Rashed stands there, envisioning the perfect weapon in his mind—something that embodies power, precision, and resilience. The toughest, sharpest blade, a tool forged to withstand the most brutal of battles and cut through anything in its path. He knows exactly what he wants.
"System," Rashed says, his voice calm but resolute. "Create the toughest, sharpest blade you can. The edge must have the hardness of diamond and the sharpness of graphene. Make it flexible enough to resist damage, like steel, but durable enough to handle the forces I will put it through. I want every inch of it perfected."
He pauses for a moment, visualizing the materials. Steel for its flexibility, diamond for its hardness, and graphene for its sharpness. Each one must enhance the others, a perfect balance.
"And the handle," Rashed adds, "use compressed wood for grip, strong but light. Make it ergonomic. I need it to feel like an extension of my arm, not just a weapon."
Then, Rashed's thoughts turn to the blade's protection.
"One more thing," he continues. "Create a scabbard for it—one that won't damage the blade. It needs to be just as durable and precise as the sword itself, a sheath that will protect the edge but allow for a smooth draw."
He takes a deep breath, trusting the system to execute the command. Rashed can already feel the power of that sword in his hands, the potential it holds.
He makes a total of 3 swords. 1 for him and the other two for gifting zoro. He doesn't want zoro to replace his original Wado ichimonji so he only makes 2 for zoro.
After getting the swords in hand it's time to test the strength of the sword.
Rashed steps onto the desolate island, the air thick with silence. Not a single living thing stirs here—just barren rock, endless sky, and the weight of anticipation. The sword—his sword—rests in his hand. He's spent hours refining it, understanding its power, but now it's time for a true test. No more theory, no more expectations. Just pure, unadulterated force.
He raises the sword, its sharp edge catching the dying light of the setting sun. The blade gleams like a sliver of moonlight, impossibly beautiful and deadly. He takes a deep breath, shifting his stance. No need for finesse, no need for restraint. This is about raw strength.
He swings.
The force of the slash is so immense that the air itself seems to recoil from it. The ground trembles beneath his feet, and the very atmosphere hums with the power of his strike. The blade cuts through the air with an unnatural sound—like a roar, like the crack of thunder—but when it hits the ground, it's a deafening silence. The blade cleaves into the rock with such force that the earth shatters, a massive crack spreading through the ground, leaving a gaping wound in the terrain.
Rashed steps back, eyes wide with disbelief. He knew the sword was powerful, but this... This was beyond anything he had imagined. It wasn't just sharp or strong. It felt alive in his hands, a force that amplified his strength beyond measure.
He steadies himself, determined to test further.
"This is just the beginning," he mutters to himself, an edge of excitement creeping into his voice. He focuses, channeling his Haki into the blade. As he swings again, the air itself shudders, almost as if it's been punctured by the sheer force of his will. This time, the cut is more precise and cleaner, the blade slicing through the air with an almost predatory grace. The rock beneath the sword splinters into jagged pieces, but even more startling is the sensation—the feeling that the sword is pulling something from within him, drawing out the power he never knew he had.
Still not enough. Rashed grins, an unsettling hunger in his eyes. He summons his sword intent. This is the moment he's been waiting for—the combination of all his strength, focus, and sheer will. The sword hums as he channels his intent through it. As he swings, the earth itself seems to bend to the will of the blade, the air warping with the intensity of the slash. The blade cuts with such force that the entire island seems to shake. The rocks beneath his feet explode into blinding dust, the shockwave knocking him back several paces.
Rashed stands still, heart racing, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.
The sword, the sword he had created with such precision, had exceeded his expectations. It wasn't just a weapon—it was a force of nature. The power was so far beyond his estimation that he felt a shiver of awe run through him. The feeling of the blade resonated deep within him, a sharpness so pure that it almost felt like it had cut through something inside him—an understanding of the limitless potential it held.
Rashed, his heart still pounding, looks at the scarred earth beneath him.
"This... This is just the beginning," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the wind. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he steps forward, ready to see where this sword will take him next.
