One Piece : Brotherhood

Elsar Kingdom, New World

The Golden Palace, perched atop the crystalline peaks of the Thalrind Range, gleamed like a beacon of wealth and power amidst the perpetual snows of the Elsar Kingdom. Its towers, plated with gold and encrusted with rare gemstones mined from the kingdom's depths, pierced the heavens like divine spires.

The walls shimmered faintly even under the dim winter sun, a testament to centuries of craftsmanship that melded wealth with unyielding fortitude. Surrounding the palace, the snow-laden kingdom stretched out in dazzling white—a stark contrast to the veins of blue and silver ice that marked the land as rich in precious metals.

The Elsar Kingdom had endured the storms of the New World for nearly a millennium, standing as a testament to human perseverance against treacherous seas, harsh winters, and the ambitions of those who sought to conquer its riches.

Known for its mines of precious stones—lapis lazuli, sapphires, and rubies—the kingdom's wealth was rivaled only by its military might. At its heart, the Golden Palace was not just a symbol of opulence but also a fortress capable of withstanding sieges from the world's mightiest powers.

Today, however, the throne room of the Golden Palace buzzed with tension unlike anything felt in centuries. The vaulted ceilings, adorned with murals of the kingdom's victories, seemed to loom heavier as voices clashed beneath them.

"Your Majesty," one of the ministers ventured, his voice strained yet steady, "perhaps we should consider coming to an arrangement with the Donquixote family. They are unlike the usual riffraff of the New World. Donquixote Doflamingo has carved an empire through both cunning and force. He doesn't hesitate to challenge even the World Government."

The words hung in the air like frost, chilling the already cold room. A week—that was the deadline the Donquixote Pirates had set for the Elsar Kingdom to respond to their ultimatum. Submit and become a vassal, or face the wrath of an emperor. Three neighboring kingdoms had already capitulated, choosing survival over pride. But Elsar was no ordinary kingdom.

One of the commanders, a hulking man with scars tracing his face like lightning bolts, sneered.

"Do you believe those pirate bastards care for diplomacy? They are uncivilized brutes who know only pillage and plunder. Do you wish to beg, Minister? Crawl on your knees like a worm?"

His mocking tone drew a ripple of discontent across the chamber.

"Your Majesty!" he thundered, standing and slamming his gauntleted fist onto the armrest of his chair. "I say we fight! This is not the first time pirates have coveted our lands. Even the World Government treads carefully when dealing with Elsar! Why should we bow to the whims of some self-styled emperor?"

The king's icy gaze silenced the room. King Theron Lysanthir II, known as Theron the White Tyrant, was a man carved from frost and steel. His cold, calculating demeanor was infamous even among his own people. The Lysanthir dynasty, rulers of Elsar for 900 years, had thrived through a blend of cunning strategy, ruthless pragmatism, and unrelenting pride.

The Lysanthirs were not mere monarchs but conquerors who once expanded their domain before consolidating within their mountainous stronghold. Over generations, they built an army of 2 million strong, trained in the harshest conditions of the New World. The royal family itself was steeped in power, its members well-versed in the secrets of Haki and wielders of formidable Devil Fruits.

Theron's ancestors had faced off against pirate fleets, rogue admirals, and even rival noble houses. They had defeated foes with tactics as sharp as the blades of their warriors. And yet, Theron was no fool. He understood the threat posed by the Donquixote Pirates.

"Enough," Theron said, his voice cutting through the tension like a dagger through ice. He leaned forward, his gloved hands resting on the gilded armrests of his throne. "Minister, do you truly believe that Donquixote Doflamingo would treat with us as equals?"

The minister hesitated but nodded. "Your Majesty, the man is a manipulator, yes, but he is also a pragmatist. He has turned kingdoms into jewels in his empire's crown, not simply burned them to the ground. Perhaps we can use his ambitions to our advantage."

"And Commander..." Theron turned his gaze to the hulking man. "You suggest we fight. Do you propose we march blindly into a battle against an emperor whose influence stretches across the New World? Do you truly think our might alone is enough to deter him?"

The commander stiffened, but his resolve remained. "Our walls have never been breached, our armies never broken. If it is war he seeks, then let him find it here, where even the skies freeze and the earth hardens against intruders."

The room fell silent again, each word weighed heavily by the stakes at hand. Theron stood, his imposing figure cloaked in furs and golden armor that gleamed faintly in the torchlight.

