"A legendary blade deserves a worthy master. With Lord Roya's strength, there's no question he is qualified to wield Shusui, the Black Blade."
"However," Orochi continued with a sly smile, "the people of Wano have always regarded Shusui as a national treasure. Should it reappear, I fear it may stir... complications."
His tone was courteous, but the implication was obvious: he was baiting Roya, trying to prod him into taking action against Kaido.
All that talk of "piercing the strongest defense" and "causing unrest"—who else could that possibly refer to?
Roya, naturally, saw straight through the ploy.
He responded with a calm nod and said,
"Blades mean little to me. A true swordsman carries neither a blade in his hand nor a blade in his heart."
"Even if you gathered every famed sword in the world and handed them to someone who doesn't know how to wield them—what are they, if not scrap metal?"
"Likewise, if one's swordsmanship has reached true mastery, then plucking a flower or flicking a leaf is no different from wielding a blade. What need is there to chase after famed weapons?"
Kurozumi Orochi was taken aback for a moment, then bowed deeply.
"Lord Roya's swordsmanship and insight—I am far too inferior to even compare. I am truly ashamed."
But Squard knew that Roya's words were directed at him.
The burning desire he had felt moments ago for the Black Blade Shusui now began to fade, and the urgent thought of digging up Ryuma's grave in the dead of night slowly left his heart.
Just then, a flamboyantly dressed samurai with light blue pompadour hair rushed in.
He leaned in and whispered something quickly into Orochi's ear.
With a sudden clap, Orochi beamed and said,
"Lord Roya, the evening banquet is ready. Please, allow me to host a feast in your honor and welcome you to Wano properly!"
"Our kingdom's most renowned oiran, Komurasaki, has long looked forward to meeting you. She awaits your arrival in the banquet hall!"
He bowed in invitation.
Meanwhile, the blue-haired samurai who had delivered the message casually made his way to Marco's side.
Of course, with their keen eyes, Marco and the others had already recognized his true identity—Denjiro, one of the former retainers of Kozuki Oden.
No one had expected that this man had managed to infiltrate Orochi's inner circle, and had even gained his trust and favor to such a degree.
Soon, the group arrived at the banquet hall.
Roya, without hesitation, sat directly at the head seat.
Orochi was slightly surprised by this, but still grinned and took the seat that had originally been reserved for Roya—the seat of honor to the side.
The others seated themselves accordingly, with Denjiro positioned just behind Orochi.
At a clap of Orochi's hands, two lines of attendants emerged from behind folding screens, each carrying steaming hot towels for the guests to cleanse their hands and faces.
Just as they were beginning to feel refreshed, another group of attendants followed—this time bearing trays of exquisite food.
Dish after dish was placed before each guest with practiced elegance.
The same attendants who had served the towels now began pouring wine and delicately plating food for each person.
The cuisine and wine were nothing short of perfection—each dish was a carefully crafted masterpiece, an opulent blend of color, aroma, and flavor.
Yet Roya's attention gradually drifted toward a corner of the banquet hall, where a young female musician sat quietly.
She wore a flowing moon-white gown, its hem embroidered with elaborate ukiyo-e style cloud patterns—intricate and stunning.
Her face was hidden behind a white fox mask, adding a mystical, almost eerie beauty to her appearance.
In her hands was a simple shamisen—nothing ornate—but her playing carried a strange quality.
The melody wasn't loud, but it seemed to burrow into one's soul, stirring invisible threads within the heart and evoking a deep, inexplicable yearning.
What that yearning was, no one could quite articulate.
Roya soon realized: this woman was likely one of Orochi's elite ninja from the Oniwabanshu, posing as a musician.
Her presence at the banquet likely served two purposes: to guard Orochi, and to gather intel on Roya's group.
Roya raised his wine cup, tapped its rim lightly with his finger—ping—emitting a crisp, clear note.
To ordinary ears, it was just a pleasant sound.
But to the fox-masked woman, the sound rang out like a thunderclap, shattering the subtle aura she had painstakingly woven with her music.
She could no longer use her melody to probe the hearts of the guests.
Her shamisen fell abruptly silent.
Only then did Roya smile slightly and raise his glass to Orochi,
"A toast—to the Shogun's gracious hospitality."
Orochi's face lit up with glee upon hearing himself addressed as "Shogun."
He lifted his own cup with delight.
"Thank you, Lord Roya! This toast should be mine, in honor of your presence!"
He tilted his head back and drained the cup in a single gulp.
Roya only took a small sip before putting his cup down.
Nico Robin and the others, however, didn't even bother lifting theirs.
The wine was overpoweringly sweet with the scent of cherry blossoms, so potent it practically spilled from the cup.
None of them dared drink it.
After all, unlike Roya, they didn't have the kind of constitution that could easily shrug off any mysterious toxin or foreign substance.
After setting down his cup, Orochi's eyes flicked toward the retreating fox-masked musician. His expression stiffened momentarily.
Then, smiling once more, he turned to Roya and said,
"Lord Roya, please forgive me. I simply cannot contain my excitement to see Miss Komurasaki. Shall we begin the performance now?"
Without waiting for Roya to respond, he shouted,
"Presenting—Miss Komurasaki!"
From behind the folding screens came the soft sound of movement, followed by the rhythmic beat of drums.
A resplendent peacock appeared and stepped gracefully into the center of the banquet hall's dance floor.
As light illuminated the room, everyone finally saw—this "peacock" was in fact a breathtakingly beautiful young woman.
Her hair, a dazzling shade of emerald green, was coiled high atop her head like a blossoming fan of peacock feathers.
Her sky-blue kimono shimmered with dark indigo embroidery in the shape of peacock plumes.
Her dance was so mesmerizing that it became impossible to tell—was a woman dancing in the form of a peacock, or had a peacock taken human shape to dance?
Even Roya himself, along with everyone present, fell into a daze—entranced by her performance.
The drumbeat suddenly quickened. Her steps turned swift and purposeful.
It was as if the peacock had found its life's true calling—and was now throwing itself toward that destiny with everything it had.
Then the drums stopped cold.
She spun once and let the broad hem of her specially tailored kimono spread out like wings across the floor.
Her body stretched and bowed low, her breathing growing heavy from the intensity of the dance—her chest rising and falling with each breath.
In that moment, it looked as though she might take flight.
From Roya's vantage point, her pose was unmistakable:
She had become a peacock who had finally found its purpose in life.
So beautiful, it took one's breath away.
PS: Access the complete chapters/series at