Chapter 612: Chapter 612
Wanokuni, New World
"Huff... huff..."
Leon’s chest heaved, each breath burning like fire in his ribs. His hybrid form—towering, jagged, striped with muscle and fur—was battered and bleeding, steam rising from the wounds Denjiro had already carved into him.
"You aren’t... half bad, samurai..." he growled, baring fangs.
He had expected an easy kill. A stray Wano swordsman without backup. A warm-up before he hunted the surviving rebels. But Denjiro—calm, composed, his ponytail fluttering in the drifting embers—had pushed the Beast Pirates’ commander to the brink. Leon had been forced to reveal his Zoan abilities just to keep up... and even then, the best he’d managed was a fragile stalemate.
And, worse—Denjiro knew it. The samurai’s gaze was cold, cutting through Leon’s strategy like a blade. Leon was stalling, waiting for reinforcements. That was all the confirmation Denjiro needed.
With no warning, he stepped forward—the earth cracking beneath his sandal—and his blade, still sheathed, began humming with compressed Armament Haki so dense the very air warped around it.
Leon snarled. There was no time to counterthink. His massive war-axe lifted, Haki coating the steel in pitch-black armor.
And then—CLANG—!
Their weapons met. Time seemed to snap. The first impact released a shockwave that split the ground in a jagged line, tearing stone apart like cheap cloth. Sparks churned in a golden spiral, scattering like fireflies around their silhouettes.
Denjiro moved like lightning—sharp, precise, elegant, yet deadly. Leon moved like a comet—heavy, brutal, and crashing through the air with explosive force.
CLASH! CLASH! SHIIIING—!
Their silhouettes blurred. Steel flashed. Haki screamed in the air. Leon swung his axe overhead—a strike that could cleave a boulder in two. Denjiro slid low, his footwork a master’s dance, drawing his blade only an inch to deflect the incoming impact—TING!
And with that same inch of movement, he slashed upward at Leon’s exposed ribs—SWISH!Leon twisted his bestial torso, fur rippling, dodging by a hair, then launched a counter spin that sent his axe whistling horizontally—WHOOOOSH—!!
Denjiro leapt, flipping over the deadly arc, his blade tracing a silver crescent in the sky, landing silently behind Leon. But Leon was already pivoting, beast instincts roaring— CRASH!
Their two Haki-laden weapons collided again, a high-speed clash that sent debris exploding outward like bullets. A nearby tree shattered on impact, the trunk disintegrating into dust. Denjiro’s expression remained unchanged. Focused. Sharp. Leon’s grin widened—feral and desperate.
"You samurai..." Leon spat, pushing power into the clash.
"You really don’t... know how to die, do you?"
Denjiro’s eyes narrowed, and he slid his blade fully from its sheath at last—
"...And you Beasts truly underestimate Wano."
He vanished. A burst of wind tore through the battlefield. Leon’s eyes widened—
"What—?!"
And then Denjiro’s blade appeared from his blind spot, swinging down with lethal precision—
The next strike was already coming. Leon’s pupils shrank. Because Denjiro didn’t just move fast—he vanished with purpose. A single flash of steel appeared at Leon’s blind spot, followed by a whisper carried on the wind.
The air pressure collapsed. The atmosphere itself seemed to bow. Leon twisted, axe raised—
But Denjiro was already mid-strike. Time broke. A ring of compressed air expanded in a perfect circle from Denjiro’s stance. His blade swung in an impossibly controlled arc—no wasted movement, no hesitation, just pure lethal grace.
The slash didn’t shine. It didn’t need to. Instead, the world turned silent, as though reality itself inhaled.
And then—SHUUUUU—KRAAAASH!!!
A single diagonal slash carved through Leon from hip to shoulder. Not flesh—his entire Zoan-hardened body. For a moment, Leon stood frozen. His mouth opened. No sound came out.
Only disbelief. Denjiro’s blade slid back into the sheath with a soft click.
A heartbeat later— BOOOOOOOM!!!
Leon’s massive hybrid body split apart in a thunderous burst of blood, fur, and shockwave. The ground beneath him cratered. Trees flattened. Dust exploded outward in a pillar. One half of Leon’s corpse fell left. The other half fell right. His axe hit the ground last—ringing hollow.
Denjiro exhaled once. Not from exhaustion—but from closing a life he had already judged unworthy.
Denjiro’s blade clicked into its sheath—clean, controlled, and absolute. But the moment the silence settled, something prickled at the edge of his senses. A shift in the air. A rhythm foreign to the battlefield.
