The scent of iron and damp soil filled the forest.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled—but there were no clouds above, only smoke.
Zoro walked along the dirt path, his swords rattling against his hip. Every few steps, he glanced at the horizon as if it might move.
The forest around him wasn't quiet. The world here was alive in a way he couldn't quite explain. He could feel it — through his skin, through the edge of his blades.
The air itself breathed energy.
"Chakra," he muttered, trying the word for the hundredth time. "Feels like haki got drunk and decided to crawl through my veins."
He exhaled and touched his chest. The strange energy pulsed beneath his skin — familiar yet foreign. It didn't clash with his Haki anymore; instead, it coiled around it, like two beasts forced to share the same cage.
Every day, they grew more… synchronized.
He didn't know if that was good or bad.
---
Zoro stopped.
The air shifted. A faint killing intent brushed against him — sharp, trained.
He sighed, his hand sliding toward Wado Ichimonji's hilt. "You guys ever try saying hello before attacking?"
Five shadows burst from the trees — masks, kunai, silent. Trained assassins.
Zoro didn't move until they were nearly on top of him. Then —
Shing.
A flash of silver.
The forest split with the sound of one clean cut.
Leaves floated down like falling feathers as the assassins dropped — not dead, but unconscious, weapons shattered. Zoro hadn't drawn his blade fully; the scabbard still caught the edge.
He frowned. "You're lucky I'm not in a bad mood."
He looked around — there were no symbols on their armor. No flags, no colors. Mercenaries maybe. Or worse — shinobi from different clans sharing the same battlefield.
"This world's a damn maze," he muttered. "Every forest's a war zone, and I still can't find the exit."
---
A voice called out behind him.
"You shouldn't be here."
Zoro turned. A young man — early twenties, dark hair, markings under his eyes — stood with a spear at the ready. His stance was solid. The calm before a storm.
"Senju territory," the man warned. "Outsiders don't walk through here alive."
"Didn't plan to die," Zoro said simply.
The man's eyes narrowed. "You're not from any clan I know."
"Not from any world you know," Zoro replied without thinking.
The man didn't get the joke. He lunged.
Zoro sidestepped, his movement barely visible. The spear missed by a breath, and the next instant, Zoro's sword was drawn — the flat of the blade resting against the man's throat.
"Fast," Zoro said quietly. "But too straight. You'd die before your second strike."
He sheathed his sword again, turning away. "Don't follow me."
The man froze — part fear, part hurt pride. "Who are you?"
Zoro glanced back, one eye half-open.
"…Roronoa Zoro."
---
Hours later, Zoro sat beneath a dead tree, cleaning the edge of Sandai Kitetsu. The blade still vibrated faintly — it had tasted battle, even if only a little.
"Still sharp," he muttered. "You'd like this world, wouldn't you?"
The cursed blade gave no answer, but he could feel its hunger.
He tilted his head toward the distant lights of a burning village.
"Maybe I'll stay until I figure this place out," he said. "If I don't lose my way first."
He chuckled at his own words, then frowned. "Wait… which way was I going?"
---
Far above, on a rocky cliff overlooking the forest, two figures watched the faint glow of campfires and the devastation below.
"Another stranger wandering into our wars," murmured Hashirama Senju, eyes thoughtful. "But that one… he's different."
Madara stood beside him, arms folded, his Sharingan glowing faintly. "His chakra isn't right. It twists like it's… fighting itself."
"You think he's dangerous?"
Madara's lips curved. "I hope so."
He turned away, cloak swaying in the night wind. "If he survives the scouts, I'll find him myself."
Hashirama sighed. "You always say that when you're curious."
Madara smiled without humor. "No. I say that when I smell a challenge."
As both men parted, they were thinking about the mysterious swordsman and the war they're about to fight.
---
That night, as the moon rose high, Zoro rested against the tree trunk, his swords beside him. The fire crackled low, and his eyelids grew heavy.
For the first time in years, he felt something that almost resembled excitement.
Not for treasure. Not for adventure.
For the fight he hadn't found yet.
"Let's see what kind of monsters this world's hiding," he whispered, before drifting off to sleep.
The wind carried the faint scent of war.
And somewhere in the darkness, a legend from one world crossed paths with the gods of another.
To be continued...