When Ram's short axe came down, Marcus didn't take it head-on. He turned to his left, letting the axe blade graz his shoulder and cut into a crack in the stone slab, with pebbles splashing onto his calves.
He pressed his right hand against the knife, not yet drawing it; he was waiting, waiting for the moment Ram would pull out the axe.
Ram's axe got stuck in a crack in the stone slab. He pulled it out with one hand, and the pebbles flew out with the axe blade and hit the door of a roadside shop.
He gave Marcus no chance to catch his breath, and swung his second axe horizontally, aiming for his waist.
Marcus took a step back, the axe blade grazing the scabbard of his short sword at his waist, the sound of metal scraping together sharp and short.
When he took his third step back, his heel touched the edge of the flower bed, and he could not retreat any further. Finally, he drew his sword.
The White Wax Wood handle spun slightly in his palm, the blade slicing upwards at an angle, aiming for Ram's right wrist as he held the axe.
The angle and timing of this strike were impeccable; if Ram didn't pull back, his wrist would be severed; if he did, the axe's attack would be interrupted.
Ram chose to stop; he released the axe handle, letting the axe continue flying horizontally due to inertia, while simultaneously jumping backward.
The axe struck the edge of the flowerbed, splitting the pipe Marcus had just placed there in two.
Marcus stared at the broken pipe, his lips twitching slightly.
He had that pipe in his mouth for over a decade, and it was more often left unlit than lit; he had no time for nostalgia.
Ram flexed his wrists, his vertical pupils gleaming coldly in the moonlight.
"Your swordsmanship is different from those guards. I could predict the movements of those men, but I can't predict yours."
"Uchiha Style."
He held the knife horizontally in front of him, his left hand hanging naturally behind his waist, in the exact same posture as Barlow when he started his attack on the dock.
"I only know the basics, but that's enough."
Ram didn't laugh.
He picked up the short axe and kicked away the shattered pipe fragments on the ground.
The Fish-Man's vertical pupils narrowed into an extremely thin vertical line under the moonlight, and his gill slits opened and closed slightly.
He was reassessing his opponent. The young guards at the door were also using the Uchiha Style. Their footwork and sword techniques were good, but their sense of rhythm was terrible. They relied entirely on stamina to change their speed, and their transitions were full of openings.
These flaws did not exist in this man in his fifties; he was too composed, and every strike landed precisely where it should have.
Ram began to change his playing style.
He no longer swung the axe with one hand, but instead gripped the handle with both hands, using the short axe as a long-handled battle axe. This was a two-handed axe technique he had figured out on his own while sparring with Dean on the pirate crew's deck. It had a larger offensive coverage area and was specifically designed to target balanced opponents that he couldn't break through with his strength advantage.
Marcus dodged the first vertical axe blow by dodging it, the axe striking the ground and shattering the stone slab; the second axe swept diagonally at his throat, Marcus bent over, the axe blade grazing his head and shaving off a few strands of his gray hair.
The third axe blow sweeps down below the knee, a move specifically designed to counter Marcus's footwork. If he dodges to the side again, the axe blade will strike his left knee, which he cannot raise in time.
Marcus didn't turn to the side; he used the tip of his knife to propel himself up and landed on the edge of the flowerbed. After landing, he looked down at Ram, his breathing becoming heavier for the first time. He had dodged the first two axe blows relatively easily, but the second half was ultimately a struggle.
Ram weighed the axe in his palm, then asked, "Your Uchiha Style is very traditional, but you don't seem quite used to it."
Marcus didn't reply. He knew the assessment was correct; when practicing swordsmanship, you're always chopping at wooden dummies, no matter how smooth you plan them, they're still just pieces of wood.
Ram increased the intensity of his attacks. He didn't intend to engage in direct combat, but instead used his Fish-Men's physical advantage to continuously move around Marcus towards his flank.
Axe after axe, the shadows of axes came continuously from the front, side, and diagonally behind. Marcus blocked five axes in a row, but the sixth axe knocked him into a slight scramble. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Ram closed in and kicked Ram in the back of the knee with his right knee.
Marcus's legs buckled and he almost knelt down. The tip of the knife was still pointing straight ahead. He could feel his strength draining away from his knee joints. His aging muscles simply couldn't keep up with the sustained fighting for so long.
Ram's thoughts drifted back to many years ago.
--
The auction house smelled salty, a mixture of sweat, blood, and rust.
Unlike the sun-drenched coral reefs of Fish-Man Island, the air in the auction house was like a tattered rag stuck in the gills, and all the members of the Fish-Men were locked in iron cages at the bottom according to their "goods categories".