Clap... clap... clap...
A slow, almost lazy applause echoed down the narrow alley. From the shadows, a man stepped out. Average—painfully so. Plain clothes, forgettable face, posture relaxed like a spectator rather than a participant. Yet each clap sounded like a mockery, like nails tapping the lid of a coffin.
"Well done... truly magnificent," he drawled, his voice smooth but wrong in a way Denjiro couldn’t place. He stepped casually over fallen debris, hands still coming together with that slow, taunting rhythm.
"I was curious which one of you would fall first. Honestly, my money was on Leon..."
He pointed with a loose gesture toward the bisected corpse, now reverted to its human form.
"But who knew you’d cut him down after fighting over a hundred Beast Pirates? I must commend your—" Denjiro didn’t wait. In the instant the man blinked, Denjiro moved.
SHINK—!!!
A razor-thin flying slash ripped through the alley. The man twisted—an unnatural, boneless motion—avoiding decapitation by inches. But not perfectly. A gash tore open along his neck, blood spraying against the stone wall. Denjiro’s eyes narrowed.
His killing intent had been absolute. His timing perfect. His target was unprepared. Anyone—anyone—should have died. Yet the stranger merely touched the wound with mild irritation.
"Ah. That was uncalled for..."
The smile he gave was wrong—too wide, too sharp, too full of cruelty. Right before Denjiro’s eyes, the gash sealed itself shut. Flesh knitting. Veins reconnecting. Skin smoothing over. As if the attack had never happened at all.
Denjiro’s breath tightened. This wasn’t a Zoan regeneration. This was something far, far worse.
"Well," the man sighed, cracking his neck, "I thought we might chat a bit before I killed you, but if you insist on being rude..." He grinned. A predator’s grin. A monster’s grin.
"Then let’s skip the foreplay." The ground shuddered. A pressure—thick, suffocating—exploded from his body. The man arched backward as his bones cracked, muscles coiled and expanded, and scales grew like disease across his skin. His back split open. Blackened ribs stretched outward into wings. A serpentine tail unfurled behind him.
Horns curled upward, dripping a thick black mist that smelled of rot and toxins. His skin darkened into iron scales. His jaw elongated into a serrated maw that exhaled smoke and plague. The alley itself withered—stone eroding, plants shriveling, air turning foul.
What stood there wasn’t a Beast Pirate. It wasn’t a man. It was a calamity disguised in human flesh, one of the three calamities of the Beast Pirates. Ryuji’s massive draconic head lifted, eyes burning with viridian plaguefire.
"Well then... samurai." His voice—deep, distorted, dripping venom—rattled the windows. "Let me show you what a real monster looks like."
For a moment—just a single, fragile heartbeat—Denjiro forgot to breathe. The street around him seemed to warp. The moon vanished behind a colossal silhouette. What had been an unremarkable, average-faced man was now a monster towering over the ruined district of Kuri.
A plague-born titan. Ryuji’s draconic body blotted out the sky. Iron-black scales glistened under the warped emerald fire that leaked from his nostrils. Jagged horns curled upward like a crown forged from rot. Massive wings, ragged and tattered like diseased flesh, stretched out and cast the entire town into a suffocating darkness.
Those eyes—sickly green, burning with an inner contagion—locked onto Denjiro with predatory amusement. The samurai’s knees bent instinctively. Every fiber of his being screamed, "Run." Denjiro forced air into his lungs, gripping his blade until his knuckles turned white.
"This thing... this isn’t a Zoan," he said under his breath. "This is a disaster given flesh."
Ryuji’s massive head lowered, a grotesque grin forming across his barbed jaws.
"Are you frightened, samurai?" The dragon’s voice vibrated through the ground, a deep, distorted echo. "Good. Fear seasons the hunt."
Then he inhaled. The air itself turned foul. Denjiro moved before he consciously decided to.
FWOOM—!!!
An eruption of viridian plaguefire tore through the street, turning stone to sludge and wood to black ash. Denjiro rolled, feeling the heat blister the air around him. Screams echoed from civilians still trapped in the collapsing town. Ryuji laughed—a deep, guttural rumble that shook loose rooftop tiles.
"You’re faster than the others," he mused. "But everything dies. Eventually."
Denjiro’s blade shone with Armament Haki. He flashed forward, feet barely touching the ground, and slashed Ryuji’s extended forearm— CLANG—!!!
