The sea glowed like an open wound.
Green, red, and blue pulses surged from the deep in hypnotic rhythm, each heartbeat of light drawing the crew closer to the starboard rail. Their voices dropped to murmurs, their faces lit with eerie hues. Ashen stood silent among them, unmoved on the surface—but beneath it, his blood ran electric.
The system's message still hovered in his periphery:
[Undiscovered Landmark: Forgotten Temple of the First Current]
[Estimated Treasure Value: Unknown]
[Warning: High-Risk Zone]
A rare kind of notice. It hadn't triggered when he'd fought. Not even when he'd nearly died. But here, now, staring at submerged ruins lost to time—this world itself whispered of secrets.
"Captain," a grizzled helmsman muttered, "I don't like this. That glow ain't natural."
Vorn stepped forward, resting both hands on the rail. "Nothing in the Grand Line is natural, Haek. Question is—do we tempt the sea, or pass and pray no storm follows us?"
Ashen stepped beside him.
"Send a small boat," he said calmly. "Scout it. Quietly. If the system warns of danger… then there's something worth the risk."
Vorn's eyes flicked to him—curious, sharp—but didn't question the source of his certainty.
"You volunteering, boy?"
Ashen's mouth twitched into a grin. "You knew I would."
Vorn laughed. It was dry, hollowed by years at sea. "Fine. You and three. Take Lars, Tamber, and Kael. Get in, get out. No heroics."
Ashen nodded and turned toward the launch crews. His heart thudded with a strange mix of nerves and clarity. This wasn't about gold, or treasure, or glory.
This… felt like fate.
---
The rowboat cut across glass-smooth waters, oars dipping silently into glowing currents. The deeper they moved toward the ruins, the clearer the shapes became: weathered structures sprawled across the seabed like the bones of a lost civilization.
Columns carved with spirals. Towering archways broken by the weight of centuries. At the heart of it all, a wide circular platform rose just a few meters below the surface—ancient stone etched with symbols too faded to read.
The glow came from that stone.
Kael, the youngest of the crew, leaned over the side of the boat, eyes wide. "This place feels… wrong."
"Not wrong," Ashen murmured. "Old. Like the world forgot it existed."
He stripped off his shirt, revealing the lithe, scarred muscles beneath, and strapped his sword to his back using a soaked leather harness. "I'm going down."
"By yourself?" Tamber frowned. "Could be cursed."
"If it is, then I'd rather not take all of you with me."
Before they could protest, he slipped into the water. Cold at first, but not biting. The glow felt warm against his skin, unnatural in its gentleness. He kicked downwards, propelling his body with practiced control, and soon landed on the stone dais.
It was larger than it seemed from above.
A perfect circle, with concentric rings carved into its surface and a triangular altar rising from its center. Something rested upon it—metallic, oddly shaped, glowing red. A hilt? A gem?
He reached out—
[Object Detected: Fragment of the Current Blade – "Marea"]
[Ancient Weapon – Inert]
[Status: Unawakened – Requires Resonance]
His fingers brushed it.
The world snapped.
A flash of white. A pressure in his skull. The illusion of depth twisting inward. In the blink of an eye, Ashen found himself suspended in darkness—no water, no weight, just the echo of something vast watching him.
[Resonance Detected]
[Fragment Accepted]
[Bonus Berry Consumption Option Unlocked – System Interface Expanding]
[Would You Like to Level Up?]
Ashen didn't hesitate.
Yes.
---
He woke with a gasp—still underwater, lungs beginning to burn. The red fragment was gone, vanished into his system's space.
And his body… felt changed.
Not larger, but denser. Coiled like a spring ready to launch. Every muscle now moved with cleaner precision, and his mind felt sharper—as if the system had peeled away some unseen layer of limitation.
He broke the surface and gasped for air. The crew in the boat shouted and dragged him aboard.
"You alright?" Tamber asked.
Ashen coughed once, then nodded. "I got what I needed."
As they rowed back to the Crimson Wraith, his system quietly updated:
[Level: Expert]
[Stat Bonus Applied]
[New Passive Detected – Edge of Motion]
[Sword Skill Tree Unlocked: Foundation Tier]
[Berry Remaining: 172,300]
[Strength: 4.4 → 4.6]
[Endurance: 5.0]
[Durability: 4.6]
[Agility: 4.3 → 4.6]
The world hadn't changed.
