Inabi Buys a Sword

"Big Brother, wouldn't it be a bad idea to let the clan members disperse now?"

Uchiha Itachi walked over to Yoru's side, frowning.

He knew the clan members' temperaments all too well. In this unfamiliar environment, what if they caused some more trouble...

"It doesn't matter much. Just remember not to provoke those strange people wearing glass helmets on this island. They're Celestial Dragons, so don't mess with them for now."

"As long as it isn't them, with your strength, you won't suffer much on this island."

After hearing Itachi's concerns, Yoru added a few words for the clan members.

What a joke. Yoru felt that the elite he had brought with him could, at worst, rival the so-called Supernovas.

If someone with the strength of a Supernova still couldn't move freely around Sabaody, then what was the point of becoming stronger? They might as well find some tiny island and hide there for the rest of their lives.

The Uchiha clan members exchanged glances, their eyes gleaming with eagerness.

They had been stuck on Kuja Island for months. Though they had sparred with the female warriors, it had ultimately been practice with restraint.

Ever since they had landed on the Sabaody Archipelago, the undisguised hostility around them had instead given them a strangely familiar sense of warmth.

"Then gather in Area 30 at sunset."

Yoru added, "If you run into trouble, fight. If you can't win, run. I don't need to teach you something that simple, do I?"

"Yes!"

After the crisp response, more than a dozen black figures scattered in all directions.

Like droplets merging into the sea, they vanished into the labyrinthine streets in the blink of an eye.

Shisui watched the direction in which the clan members had left, his brow slightly furrowed. "Clan head, will they really be alright?"

He shared Itachi's concerns, afraid that Tekka and the others might stir up some trouble.

"Shisui, you're too tense." Yoru patted Shisui on the shoulder.

"They aren't children anymore. Believe it or not, I think they'll adapt to this world's rules faster than the two of you."

He paused, a hint of amusement flashing through his eyes.

"No matter where you are, the one with the bigger fist has the final say. It's time for the Uchiha to show this world their fists."

Two streets away, Uchiha Inabi had not gone far.

He stood outside a weapons shop, his gaze fixed on an unusually shaped blade.

The shop owner was a one-eyed old man, polishing another long sword. Noticing Inabi's gaze, he looked up and glanced at him.

"You have a good eye, sir. That is En'yōmaru, a Ryo Wazamono that came from Wano Country. Unfortunately..."

The old man shook his head. "Someone has already reserved it."

Inabi reached out and gripped the hilt.

The blade slid three inches from its sheath, cold light flashing across its edge.

"I'll take this sword," Inabi said calmly, without the slightest room for negotiation, as if stating an established fact.

The old man's eyelid lifted, and impatience showed in his lone eye.

"Can't you understand? I told you it already has an owner. It's been reserved by the local gang boss. He's bringing more than thirty men to collect it. You can't afford to provoke him."

As soon as he finished speaking, a jumble of footsteps sounded outside the shop.

A group of burly men in floral shirts, their tattoos exposed, crowded into the shop around a man with a mohawk.

The man spotted Inabi at once, then glanced at En'yōmaru on the counter and immediately grinned.

"Old man, where's my sword? Why are you letting this charcoal-head block the doorway?"

Inabi did not turn around. He merely slowly raised his hand and pointed at En'yōmaru. "This sword is mine."

The Mohawk Man seemed to have heard the funniest joke in the world. Clutching his stomach, he doubled over with laughter.

"Do you know who I am? You dare fight me for my stuff? Believe it or not, I'll skin you alive and use your hide as a sail?"

Inabi finally turned around, his eyes as cold as ice.

The Mohawk Man's laughter stopped abruptly.

Because Inabi had turned to face him, and those black eyes stared at him with a calmness that made him uneasy.

"I'll say it one more time," Inabi said softly, yet every person heard him clearly. "The sword is mine."

The one-eyed old man instinctively took half a step back, hiding behind the counter.

He had seen scenes like this countless times on Sabaody.

But it had nothing to do with him. Whoever won would get the sword.

"Heh, you're asking for death."

The Mohawk Man finally wiped the smile off his face, his gaze turning sinister:

"Break his legs and make him kneel there while he watches me take the blade."

More than thirty burly men moved at the command, drawing machetes, iron rods, and even two old-fashioned muskets from their waists.

The weapon shop was cramped. With so many people rushing in at once, nearly every escape route was sealed off.

Inabi moved.

He was not fast. He merely raised his right hand, pressed his index and middle fingers together, and formed the Ram hand sign.

"Fire Release—"

Flames poured from his mouth, but rather than surging toward the crowd, they rapidly gathered and took shape before him.

"Dragon's Fang Flame."

Three slender fire serpents shot from his mouth. Each was only as thick as an arm, yet they moved with the agility of living creatures!

They darted through the cramped space, precisely coiling around the wrists of the six burly men charging at the front!

"Argh!"

Screams rang out simultaneously. The weapons in the six men's hands clattered to the floor, their wrists charred black.

The fire serpents retreated after a single strike and vanished into the air, leaving behind only the stench of scorched flesh.

"A Devil Fruit user..." one of the underlings said tremblingly.

"What are you afraid of? He's alone! Get him together!"

The Mohawk Man roared through gritted teeth.

The remaining twenty-odd men charged again. This time, they had learned their lesson, attacking simultaneously from different directions in an attempt to make Inabi unable to handle them all.

Inabi did not even move his feet.

He merely closed his eyes, then opened them again.

His Three Tomoe Sharingan spun.

In that instant, every burly man rushing at him seemed to slow in Inabi's eyes.

As though a film were playing back in slow motion.

Inabi moved.

He simply stepped to the left, avoiding the machete slashing down at him.

His right elbow drove back, striking the ribs of the attacker sneaking up behind him with precision.

His left hand rose, catching the iron rod swinging in from the side, then pulling it along with the motion.

Bang!

Three burly men crashed into one another and fell to the ground, unable to rise.

The Sharingan's dynamic vision, combined with the taijutsu he had trained for months on Kuja Island, let him weave through the crowd like a fish through water.

Every strike precisely hit a vital point, and every dodge came at exactly the right moment.

In less than ten seconds, the Mohawk Man was the only one still standing.

His face was deathly pale, and the hand gripping his blade trembled.

Inabi walked up to him.

"I want the blade. Do you have any objections?"

The Mohawk Man's lips quivered, but in the end, the pride of a Sabaody gang boss made him grit his teeth and slash down!

The blade stopped in midair.

Inabi caught its edge between two fingers.

He did it as easily as though he were pinching a falling leaf.

Crack.

The blade forged from fine steel shattered between his fingers.

"Last chance."

Inabi's voice remained calm. "Give me the blade. Or leave your life behind."

The Mohawk Man finally broke down.

He collapsed onto the floor, his crotch soaked through, and pointed tremblingly at the counter.

"Take it, take it... take everything..."

Inabi withdrew his hand and turned toward the counter.

He secretly glanced at the two fingers that had just snapped the blade.

A barely noticeable smile curled at the corner of his lips.

His physical condition really had improved by a lot!