His blade bounced off the dragon’s scales like he had struck a mountain. A shockwave rippled outward, shaking the ground. The recoil nearly broke Denjiro’s wrist. He gritted his teeth and jumped back just in time to avoid Ryuji’s tail smashing into the earth where he’d stood. The impact cratered the street, sending debris raining across Kuri.
Ryuji tilted his monstrous head. "You tickled me."
Denjiro exhaled sharply. "His scales are as tough as Kaido... is that even possible...?" No time to think. The plague dragon lunged.
BOOOOOM—!!!
Ryuji’s jaws cracked down on Denjiro’s previous position, pulverizing a two-story building in a single bite. The samurai blurred along the collapsing wall, leaping off broken beams and shattered tiles to slash at Ryuji’s face— A swing of the dragon’s massive wing forced Denjiro to retreat.
Wind pressure alone sliced clean through a row of houses behind him. Ryuji didn’t even aim for him. He simply moved—and the world broke.
Denjiro gritted his teeth. "I need to hurt him. I have to hurt him." He steadied his breathing.
One heartbeat. Two. Three. He vanished. Ryuji blinked his observation haki not sharp enough to track the samurai’s speed—and Denjiro was suddenly in front of him, blade drawn, a streak of moonlit steel.
"Ittoryu Iai... Crescent Moon Draw!"
His blade carved an arc of condensed force that screamed toward Ryuji’s exposed eye.
The attack struck true—but only tore a shallow line across the surface of the dragon’s eyelid. Ryuji barely flinched. Instead, the dragon smiled wider.
"Good. Very good. You made me blink."
Denjiro’s stomach dropped. Before he could reposition, Ryuji’s forearm—bigger than any house—swept sideways.
WHOOSH—!!!
Denjiro crossed his blade just in time to block, but the force sent him flying through a storefront, shattering wood beams and walls like glass. He bounced through a second building before collapsing into a broken courtyard.
Blood dripped from his lips. He pushed himself up, struggling for breath. Ryuji’s footsteps—earth-shaking, impossibly heavy—approached lazily. Each step sank into the ground, leaving craters behind.
"Your tenacity is admirable," Ryuji said. "But admirable things die just as well as pathetic ones." He inhaled again. Denjiro’s eyes widened.
"Not this time."
He leapt backward— FWOOSH—!!!
A river of sickly green flame melted the ground, turning soil into bubbling black tar. The courtyard vanished under choking smoke. Ryuji craned his neck, scanning the fumes. Then a silhouette shot upward through the haze. Denjiro, spinning midair, blade sheathed. Ryuji’s eyes narrowed.
Denjiro’s voice cut through the air as he infused his blades to the very limit with his armament haki.
"Ittoryu: Mist Moon Waltz!"
He drew in a flurry of slashes—swift, sharp, a storm of steel faster than the eye could follow.
Trails of light carved the sky around the dragon’s head. For a moment, Denjiro thought he saw Ryuji wince. His feet landed lightly on a cracked roof as he resheathed his sword.
Silence. Then— CLINK.
Ryuji laughed. Not a polite, amused laugh. A roar—deep, mocking, rolling thunder.
"You scratched my scales. Just barely. How extraordinary."
Denjiro’s eyes widened. His strongest technique... His fastest barrage... Had barely grazed the monster. Ryuji rose onto his hind legs, towering over the entire district.
"Allow me to show you the difference between us."
His wings unfurled—massive, plague-tattered banners blotting out the sky. Denjiro braced, but he was too late.
WHOOOOM—!!!
The hurricane-force gust hurled him backward. Buildings collapsed like card houses. Denjiro rolled across the ground, his sword barely kept in hand. Ryuji stomped after him, each step cracking the earth.
"You fight desperately. Like a man cornered by fate," the dragon taunted. "But your strength is... insufficient."
Denjiro rose slowly, panting, sweat mixing with blood.
"You... you bastard..." he rasped.
Ryuji tilted his head, amused. "Do continue. I enjoy watching you struggle."
Denjiro struck again, pushing his battered body to the limit. He weaved through the dragon’s legs, slicing at tendons, joints, wings—any vulnerable point he could reach. But his attacks were mere pinpricks. Ryuji’s thick, plague-hardened hide shrugged off every slash.
With a single stomp, he shattered the ground, forcing Denjiro to leap. The dragon’s tail whipped up, sending a barrage of rubble toward him. Denjiro deflected the stones midair, spinning through them like a leaf on the wind. He dashed along Ryuji’s arm, blade drawn back—
SLASH—!!!
A stronger hit, deeper this time. Barely a cut. But a cut nonetheless.
Ryuji smiled. "Now you’re getting interesting."