But he had.
-----------------
The rowboat thudded gently against the hull of the Crimson Wraith, and crew members leaned over to haul the soaked party back aboard. Ashen climbed the rope ladder last, water slicking down his body, his damp harness creaking under the weight of the sword on his back.
Vorn waited on deck.
"You're not dead," he said with a smirk. "That's a good start."
Ashen stepped onto the deck, barefoot, eyes hard. "There's something down there. I don't know what it was… but I took a piece of it."
He didn't elaborate. Not about the system. Not about the fragment or the flash of resonance. The fewer people who knew, the better.
Still, Vorn seemed to sense the change. His gaze lingered on Ashen's stance—centered, sharpened, something subtly different. As if the boy who had jumped overboard wasn't quite the one who returned.
"You'll report the full findings later," the captain said. "For now, get dry and rest. We move with the wind at dawn. If it ever returns."
Ashen gave a short nod and moved off toward the lower deck. The rest of the scouting crew followed, muttering among themselves about the ruin, the light, the unnatural calm of the sea.
---
Below deck, Ashen found a quiet corner and unrolled a threadbare cloth over the wooden floor. There, in silence, he sat cross-legged.
His body felt... alive. Not like adrenaline after a fight. This was deeper—like his entire frame had been tuned, refined. The system had transformed something inside him when he accepted the level-up.
[Level: Expert]
[Stat Bonus Applied]
[New Passive: Edge of Motion – Your body instinctively optimizes form and stance when using a blade. Reaction time slightly improved. Fatigue threshold increased during combat.]
[Skill Tree Access: Foundation Swordsmanship Tier]
[Unlocked Skills: Basic Flow Strike, Guard Bind]
It wasn't just a boost to strength or numbers.
The "Expert" level wasn't a title. It was a qualitative shift. He now stood above the common fighters of the sea. Above thugs, pirates, marines of lower rank.
He had taken his first step toward the monsters of this world.
Still, the gap between "Expert" and "Master," not to mention "Legend," was massive.
Ashen knew it instinctively. The system wasn't exaggerating when it placed such weight behind each title. There were seven stages of power—Novice, Amateur, Expert, Master, Grandmaster, Legend, Divine.
Most people never reached Expert. Fewer still even believed in the existence of the Divine tier.
And now, he stood at the gate of something far greater.
---
His sword felt different in his hands that night.
He practiced alone in the cargo hold—slow, deliberate motions, shadow dancing across crates and barrels. There was a fluidity to his movement that hadn't been there before. As if the system hadn't just enhanced his muscles, but had whispered into them how to listen—to the weight, the angle, the threat behind each strike.
He tried the new skill.
[Flow Strike – Initiate a basic directional slash. Reduces wasted motion. Grants bonus speed and control when chaining with other sword techniques.]
It wasn't flashy. It didn't send shockwaves or cut stone. But the control it offered was terrifying.
Ashen swung, pivoted, shifted his stance mid-motion, and slashed again in a single, fluid burst.
The blade sang.
There was no audience, no praise. Just him and the cold steel—his breath steady, his balance perfect.
If this was just the first step into the Swordsmanship tree… he couldn't imagine what lay further up.
And that made him hungrier.
---
By the next morning, the sea had shifted.
A low wind stirred across the water, gentle but growing, and the sails of the Crimson Wraith swelled with renewed purpose. The crew cheered. Vorn gave orders. Ashen stood at the bow, eyes narrowed as the ruin behind them faded into the haze.
He didn't know what he had triggered down there—or what the "Fragment of Marea" truly meant—but the system had called it a Current Blade.
An ancient weapon.
And what's more… it was just a fragment.
His instinct told him that more lay scattered across the Grand Line. Maybe even beyond.
A blade broken by time. Or sealed away by something even older.
It didn't matter.
He'd find the rest.
And when he did, the world would know the name Ashen Veyr.
