Thump-thump.
The sound was deafening in his own ears—his heartbeat hammering against his ribcage like a war drum.
Argentus was falling. Darkness closing in. His body shutting down from the overwhelming pressure.
But somewhere deep inside, beneath layers of consciousness and rational thought, something ancient stirred.
Something that refused to submit.
Something that had never submitted to anything in its entire existence.
Suddenly, Argentus's eyes snapped open.
Wide. Feral. Burning.
The pupils were dilated to pinpoints, the silver irises seeming to glow with an inner light that had nothing to do with the physical world. His face twisted into an expression that was barely human.
It wasn't a conscious decision. It wasn't a technique he'd learned or a skill he'd practiced.
It was pure instinct from somewhere deeper than survival—the roar that comes from the very core of the soul when faced with absolute domination.
The same will that had driven him to conquer a cannibal island alone.
I. WILL. NOT. BOW.
BOOM.
A shockwave of invisible energy erupted from Argentus's body like a bomb detonating.
It wasn't red like the spear's lightning. It was dark purple—the color of bruised flesh, of royal authority, of dominance made manifest.
The wave of power exploded outward in all directions, raw and completely unrefined. Pure will given physical form. Absolutely monstrous in its intensity.
For a split second that seemed to stretch into eternity, the burial chamber wasn't filled with the spear's red lightning anymore.
It was filled with Argentus's presence.
The air didn't just crack—it shattered like glass, creating visible fractures in reality itself that spiderwebbed across the space.
The stone floor beneath him didn't just vibrate—it exploded into fragments, chunks of rock blasting upward as if struck by invisible hammers.
The ancient walls groaned, cracks racing up their surfaces like lightning frozen in stone.
And the spear's rebellious will—that ancient, proud consciousness that had rejected countless warriors over centuries—was hit by Argentus's aura like a sledgehammer striking glass.
The red-black lightning that had been thrashing violently extinguished. Snuffed out like candle flames in a hurricane.
The spear's screaming presence—that cacophony of a thousand dead warriors all rejecting his touch—was choked into sudden, shocked, terrified silence.
The burst of power had drained absolutely everything Argentus had left.
Every drop of stamina. Every ounce of strength. Every fragment of consciousness.
He was Completely spent.
His eyes rolled back.
He collapsed face-forward, falling like a puppet with cut strings.
But even as unconsciousness claimed him, even as his vision went black and his mind shut down...
His right hand lashed out.
Some deeper instinct drove his fingers forward in one final, desperate motion.
They clamped around the cold, black shaft of the spear with iron grip.
Clack.
He hit the stone floor hard, his body completely limp, utterly unconscious.
The impact should have made him release his grip.
It didn't.
His fingers remained locked around Spear's shaft in a death grip that not even unconsciousness could break.
The burial chamber fell into absolute silence.
The red lightning was gone. The purple shockwave had dissipated. The dust from the shattered floor drifted slowly downward like snow.
Just a thirteen-year-old boy lying unconscious on broken stone, gripping a legendary weapon in one hand.
And if anyone had been there to see it, they might have noticed something impossible.
The golden feather carvings on Spear's shaft were glowing softly, pulsing with a gentle warmth that matched the rhythm of Argentus's heartbeat.
The weapon had accepted its new master.
Time that was long enough for the dust to settle passed.
Argentus woke with a sharp gasp, his entire body jerking as consciousness returned like being shocked with electricity.
He sat up sharply, too fast, and immediately regretted it as his head spun and his vision swam. He pressed one hand to his temple, waiting for the world to stop rotating.
"Ugh... what..."
He blinked several times, clearing the fog from his mind. He looked around, trying to orient himself.
He was still in the burial chamber. The stone throne was empty now—just a pile of ancient dust where the skeleton had been. The walls were cracked but standing. The floor around him was shattered in a perfect circle, as if something had exploded directly beneath where he'd been standing.
And in his right hand—still gripped so tightly his knuckles were white—was the spear.
Argentus looked down at the weapon in confusion.
Slowly, carefully, he relaxed his death grip and held it up to examine it properly.
It didn't feel heavy despite being solid metal. It felt like an extension of his own arm—perfectly balanced, responding to the slightest shift in his grip as if it could read his intent.
The jet-black metal seemed to drink in what little light filtered into the cave, absorbing it rather than reflecting it. And the golden feather carvings wound down the shaft pulsed faintly with a warm, rhythmic thrum that he could feel through his palm.
The rhythm matched his own heartbeat exactly.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Argentus frowned, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
The last thing he clearly remembered was the crushing weight of the spear's rejection—the red lightning, the overwhelming pressure, the sensation of his lungs burning as he struggled to breathe.
He remembered reaching out toward the weapon, his vision tunneling, darkness closing in...
And then... nothing.
Just a blank void. Complete emptiness.
Followed by waking up on the floor with the spear already in his hand.
"Strange," he muttered to himself. "What happened?"
He had no memory of actually touching the Spear.
He stood up slowly, testing his balance. His body felt exhausted—muscles trembling slightly, a bone-deep weariness that spoke of total energy depletion.
He gave the spear a careful test swing.
Whoooosh.
It sliced through the air with a terrifyingly low hum.
He looked down at the golden band near the hilt where ancient script was etched into the metal. The symbols seemed to glow slightly in the dim cave, as if recognizing his attention.
He traced the symbols with one finger, sounding out the phonetics.
"Regulus."
The name resonated through the spear. The golden carvings pulsed brighter for a moment, as if responding to being called.