The next destination is lougetown. I need to clear the lougetown before joining up with Luffy. maybe beat up smoker along the way. I wish someone found the slippery slippery fruit. I need this ability to guard against blunt weapon attacks and its effective use of frictionlessness is a great ability to have in battle. Imagine using stealth footwork to accelerate and use frictionlessness to maintain top speed all the time without using any stamina.
lougetown
Smoker sat at his desk, smoke curling from the tip of his cigar as he flipped through the reports, his mind lost in the paperwork. Suddenly, a subordinate entered with urgent news.
"Sir, a bounty hunter is going by the name of Shadow—wearing a black mask. He's been cleaning up bounties in record time," the officer reported, placing a file on the desk. "He's becoming quite the figure in the underworld."
Smoker raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Another one? Have him brought in. I want to know who this guy is."
Hours later, Smoker stood in an isolated stretch of land, the night air thick and oppressive. A cold wind cut through the deserted streets as he waited for the arrival of this mysterious figure. His patience was tested, but he was used to it. Soon enough, the shadowed figure appeared from the darkness—an imposing presence, clad in black, with a mask concealing his face.
Smoker straightened, but kept his stance relaxed, waiting for the first move. "You must be Shadow," he said, taking a long drag from his cigar.
The figure nodded slightly, his posture unreadable. "And you are Smoker, Marine Captain. I've heard of you."
Smoker exhaled the smoke with a smirk. "I've been keeping an eye on you. You're a talented one. I'm here to offer you a chance. Join the Navy, work under my command. You could do some real good, fight for justice."
Shadow's lips twitched, a slight laugh escaping. "Justice, huh?" His voice was calm but held an edge of bitterness. "The kind of justice you enforce under the World Government? The same justice that burns innocent men, women, and children alive?"
Smoker's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
The masked figure took a step closer, his voice growing more intense. "Do you remember the Goa Kingdom incident?" He didn't wait for a response, his words like a whip cracking in the cold night air. "The government ordered the burning of an entire slum, just to clear the air for the Celestial Dragons. They torched the homes, the streets—alive with people—innocent men, women, and helpless children. People burned to death in agony, their screams silenced by the flames. They paved a path of ashes, just so pigs like the Celestial Dragons could breathe the warm air without discomfort."
Rashed paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. Smoker's expression darkened, his fist clenching around his cigar.
"Do you honestly call that justice, Smoker?" Rashed continued, his voice unwavering. "The Marines, the government—they stood by, helping to clear the remains of the bodies, making sure no trace of the slaughter was left. They let the fires burn because the Celestial Dragons needed their comfort. All for the comfort of pigs, while innocent lives were erased in an instant."
Smoker's anger flared, but he controlled it, keeping his cool. "Watch your mouth, Shadow. Don't insult the Celestial Dragons."
Rashed's gaze met Smoker's, piercing and unflinching. "What's the matter? You can't handle the truth? You want to talk about justice, but you protect the heads of murderers, while the lives of those innocent people are reduced to ash. Tell me, Smoker—where was the justice in all of that? What does the Navy do for them? Are you really out there, capturing the criminals who ordered the death of thousands, or are you just following orders like a puppet on strings?"
Smoker's fists clenched, his jaw tightening. "You've crossed the line "
Rashed stepped back, his posture unchanged. "No, Smoker. It's you who crosses the line every day you serve a system like this. You ask me to join your Navy, to uphold a hypocritical 'justice' that serves only the rich and powerful. But as long as you wear that uniform, you'll never know what true justice is."
Smoker glared at him, his anger boiling under the surface. "I'm warning you, Shadow. You don't want to go down this path."
Rashed didn't flinch. "I've already made my choice. And the world will burn if it means that some will finally see the truth."
Without another word, Rashed turned, disappearing into the shadows once more, leaving Smoker standing in the desolate area—lost in thought, disturbed by the bounty hunter's words.
Smoker's mind churned with the weight of what Shadow had said. There were no easy answers. But one thing was certain—this wasn't the last time they'd cross paths. He could feel it in his gut.