The Crimson Wraith cut through the water once more, its blood-red sails taut with the returning wind. A sense of motion, of life, pulsed through the hull—wood creaking with purpose, ropes humming, and sails snapping in the sea breeze. After days trapped in the stillness of the doldrums, even the faintest movement felt like rebirth.
Ashen stood at the prow, his coat fluttering behind him, the ocean wind playing through his white-gray hair. His eyes were fixed on the horizon. Not because he expected to see something there—but because he finally felt ready to chase it.
He'd crossed the threshold.
Expert.
It hadn't come with fanfare or dramatic power spikes. No thunder, no system fanfare beyond the minimal notifications. But he could feel it in every fiber of his body. Like his senses were sharper. His posture steadier. His blade had weight now—not just in metal, but in intent.
He was no longer prey scurrying through a foreign world.
He had claws now.
---
Vorn called for a meeting later that afternoon.
The crew gathered on the upper deck—some seated on crates, others leaning against the masts or railings. The captain stood in front of them, his expression calm but focused.
"We survived an ambush, charted unknown waters, and came across something most men wouldn't even believe exists," Vorn began, voice rising just enough to cut through the chatter. "And now the winds favor us again."
He gestured to the makeshift map spread over a barrel top beside him. "We're heading south by southeast, toward the island cluster of Rendra's Veil. There's a small pirate outpost there, and more importantly—a few reliable black market contacts."
Whispers rose at the mention. Ashen listened carefully, standing near the edge, arms folded.
Rendra's Veil. He hadn't heard the name before, but from the way the older crew members reacted, it wasn't just another port town. It was a haven for the lawless—an island that changed hands between crews and cartels, a place where fortune and betrayal walked hand in hand.
"A few of you'll be going ashore with me," Vorn said. "We'll offload some loot, restock powder, and get the hull patched up. But we'll keep a tight leash. No drinking yourselves stupid. No wandering off."
Then his gaze slid across the deck—and settled on Ashen.
"You're coming with us."
Ashen nodded without hesitation.
Of course he would.
He needed information. Supplies. And more importantly—Berry.
Leveling to Expert had consumed the majority of his remaining reserves. Even with all he had taken from the marines and the ruin, he had less than 50,000 Berry left. A drop in the ocean, compared to what he might need to push further into the Swordsmanship tree—or unlock the locked skills under Haki.
And something told him the next threshold wouldn't be cheap.
---
That night, while most of the crew played dice or drank quietly, Ashen descended to the storage hold and opened the status window in private.
[Level: Expert]
[Strength: 4.7]
[Endurance: 5.3]
[Durability: 5.0]
[Agility: 4.6]
[Unlocked Skill: Flow Strike – Mastered]
[Unlocked Skill: Guard Bind – Basic]
[New Passive: Edge of Motion]
[Current Berry: 47,200]
[Skill Paths Available: Swordsmanship – Foundation Tier, Haki – Kenbunshoku: Locked, Busoshoku: Locked]
The numbers weren't everything.
But they meant something.
Each full point marked a massive leap beyond normal human limits. He hadn't just reached the top of what a strong man in this world could achieve—he was passing it.
He felt it during combat drills.
His strikes didn't just hit harder; they connected smarter. Every parry, every dodge, carried the weight of practiced intuition, not just muscle memory. The system's passive skills were subtle, but relentless. Like gravity—they bent everything toward efficiency.
Still… the Haki branches remained sealed.
He'd read about Haki in stray fragments of the body's memories—stories overheard in bars, warnings whispered on the docks. But the system didn't explain how to unlock it. The only note was a single red line next to both Kenbunshoku and Busoshoku:
[Locked – Trigger through Adversity or Insight]
Ashen exhaled slowly, closing the window.
He couldn't force it.
Not yet.
But the world would.
---
The next morning, land appeared on the horizon.
A clustered ring of jagged islands cloaked in mist. Vorn stood at the helm as the Crimson Wraith glided closer, the reefs visible even from this distance.
Rendra's Veil looked nothing like a welcoming port. It looked like the broken jaw of a giant predator.
Perfect.
As the anchor dropped and the ship docked against a weathered, creaking harbor post, Ashen adjusted his gear, slid the sheathed blade across his back, and prepared to descend.