Argentus smiled slightly.
He hefted the weapon, feeling its perfect weight.
"Fitting," he decided. "You were waiting for a king, weren't you? Not just any warrior."
The spear hummed.
Argentus turned toward the cave entrance, where afternoon sunlight filtered in through the narrow opening.
He could hear sounds from outside—the howling wind, the distant crash of waves, and...
Screech. Screech.
The birds were still out there. Circling. Waiting.
He walked to the jagged opening and stepped carefully onto the small ledge outside, Regulus held loosely in one hand.
Strong wind immediately hit him.
He looked up.
Five dark silhouettes were circling the cliff face in wide, lazy patterns. The massive avian predators that had nearly killed him during the climb.
But something was different now.
Their screeches weren't aggressive anymore. They were nervous. High-pitched. Almost fearful.
They were keeping their distance refusing to dive despite having a perfect opportunity to strike while he was exposed on the ledge.
Even from this distance, Argentus could sense their confusion through his Observation Haki. All they knew was that the entire island had felt something moments ago—a wave of pressure that had terrified every living thing for miles.
Greed and hunger warred with instinctive dread in their primitive minds.
Greed was the only thing keeping them from fleeing entirely.
Argentus planted his feet firmly on the narrow ledge, raised Regulus, and pointed the black blade directly at the circling birds.
"Come on then," he said, his voice low and dangerous, carrying clearly despite the wind. "Let's finish this."
SCREECH!
The alpha bird—the largest of the flock with a wingspan that literally blocked out the setting sun—made its decision.
It folded its massive wings tight against its body and dropped into a terminal dive, committing fully to the attack.
It was the same move that had shattered his iron spear. The same devastating aerial assault that had forced him to flee into the cave.
A living projectile of muscle, bone, and razor-sharp talons, moving fast enough to punch through wooden ships.
Argentus didn't brace himself against the stone wall for stability.
Instead, he planted his feet shoulder-width apart on the narrow ledge, shifted his weight onto his back foot, and held Regulus low—the blade angled slightly downward, the shaft parallel to his body.
He closed his eyes.
He listened to the breath of the incoming monster. The rhythm of its existence. The frequency of its life force cutting through the air.
Koushiro's teachings, finally put into practice against a real enemy.
The bird screamed as it dove, the sound mixing with the roar of wind through its feathers.
Argentus could feel the displacement of air against his skin as the massive creature approached. Could sense the killing intent burning in its predatory mind.
Fifty meters. Thirty. Twenty. Ten.
Just as the bird was about to impact—
Argentus's eyes snapped open.
He thrust.
It wasn't a wide, wild swing.
It was a single, perfectly precise piercing strike.
The black blade of Regulus punched forward like a viper striking, aimed with absolute confidence at a point in space the bird hadn't reached yet.
SHIIIING.
There was no resistance. No bone-jarring impact of metal striking bone. No grinding sound of steel struggling against dense tissue.
The black blade simply parted reality.
It pierced the bird's skull cleanly between its three rows of eyes, passed through its tiny brain, continued through the neck vertebrae without slowing, and emerged from the back of the creature's head in a spray of dark blood.
The bird's screech cut off instantly, mid-cry. Its eyes went blank. Death was instantaneous.
But Argentus wasn't finished.
As the massive corpse's momentum carried it forward—still moving at incredible speed despite being already dead—Argentus twisted his wrist and slashed upward.
The edge of Regulus sliced through the it's entire body like a hot knife passing through soft wax.
The bird was bisected cleanly in mid-air, split from skull to tail feathers in one smooth motion.
The two halves of the corpse tumbled past Argentus on either side, continuing their downward trajectory. They fell separately, trailing blood and viscera, and crashed into the jungle canopy far below.
Argentus stood perfectly still on the ledge, Regulus held in one hand, completely unblemished.
He looked down at the tip of the spear.
There wasn't a drop of blood on the black metal. Every trace of gore had simply slid off the impossibly smooth surface instantly, unable to adhere to whatever strange material Regulus was forged from.
The blade gleamed in the fading sunlight.
"So this..." Argentus whispered, a slow predatory grin spreading across his face. "...this is what it feels like to hold you, Regulus."
SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH!
The remaining four birds' aggressive screeches transformed instantly into cries of pure terror.
They scattered in four different directions, abandoning all coordination, all thought of the nest or territory or prey.
Within seconds, they had disappeared into the clouds, their panicked calls fading into the distance.
Argentus watched them go, making no move to pursue.
He looked down at Regulus one more time, then carefully wrapped it in the oilcloth strappings across his back. The weapon hummed with faint vibration even through the protective cloth.
"Sorry," Argentus murmured, patting the wrapped shaft. "Can't have you getting wet during the swim back. And showing you off would just attract attention."
The descent was child's play compared to the nightmarish climb up.
With the birds fled and no immediate threats, Argentus simply rappelled down using the natural handholds, moving quickly and efficiently. He reached the jungle floor in a matter of minutes.
He marched back through the jungle to the beach where he'd originally landed.
The violent surf was waiting for him—still churning, still deadly, still capable of smashing ships to kindling.
Argentus took a running start and dove into the chaos.
SPLASH.
The water grabbed at him immediately, trying to pull him into whirlpools or smash him against rocks.
He cut through the treacherous currents with renewed strength, finding the gaps between opposing flows, using explosive bursts of speed to shoot through dangerous sections before they could trap him.
Minutes later, he hauled himself back onto Sylvia's deck, water streaming from his clothes.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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