Chapter 60 – The Severed Arm
Tachibana Kyūjō calmly watched as the tremendous slash approached him—a technique packed with overwhelming force and an intensely focused aura.
He raised the black blade Rairyūken in his right hand, the blade gleaming like a dragon ready to roar. Turning the edge upward, he brought it forward with a swift, effortless swing.
"Divine Departure, huh…?" he muttered. "No need to dodge. I'm far beyond even that 'God' himself…"
In the next instant, two Supreme Grade-class swords collided in midair.
The air cracked.
Metal rang like thunder as the two black blades clashed.
But only for a heartbeat.
Then—Rairyūken pushed through Gryphon.
With one clean blow, not only the blade—but Shanks himself—was launched high into the sky.
There was nothing more to say. The gap between them was simply too wide.
This version of Red-Haired Shanks, for all his fame, still wasn't a match.
And Kyūjō hadn't even used a proper technique.
No charging.
No chanting.
Just a standard slash.
Yet the force behind it was enough to swat a Yonko like a fly.
But just as he was about to follow up with another strike—
He stopped.
Completely.
Kyūjō's perception shifted.
The world slowed down to a crawl.
In his eyes, Shanks—still midair—moved frame by frame, like a reel of film stretched out and dissected.
His Infinity Perception had activated once again.
And in this suspended moment of thought, a troubling possibility emerged.
An 85% chance.
Red-Haired Shanks… would willingly sacrifice his own left arm to intercept Kyūjō's next slash.
Even though Gryphon could've blocked it cleanly.
The blow would instead "accidentally" slice through his arm.
But why?
Why sacrifice his arm now?
Was this some kind of symbolic ritual?
If the Sea King that once took it no longer existed, did he now want Kyūjō to be the one who took it?
What was he trying to gain?
Was it like the explanation from the future manga—that by betting everything on the next generation, he awakened something greater?
A sacrifice made… for the New Era?
A boost to his Conqueror's Haki born from a self-imposed loss?
What kind of narrative twist was that…?
And now, Kyūjō had to ask himself—
Was he supposed to play along?
— — —
Time returned.
Faster than thought, Rairyūken moved again.
A clean slash streaked across the sky, slicing through the air like lightning.
And then—
From shoulder to three fingers below—
Shanks's left arm was severed.
Blood arced through the sky.
His body fell, crashing down onto the earth beside his own fallen limb.
Kyūjō calmly slid his sword back into its sheath with a quiet metallic click.
Then, he walked toward the Red-Haired Pirate—now a one-armed man—and asked:
"…You knew, didn't you? That I had no intention of arresting your crew. So why go this far?"
"Why throw away your arm… for nothing?"
Shanks stood, bloodied but grinning. Even with one arm, his presence hadn't faded.
He laughed, loud and hearty, the kind of laugh only a true pirate could make.
"A captain shouldn't let his crew take the hit."
"So… consider this arm the price I chose to pay."
"And since you're letting me go, then this is my way of settling the score… Vice Admiral Seiryu."
"As promised, I'll send Luffy to this island. You'll find him soon."
"…I'm heading out."
With his remaining hand, Shanks waved.
Then he turned, casually sheathing Gryphon behind his back, and walked toward the shoreline.
Not once did he glance back.
Not once did he bother to retrieve his severed arm.
Kyūjō watched in silence.
He made no move to stop him.
Luffy staying behind was enough.
He'd never intended to arrest Shanks in the first place.
And if the fight had gone on too long… someone else might have finally decided to make a move.
— — —
Once Shanks disappeared beyond the horizon, Kyūjō slowly turned his gaze southwest.
Roughly fifty kilometers away—hidden somewhere beyond the dense coastal forest—he could sense a presence.
A swordsman.
A monstrous one.
Someone who had been watching the entire fight with killing intent locked squarely onto Kyūjō.
That man never acted—but he never backed down either.
His presence alone made Kyūjō keep his guard up the entire time.
And Kyūjō knew exactly who it was.
Saint Figarland Garling.
A Tenryūbito.
A member of the same Figarland Family as Shanks himself.
With blood-red hair, a crescent-shaped mustache and brows, and a blade of Supreme Grade...
Garling stood among the strongest men alive.
Kyūjō remembered the name from Earth—long before he ever entered this world.
Garling had once participated in the God Valley Incident.
Rumors said he defeated a young Edward Newgate—the man who would later be known as Whitebeard, the strongest man in the world.
And in the main story, when Shanks visited Whitebeard just before the Marineford War—
Whitebeard once growled:
"Just looking at your face… makes my old wounds ache."
The "bastard" he referred to?
The one who left that wound?
It wasn't Roger.
It was Garling.
— — —
Saint Figarland Garling was no ordinary Celestial Dragon.
He was the Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights—the elite force of Tenryūbito above even other nobles.
He had the authority to execute other Celestial Dragons.
He was the blade of Imu-sama.
A man whose strength reached beyond politics.
But even Garling… was not enough to make Kyūjō flinch.
Not now.
Not anymore.
Letting Shanks go had always been part of the plan.
And right now—
Was not the time to pick a fight with a monster like Garling.
— — —
Far across the island, standing quietly in the shadows of the southwest coast…
Saint Figarland Garling narrowed his eyes.
His red brows furrowed.
He stared toward the distance—toward where Kyūjō had stood.
That man…
That Vice Admiral…
Just how powerful has he become?
Why did he let Shanks go?
Did he… sense me?
Does he also wield Kenbunshoku Haki with that kind of range?
Or maybe… just maybe…
He knows something about the ancient truths we've kept buried.
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