Ram's cage was the fourth one in the third row, the narrowest one from the left. He was isolated because he was too big, and was handcuffed and secured to the bottom of the cage with two iron chains.
He squatted in the cage, his gills dry and curled up from lack of water, his eyes fixed on the leather shoes walking back and forth outside the iron bars.
"Next batch: Combat-type Fish-Man, suitable for arenas and armed escorts. Starting bid: 4.2 million Beli."
Ram heard someone call out a bid, then someone raise their paddle, and then the sound of a gavel striking a wooden table.
Four and a half million; he was the only one who slept that night.
The person in the cage next to them kept sobbing, praying, and trembling, even their crying was kept very low so as not to wake the guards.
Ram told himself not to listen; he was used to falling asleep to all sorts of noise.
He moved from the auction house to the slave ship, where there was the noise of another slave ship.
You can fall asleep as long as you close your eyes and tell yourself that you will continue to live tomorrow.
But then two footsteps approached from afar, someone vomited in the corridor, a female slave screamed as she was being held down, and a guard roughly grabbed someone by the hair and dragged them out.
Ram opened her eyes and could only see through the gaps in the iron bars the marks left by the female slave's bare feet as she had been forcibly dragged down the corridor.
He tried to stand up and kick open the cell door, but the chains held him in place, preventing him from getting up.
That feeling, listening to others suffer while being unable to move, is more unbearable than being locked in a cage.
A few days later, or perhaps longer, he heard a loud bang while he was in a semi-conscious state.
It was an explosion. Thick smoke poured in from the ceiling. The lock on the iron cage was smashed open from the outside with a crowbar. A barefoot man with a crooked nose, wearing a dark red coat, squatted in front of the cage. His face was covered in ash, and his canine teeth were whitened by the flash of the explosion. He was pushing his knee with the crowbar.
"Hey, Fish-Man, can you still walk?"
Ram said he could, and as he ran out, he didn't look where he was going, trying his best not to step on the scattered slave collars.
On the deck, two pirates were using oars to saw through the iron bars to release people. The deck was full of newly rescued slaves, Fish-Man and humans mixed together. Some people were vomiting into the sea, while others were crying with their heads in their hands.
He carried a whole bucket of fresh water and poured it onto the gill slits, then leaned against the gunwale without saying a word.
After he casually threw the human traffickers and buyers into the sea, the man with the crooked nose came over and handed him a dry towel.
What's your name?
"Ram."
"Alright, Ram, this ship is now the Raging Lion Pirates' temporary aid station. You have nowhere to go for the time being, so you can come with me."
--
Marcus was also exhausted at this point, and his swordsmanship was gradually losing its rhythm.
The pauses between each strike grew longer and longer, and the angle of the sidestep changed from a precise quarter of a slash to barely avoiding a vital spot.
Ram's axe slammed into the spine of his knife, making his hand go numb and nearly causing him to drop the knife.
After two blows, he was struck in the side of the chest by the axe handle, making a dull thud and staggering backward. He leaned against the edge of the flower bed, panting heavily. The white marks on his waist were soaked with sawdust and sweat from his dark gray shirt.
Marcus's mind was filled with images of his family.
All four children live in Orange Town.
Barlow Chamber of Commerce, Damian Town Government, Roy Training, Mila Underground.
On the evening he handed over the White Wax Wood sailboat he had built himself to them to venture out into the world, the setting sun made the red and white Fan Flag on the mast shine brightly.
He said, "Since fate has chosen us, from this day forward, we shall be called the Uchiha."
After the children left, he sat in the workshop all afternoon, planing the remaining White Wax Wood scraps over and over again, but not a single shaving was of any use.
He never told them, never told them that he would read the news about the Uchiha Chamber of Commerce from Orange Town three times every time it came from the dock.
He didn't tell them that he had spent the last few years scouring the island's old newspapers just to catch a glimpse of the family's latest developments.
He didn't tell them that he had actually been trying to make changes, that his children were working hard outside, and that he couldn't just stand by and do nothing to help.
He always remembered the fire in his heart that he felt one night when he was secretly sharpening a short knife.
But with only a month or two of practice, he practiced basic footwork one stroke at a time, sometimes straining his back but still finishing the wood-chopping work.
I want to become stronger again, to return to the age when I can stand shoulder to shoulder with my children, but my joints no longer obey my commands.
Damian later took the pregnant Gwen back to White Wax Island to rest and prepare for childbirth.