He snapped his arm, sending Denjiro flying like a ragdoll. Before the samurai could recover, the dragon twisted his neck— and unleashed a point-blank blast of viridian plaguefire.
KABOOOOOM—!!! The explosion engulfed everything around them, leaving behind only a cloud of smoke and debris.
Denjiro disappeared in the explosion. Flames rolled across the ground, melting everything they touched. The air warped with heat and poison. Ryuji waited, sniffing the smoke. A cough. Denjiro staggered out of the blaze, half his kimono charred, skin blistered, and blood soaking his side. His breath rattled. He could barely stand. Still—he raised his sword. Ryuji’s smile faded—not out of concern, but out of fascination.
"You’re still alive? I haven’t met any rebels who have lasted as long as you have..."
Denjiro wiped blood from his lips. "A samurai of Wano... doesn’t fall so easily."
"Hm," Ryuji rumbled. "Then allow me to break your spirit." He lowered his head toward the town.
Denjiro’s eyes widened. "No—!"
Ryuji opened his jaws. And swept a wide breath of plaguefire across the buildings.
FWOOSH—!!! - The flames licked at the wooden structures, devouring them in seconds. Homes collapsed. Streets melted. Civilians screamed. The earth blackened under the dragon’s attack.
He wasn’t aiming for Denjiro. He was entertaining himself. Denjiro sprinted forward, fury boiling in his chest.
"You bastard... Stop it...!"
He leaped, slashing with every ounce of strength left in him. A precise strike—aimed at the joint between scales. It hit. But— Ryuji barely flinched. He grabbed Denjiro midair with one massive claw. The samurai gasped, ribs cracking under the pressure.
"Let me tell you a secret..." Ryuji whispered, breath stale and rotting. "I don’t destroy because I’m ordered to. I destroy because it is my nature."
He squeezed. Denjiro screamed—more from fury than pain. With a burst of Haki, he sliced through one of the dragon’s fingers and dropped to the ground. He staggered, nearly falling to one knee. Ryuji lifted his claw, examining the missing tip.
"Oh," he said softly. Then he grinned. "You are no fun." He moved faster than his size should have allowed. The tail crashed toward Denjiro—
BOOM—!!
He barely rolled aside. A second strike—a third—a fourth—each one pulverized stone and soil alike. Dust clouds rose, obscuring vision. Denjiro’s breaths came ragged, reflexes fading. His body was failing. Ryuji’s shadow covered him.
"Let’s end this little game."
He raised one colossal foot. Denjiro forced himself upright. His sword trembled in his hand.
"If I die..." he muttered, "then it will be standing."
Ryuji brought the foot down—BOOOOOOOOOM—!!!
A crater exploded outward. Silence. Smoke. Stillness.
Ryuji exhaled, satisfied. "Pathetic."
But then—a flicker of steel. A sliver of moonlight. Denjiro, kneeling, blade braced above his head, blood pouring from every inch of him, had blocked it. Barely.
"Impossible," Ryuji muttered.
Denjiro smiled weakly, blood staining his teeth. "A samurai’s resolve... is harder to kill than you think."
Ryuji’s expression twisted. Amusement vanished. "What a delightful disappointment."
Ryuji inhaled deeply—too deeply. The air around his colossal draconic form twisted, drawn hungrily into his maw. The viridian flames gathering between his fangs churned like a miniature star being born, an unstable storm of heat and corruption that illuminated the night in sickly green light.
The ground beneath Denjiro cracked under the heat. The samurai, trembling but defiant, raised his blade even as his vision blurred. This attack would erase him. Erase the street.
Erase everything in its path. Ryuji’s wings stretched wide.
"Die knowing you impressed me... for a moment."
The flames surged forward. But then—the world buckled. A pressure—no, a presence—descended from the sky like the hand of an angry god. It hit with no sound, no warning, no visible force... only a sudden, crushing shift in reality itself The green flames in Ryuji’s maw sputtered—then detonated harmlessly inside his own throat as his jaws were slammed shut by invisible weight.
His skull hit the ground with a thunderous CRACK.
The entire district of Kuri shook. Ryuji’s eyes bulged in pure shock.
"W–WHAT—?!"
The plague dragon tried to lift himself, wings straining, claws gouging trenches into the earth—
But the pressure intensified. It wasn’t the force of a strong man. It wasn’t even the Haki of a powerful warrior. This was gravity, weaponized into absolute domination.