This wasn't just another island.
It was the next test.
And somewhere among the blood-soaked alleys of that outlaw haven, he would find either fortune… or fury.
The air in Rendra's Veil reeked of salt, oil, and blood.
Ashen stepped off the gangplank with a steady gait, eyes scanning the makeshift harbor. The docks were uneven and warped, cobbled together with scavenged planks and rusted chains. Ships of all shapes and sizes were moored along the crooked coastline—some bearing crude pirate flags, others cloaked in anonymity.
No marines here. No law.
Only the strong and the smart survived.
Vorn led the landing party with the confidence of a man who'd been here before. Flanked by three trusted crewmen, he moved with purpose toward a narrow street that led deeper into the outpost. Ashen followed closely, his instincts buzzing. Every step felt like walking into a trap—except that everyone here knew it was a trap. That was the unspoken rule of places like this.
No one was safe.
Everyone was prey.
Unless you bit first.
---
The group passed beneath a tattered awning and into the heart of the outpost.
Rendra's Veil was less a town and more a sprawl of interconnected ruins and rebuilt shanties. Crumbling stone walls from some long-dead civilization merged with wood and steel, forming makeshift buildings stacked three stories high. Ramshackle bridges crisscrossed above the streets, connecting rooms and shops and brothels like a spiderweb.
Men with blades sat on crates, watching.
Women with painted smiles leaned in doorways, eyes sharp.
Children darted between stalls, pickpockets in disguise.
Ashen didn't miss a step. His gaze flicked from alley to rooftop, instinctively noting angles of escape, high ground, possible ambush points. His Agility stat helped—made him quicker, quieter—but it was experience, not numbers, that kept him alert.
He walked like he belonged.
But inside, he was already making plans.
---
Vorn led them to a shaded structure nestled between two stone towers. A faded sign above the door read "Broken Anchor", the paint smeared with blood long dried.
Inside, the tavern was half bar, half black market.
The air was thick with pipe smoke and rum fumes. Along the back wall, a heavyset man with a silver beard and tattooed scalp sat behind a reinforced counter. Vorn approached him without hesitation.
"Torun," the captain greeted, placing a sealed satchel on the counter. "We've got spoils. Powder, steel, and something rare from the deep."
Ashen stepped aside as Vorn began negotiations. His attention drifted to the patrons.
A group of mercenaries nursed drinks near the corner, whispering in a tongue he didn't know. Another man in a long coat sat alone, polishing a rifle with a modified scope. And upstairs—he spotted a swordswoman lounging across a balcony ledge, watching the room like a hawk. Her eyes briefly met his.
Something flickered there.
Recognition?
No. Interest.
Ashen turned away.
He didn't like attention. Not yet.
---
After half an hour, Vorn returned with a nod.
"Cut's been weighed. We'll get more for the gear once it's cleaned and sorted, but Torun's paying partial in advance." He handed Ashen a sealed pouch. "Your share."
Ashen opened it slightly—10,000 Berry, mostly in silver and gold coinage. Not bad for a warm-up.
"Stick around here a bit," Vorn said. "I'm heading to the forge to negotiate powder refills. You want anything—buy it now."
Ashen nodded once and turned away.
Now came the real work.
---
He navigated the market paths alone, weaving between stalls and half-hidden doors. The deeper he went, the less civilized it became. No signage. No laughter. Just flickering lanterns and the sound of deals being made—some with words, others with blades.
Eventually, he reached what he was looking for.
A dark alcove set behind hanging beads. No name. Just a single lantern and a man with a missing nose seated cross-legged beside a pile of blades.
Ashen knelt, showing the pouch.
"Information," he said flatly. "Combat. Skills. Sea charts. I'll pay."
The man smiled, a crooked thing.
"You're not the first to ask," he rasped. "But you're the first to look like you might live long enough to use it."
Ashen said nothing.
The man motioned him closer. "For 5,000, I'll tell you about Rokushiki."
Ashen's heart skipped.
He didn't flinch—but inside, he leaned forward.
He paid.
And the whispers began.
---
By the time he left the alcove, Ashen's mind was spinning.
