Ignorance Island lived up to its name, a barren, deathly silent expanse with nothing on it.
There were no rises or dips in the terrain, no living creatures, not even a trace of vibrant color. Only flat, gray-white ground, hard as refined iron, stretched from the shoreline to the limits of sight. The lead-gray sky held neither clouds nor sun, and its eerily uniform light left not a single shadow on the ground. The wind seemed imprisoned by an invisible hand, the air stagnant as solid matter, the silence so absolute that one could hear the sound of one's own blood flowing.
Zoro stood on the island's eastern side with three Famous Swords at his side-Wado Ichimonji hung at his left hip, Shusui at his right, and Sandai Kitetsu was held firmly between his teeth. His upper body was bare, his lean muscles sharply defined as though carved by a blade, the scars covering him medals of his journey as a swordsman. His green bandanna remained motionless in the stagnant air; only his single eye held an edge that had yet to fade. In black trousers and boots, he stepped across the gray-white ground with monotonous taps that rang especially clearly in the deathly silence.
He raised his eyes, looking across the empty battlefield toward the island's western side.
In the distance, Benn Beckman stood quietly.
He was tall and straight-backed, his long, dark coat falling like a waterfall, perfectly undisturbed in the windless air. His left hand hung naturally at his side, while his right gripped an old-fashioned Flintlock, its barrel reflecting a dull, cold metallic gleam beneath the uniform daylight. His face, that of a man in his forties, was cold as ice; his short black hair was neat and practical, and the faint stubble on his chin