The air grew so heavy that lantern flames nearby collapsed, puffing out like dying fireflies. Buildings groaned, sagging inward under the invisible weight. Loose stones and debris scattered upward, then downward, then sideways—caught in chaotic distortion. Ryuji roared, a deafening, echoing cry that rattled the shattered rooftops.
"WHO DARES—?!"
He attempted to stand again. His hind legs buckled instantly. His forelimbs collapsed next. Then the ground broke beneath him.
KRA-KOOOOOM—!!!
A massive crater sank deeper and deeper as Ryuji’s enormous body was pressed into it, dragged down as though the world itself demanded his submission. The plague dragon flailed—wildly, desperately. His wings tried to spread but were flattened like parchment. His tail lashed uncontrollably, smashing through buildings, but each movement grew weaker and weaker under the ever-multiplying weight.
A 50-meter mythical zoan—a calamity who shook Kuri with casual wingbeats—was being pinned like an insect under a titan’s boot. Ryuji’s voice cracked.
"Impossible...! My strength... my scales—! WHO CAN COMMAND THIS PRESSURE?!" Ryuji’s mind raced because the only one who could force him to such submission was Kaido himself but he was sure this wasn’t Kaido.
And then—clack... clack... clack... Soft, deliberate footsteps echoed down the ruined main street. Wooden sandals tapping stone. Slow. Unhurried. Almost gentle. But every footfall dragged Ryuji’s massive form lower, deeper into the crater. Each subtle step carried the weight of a falling star.
Ryuji’s eyes widened in terror as the figure emerged from the shadows. A tall man in a simple purple coat. A shikomizue blade still sheathed at his hip. A calm, unreadable expression beneath the blinded eyes. The air bent around him. Gravity itself bowed.
Issho.
To almost anyone else in the world, he was a core member of the Donquixote family, one of it top cadres. To Ryuji, in this moment, he was an executioner wearing the skin of a saint. His mere presence distorted the night sky, drawing clouds downward like they were being sucked into a whirlpool. The moonlight warped around him, tracing his outline with an ethereal halo. Denjiro, barely conscious, stared in disbelief.
"Issho-san, Why... why are you here...?" Denjiro couldn’t help but ask because Issho had made it clear that he wouldn’t intervene in his mission, and it was unlike him to break his word. Ryuji tried again to rise, roaring through crushed lungs.
"YOU—YOU MEDDLESOME—WHY IS SOMEONE FROM THE DONQUIXOTE FAMILY HERE—!!"
Issho paused mid-step. He tilted his head slightly, his expression soft—almost sorrowful.
"What a loud voice you have," he murmured.
Clack.
Ryuji’s body flattened further, scales cracking, blood spraying between them.
"No... NO—!!" Ryuji thrashed wildly. "I AM ONE OF KAIDO’S CALAM—"
Clack. A dozen more meters forced downward. Bones snapped like dry branches under a mountain’s weight. Issho continued walking, his sandals tapping lightly as if strolling through a garden. His hand rested gently on the hilt of his sheathed blade—not drawing it, merely acknowledging it.
"Such devastation," he said softly, his observation haki surveying the ruin Ryuji had wrought. "To burn, crush, and poison so many innocents... I fear such cruelty carries a weight."
Another step. Clack. Ryuji’s wings were pinned so tightly his membranes tore. He choked, coughing up green-black blood.
"I really didn’t want to get myself involved in the matter..." Issho continued, "...but I cannot truly stand by and watch when you are about to die, Denjiro, especially when I know that you risked your life to save all those innocents.""
The pressure intensified again—this time so brutally that the crater split open with new fissures spreading like spiderwebs. A shockwave blasted outward, blowing down what remained of nearby structures. Ryuji screamed—raw, furious, helpless. His massive claws dug furrows into the earth, desperately seeking leverage to haul himself free.
Nothing worked. He was being crushed by the sky itself. Issho finally stopped walking when he reached the crater’s edge. He turned his blindfolded gaze toward where Ryuji squirmed.
"Forgive the intrusion," he said calmly, voice gentle yet filled with quiet authority. "But I believe this is where your rampage ends."
Ryuji’s voice cracked with a mixture of fear and rage.
"YOU—!! YOU DON’T KNOW WHO YOU’RE–—"
Issho raised his hand slightly. Just one gesture. The atmosphere caved in.
BOOOOOOMMMMM—!!!
The crater tripled in depth. Ryuji’s gigantic form was slammed so hard into the earth that his spine bent at unnatural angles. His roar cut off abruptly as the air was forced from his lungs. Denjiro watched with awe, horror, and relief all tangled together.