Rokushiki—the legendary marine combat style—wasn't magic. It was technique. Technique born from mastery of the body beyond its natural limit. The man had told him of Soru, the first of the six forms. Of how it bent motion into instant acceleration through raw power and footwork.
"You need legs like steel, and will sharper than your sword," the informant had said. "Push enough… and your system might respond."
Ashen's body was already close.
He checked his status discreetly behind a pillar.
[Strength: 4.7]
[Agility: 4.6]
He was near the threshold.
He just needed a push.
---
Suddenly, a sharp noise cut through the alley.
A shout—then steel scraping stone.
Ashen didn't hesitate. He turned the corner fast, instincts screaming.
A young boy—a pickpocket—lay slumped against the wall, bleeding.
And above him, a bounty hunter raised a long, curved blade.
Ashen's feet moved before he thought.
The next moment, steel rang.
His blade locked with the attacker's, and for the first time—Ashen didn't yield ground.
The bounty hunter's blade met Ashen's with a hiss of friction—steel on steel, teeth against teeth. Sparks flew. Their eyes locked.
Ashen didn't recognize the man, but it didn't matter. He was tall, with a wiry build and a brand on his neck: C-158—the mark of a private contractor with legal permission to kill pirates on sight. His coat bore fresh stains. Not all of them red.
The man sneered. "Get lost, kid."
Ashen didn't move. "He's just a child."
"He stole from me."
Ashen's gaze flicked to the boy. Still breathing, but pale. Blood leaked from a shallow gash in his gut. Just enough to hurt. Not enough to kill—yet.
"I'll return what he took," Ashen said coolly.
"I don't want it back," the man replied, stepping forward, blade rising again. "I want a message sent."
He struck.
But this time, Ashen was ready.
---
He moved.
Feet grounded—then gone.
The step wasn't Soru. Not yet. But it was close. His muscles screamed under the sudden strain as he darted forward, twisting past the descending blade. The bounty hunter's attack swept through empty air, missing Ashen by inches.
Ashen pivoted and brought his sword down—sharp, controlled, cutting at the shoulder.
The man barely blocked it in time. Sparks flew again, but Ashen didn't retreat.
He pressed.
A flurry of strikes. Not elegant. Not flashy. Just relentless—like a tide eroding stone.
The bounty hunter fell back, surprised. "Fast—!"
Ashen's Agility surged through his veins like lightning.
4.6.
He ducked a counter, then brought his foot into a wide sweep that caught the man's ankle. The hunter stumbled. Ashen stepped in, slamming the hilt of his sword into the man's temple. The bounty hunter dropped.
Unconscious.
Breathing.
Ashen didn't kill him.
But he could have.
He stood over the body, chest rising and falling.
For a moment, the world was silent.
Then—
[Agility: 4.8]
[Strength: 4.9]
[System Notification: Combat Threshold Reached]
[New Skill Unlocked: Proto-Soru (Incomplete)]
[Skill Efficiency: 12%]
[Warning: Muscular fatigue risk extreme above current threshold]
Ashen's eyes widened slightly.
He'd done it.
The system responded.
---
He turned, scooped up the boy, and vanished into the shadows.
The market didn't even blink.
Rendra's Veil swallowed the violence like a daily rhythm. The unconscious bounty hunter would wake up and either learn or try again. But Ashen had crossed something far more important than blades.
He'd crossed a line—from practiced instinct into the raw edge of true power.
---
That night, back aboard the Crimson Wraith, Ashen stood in the lower deck, alone.
His body ached. Muscles were strained from the sudden acceleration of Proto-Soru. His breath still rasped in his throat. But he didn't mind.
He opened the system quietly.
Level: Expert
Berry Used: 150,000
Remaining Berry: 165,000
Strength: 4.9
Endurance: 5.3
Durability: 4.9
Agility: 4.8
New Skill: Proto-Soru
An instinctive burst-movement skill derived from Soru. Incomplete form. Overuse causes muscular tearing. Full mastery requires both physical refinement and combat precision.
Ashen let the panel fade.
This was only the beginning.
The world was large.
But now… so was the gap between him and who he once was.
He whispered to himself.
"I won't be hunted again."
----------------------
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