arc came to its conclusion. 🔥