Ryuma gripped the black blade Shūsui tightly, eyes fixed on the doorway, alert to any movement from his enemies.
As he made his way through the ruins, Ryuma witnessed the devastation wrought upon Wano Country. Deep within, he silently resolved to take Kaido's place—and ultimately, to drive Kaido out of Wano for good.
But accomplishing this alone was a daunting task. There were two things he needed to do: first, continuously absorb the power of others' Devil Fruits to strengthen himself; second, kill not just the body but also crush the spirit.
After a while, a group of men clad in traditional kimonos approached from the ruins, led by a tall man with long pink hair.
The pink-haired man was tall and ugly, his voluminous hair flowing to the ground, ending in the shape of a calligraphy brush. He wore a vest over a robe, and brown wooden clogs adorned his feet.
Without a doubt, this man was Black Charcoal Kanjuro.
Ryuma remembered clearly—years later, it was because of Kanjuro's betrayal that many retainers of the Kozuki family were executed on Black Charcoal Serpent's orders, causing countless casualties and dramatically altering the fate of Wano.
Black Charcoal Serpent was detestable, but compared to Black Charcoal Kanjuro, he seemed almost ordinary.
"You must be the one calling yourself Ryuma," Kanjuro said seriously.
"And you think so? Just look at the bodies on the ground. No need to ask further," Ryuma replied with unwavering righteousness, his eyes flicking to the giant brush in Kanjuro's hand.
That brush was the key to the fight.
Kanjuro possessed the power of the Painting Fruit, able to bring whatever he painted to life—but only when using a brush!
And right now, he wielded that very brush to create shapes for battle.
Ryuma turned to glance at one of Kanjuro's companions.
That man was Kyoshiro.
Kyoshiro was tall with a pompadour hairstyle, wielding a katana and wearing a straw hat. He looked like a cold, aloof swordsman.
He seemed to be Black Charcoal Serpent's personal guard.
Among Serpent's men, only these two had any real combat ability.
Ryuma smirked and teased, "Tsk tsk… seriously? Is Black Charcoal Serpent really this stingy, sending only two people to deal with me?"
No sooner had Ryuma finished speaking than something nearly stunned him into disbelief.
Kanjuro swung his brush casually through the air—and effortlessly painted a colossal, towering eagle!
"I don't get it… Kanjuro's painting skill was awful, so why was it so good over twenty years ago? What exactly did he go through?" Ryuma thought, incredulous.
The Kanjuro from twenty years ago and the one now were worlds apart in skill.
Only now did Ryuma grasp the system's "benevolent intention." No wonder the system issued this task—this was no trivial foe.
"System, analyze Kanjuro's true strength," Ryuma commanded.
"Ding dong. Kanjuro is an A-class Paramecia Devil Fruit user, skilled in painting. He is vulnerable to defeat but potentially dangerous. Please proceed with caution, Host."
Hearing this, Ryuma's expression tightened as he locked his gaze on the giant bird soaring above, a chill running down his spine.
But in the next moment, Ryuma immediately steadied himself.
No matter what, he was the legendary Dragon-Slaying Samurai—he had cut dragons' throats before. This was nothing but an eagle.
Thinking this, Ryuma shouted, gripping Shūsui, and leapt toward the eagle with fierce determination.
Kyoshiro wiped cold sweat from his brow, eyeing Ryuma in midair. "This guy's no joke… but finally, he's fallen into our trap. Ninjas, tear this tomb robber to shreds!"
With Kyoshiro's order, the ninjas behind him wasted no time—sharp-edged shurikens flew swiftly toward Ryuma.
A faint smile curved Ryuma's lips. "Is that all? None of this will harm me."
Most would become sitting ducks, trapped in midair with no escape. But Ryuma was different.
His pupils contracted sharply as he focused on one shuriken. With the tip of his sword, he gently tapped the center of the flying blade—without stopping its spin—skimming it in midair like a dragonfly dancing on water.
The onlookers froze in disbelief.
"This… how is this possible?!" Kyoshiro roared in fury.
A foe even Jack struggled against—Ryuma was truly formidable!
Even the soft-and-hard style samurai couldn't pull off such a move.
Ryuma was a time-traveling Dragon-Slaying Samurai. Though these moves weren't Observation Haki, they were muscle memory—instinctive reflexes triggered in danger.
The next instant, Ryuma used the shuriken as a springboard, propelling himself faster toward the eagle.
All the shurikens missed, slicing the air and producing sharp whooshing sounds—but none left a scratch on Ryuma.
His eyes locked on the eagle as he shouted, "Soul Sever!"
At that moment, Shūsui gleamed in his hand. Closing the distance rapidly, Ryuma struck with a decisive slash, cleaving the eagle in two with lightning speed.
Crack!
The eagle disintegrated into smoke, and within the swirling mist appeared a man in a kimono, wielding a black blade, descending toward them.
Kyoshiro was stunned on the spot!
He had never seen a swordsman like this before.
"Kanjuro, what are you doing? Hurry up and paint another one!" Kyoshiro urged desperately.
But at that moment, Kanjuro's mind went completely blank—he was utterly dumbfounded.
"I… I don't even know what to paint next. Let me think… just give me a moment…" Kanjuro muttered nervously, his face already pale as flour turning even whiter. Beads of sweat, no bigger than soybeans, trickled down his face one by one.
Before Kanjuro could gather his wits, a razor-sharp blade sliced through the air!
In an instant, Kanjuro's body was cleaved in two!
Wherever the blade passed, blood spilled like a river.
Ryuma looked down silently at the blood-soaked ground, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.
Though his expression was cold and ruthless, inside Ryuma was silently cursing wildly.
"Damn it… I almost died just now if I hadn't hit that shuriken," he thought, taking a deep breath.
As a swordsman, how does one truly measure combat strength?
It all boils down to swordsmanship and physical resilience.
Most swordsmen are fragile.
What does that mean?
They can deal heavy damage but can't take much in return. One hit can leave them crippled or worse.
Even though Ryuma's strength was once legendary, his body's physical power was beyond ordinary. But his body was still just a skeleton rebuilt. No matter how muscular he was before, those muscles had long since withered, having been dormant for a hundred years. Where could he possibly be now in terms of strength?
That was all in the past—something not worth mentioning for Ryuma.