That evening, the father and son were taking a walk in the woods. After a long silence, Damian suddenly said, "Pops, I've realized that the family can function perfectly well without me. Barlow manages the merchant guild flawlessly, Mila has taken over the underworld more steadily than him, Roy manages training impeccably, Ando is doing a great job as mayor, and I..."
He paused, gently spreading out the crushed ash leaves in his hand. "It seems almost unnecessary."
Marcus didn't answer at the time because he was all too familiar with that phrase.
He watched as his four children built the largest trading company in the East Blue in Orange Town, while he spent his days chopping wood, sawing timber, and planing boards on White Wax Island, bearing the name of "Hometown of the Uchiha" but never personally participating in any of the battles his children fought and died in.
The family originated with him, yet he was the one most detached from actual combat.
But he was also an Uchiha.
Marcus's blood dripped from his thumb and forefinger down the hilt of his sword onto the broken pieces of his pipe. He slowly stood up, supporting himself on the flowerbed with one hand. His knees were still trembling, but his back had straightened again, just like when he had said "I am also Uchiha" to Ram at the dock.
He switched the dagger to his more stable left hand, then raised it to shoulder level once more.
Ram's thoughts were still lingering on the female slave's feet as she was dragged away. He gritted his teeth inwardly, then raised his vertical pupils and silently plunged the axe into the broken wood beside him.
He walked up to Marcus, and for the first time, the Fish-Man's vertical pupils lost all their cold light.
"I know why you're blocking the doorway. You're strong, but you won't last long."
Ram looked at the dagger. The most heroic figure he had seen when he was crouching at the bottom of the auction house's iron cage was actually Lane; and for Marcus, the same figure belonged to the four young men whose voices would deepen every time they returned from the Orange Town docks.
Marcus raised the knife again, blood seeping from the web of his left hand, but his hand did not tremble.
"That depends on how many people are worth it."
Ram raised his short axe, and the two of them stepped forward simultaneously.
Marcus's blade slashed into Ram's left abdomen as he was struck hard on the back of his neck by the back of the axe. His vision went black, and the world spun around him.
Ram clutched his stomach and collapsed against the wall, making the warehouse door rattle loudly; Marcus fell on the edge of the flower bed, hitting the back of his head on the edge of the stone steps, the blood blister at the corner of his mouth bursting and swelling again.
His consciousness was fading, but he didn't close his eyes. Faces floated past in the darkness: Barlow's wrinkled little face as a newborn yawning at him for the first time; Damian, at seven, almost falling into the hold while hauling cargo and getting his foot stuck in the cargo; Roy, three months old, laughing and spitting up milk in his arms; Mila's first word when she learned to speak was "Daddy."
Then there's Gwen, the image of her cleaning Damian's carpenter's workshop when she came to White Wax Island with him.
What a wonderful family.
The moment the Sharingan awakens, all exhaustion and cessation of breathing are overcome.
The One Tomoe slowly rotated in its eye socket.
After all, he was the progenitor of the Uchiha bloodline. The burning sensation that occurred when his blood touched the Tomoe on the dinner table that night ultimately caused him to bloom his first red petal as he lay dying.
Ram had already picked up his axe again and was walking towards him.
But Marcus focused his last strength on his pupils, using his Sharingan, which he had never used before, to lock onto Ram's movement trajectory.
He saw every frame of the short axe swinging down, then switched the knife from his right hand to his still trembling left arm, and thrust it out with the last knuckle.
The knife tip pierced through the gap between Ram's gills, tearing through the skin and sinking into his throat.
Ram's fingers were still gripping the short axe, which stopped half an inch above Marcus's forehead. For the first time, the Fish-Man's thick arms went limp.
As he leaned forward, he knocked over a bucket of water at his feet, and the splashing water extinguished the few remaining flames burning nearby.
The gill slits twitched slightly in the water, and then remained completely still.
Marcus lay on the edge of the flower bed.
He was no longer in pain, Tomoe in his eyes slowly stopped turning. His vision grew darker and darker at the end of the shopping street, but a familiar figure was stumbling and running towards him from the entrance of the shopping street.
Wearing a dark brown coat, with disheveled hair and his left arm hanging down his shoulder, Damian...
He tried to raise his hand to wipe the blood from his eldest son's face, but he couldn't lift his arm.
He could only watch as the staggering figure drew closer and closer in the moonlight.
"Damian..." He moved his lips, his voice so soft that only he could hear it.
The ash tree swayed gently in the night breeze, and moonlight spilled onto the stone pavement of the commercial street, illuminating the half-split pipe that had been cleaved by an axe.