"Doflamingo is not a threat we can dismiss lightly," Theron said, his tone measured but firm. "But nor shall we bow like craven dogs. This kingdom has stood for nearly a millennium because we do not act rashly, nor do we act out of fear." He turned to the room, his piercing gaze meeting every person present.

"Summon the council of war. Prepare the generals, the spies, and the diplomats. We will assess every option and choose our course wisely. If Doflamingo believes he can swallow the Elsar Kingdom, he will find it more bitter than he imagined."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, though unease lingered beneath the surface. As the ministers and commanders departed to carry out their king's orders, Theron Lysanthir II sat back upon his throne, his mind turning.

"Has there been any word from the World Government?" Theon Lysanthir II asked, his voice low but resonant, commanding the attention of the entire throne room. His sharp gaze turned to a wiry man in the royal council, the one responsible for managing the kingdom's delicate and historic ties with the World Government.

Though Elsar Kingdom was not formally allied with the World Government, its connection to that shadowy institution stretched back to the void century. It was whispered that the Lysanthir family's bloodline carried traces of one of the original twenty families that forged the government, a rumor that hung like a blade above every political move.

The World Government had always been careful to tread lightly with Elsar, even as they sought to benefit from its strategic position and riches in the New World.

The councilor shifted uncomfortably under Theon's piercing gaze. "Your Majesty, as of now, the World Government has promised to mobilize marines from the surrounding bases. However..." He hesitated, a frown deepening the lines on his face. "I do not believe we can expect any significant reinforcements from Marineford or the Holy Land. Their commitment to us appears... minimal."

A loud scoff echoed through the throne room, followed by the crash of a gauntleted fist on the armrest of a gilded chair.

One of the commanders sneered, his voice laced with derision. "Those bastards want our support to maintain their influence in the New World, yet they send us nothing but cannon fodder?" He spat on the marble floor, but even in his anger, he didn't dare let his frustration stray too close to the Lysanthir name.

The unspoken truth hung in the air: the Lysanthir family's rumored ties to the Celestial Dragons meant that even the World Government moved carefully. Yet today, it seemed even those ties weren't enough to bring proper support.

Theon allowed a faint smirk to tug at the corner of his lips. "Cannon fodder may yet have its uses," he mused, his voice sharp with dark amusement.

"Begin hiring mercenaries, bounty hunters—anyone with a grudge against the Donquixote Pirates. Money is not something we lack. Let us turn their enemies into our weapons. Even an emperor's empire has cracks; all we need do is widen them."

As the ministers murmured amongst themselves, Theon turned his attention to the hulking figure seated in a massive chair in the shadows near the edge of the throne room. "What say you, General Kael?"

The room seemed to chill as every eye turned to the towering figure. Over seven meters tall, Kael Ravengarde was a colossus clad in crimson-black armor that gleamed with an ominous sheen.

Every piece of his armor seemed too massive, too heavy for a human, yet he wore it with the ease of a predator bearing its natural coat. Beside him stood his weapons: a tower shield the size of a fortress gate, blackened and scarred by countless battles, and a pitch-black greatsword as tall as the man himself. The greatsword rested against the wall, its blade emanating a faint hum that sent shivers down the spines of those nearby.

Kael's entire visage was obscured by his helmet—a grotesque design with sharp edges and a narrow slit glowing faintly red. Despite the obscured features, the weight of his presence was suffocating. A palpable bloodlust oozed from him like a noxious fog, curling around the room and making even the most hardened warriors shift uneasily.

Kael leaned forward, his movements slow but deliberate, each step echoing ominously against the marble floor. His voice rumbled like a landslide, low and guttural, yet clear enough to be heard by all.

"It is time," Kael began, his words dragging across the room like steel across stone, "that the citizens of Elsar repay us for the care and protection we have afforded them."

His gaze swept across the assembled ministers, though none could see the eyes behind the crimson helm. "Send out a decree, your majesty. Draft every man and woman capable of wielding a weapon. Train them enough to march, to stand, to die if necessary."

The ministers froze, and some gulped audibly. Kael continued, his tone colder now, sharp with malice.

"The Donquixote Pirates are arrogant. Let us show them what it means to fight a kingdom unbroken for a millennium. But I will not waste my trained army on the first wave. No, let the commoners throw their bodies at the Donquixote advance. Let's see how many corpses their blades can carve through before their arms tire."

The sheer cruelty of his words sent a chill down the spine of the council. Yet no one dared to speak against him. Everyone in the room knew the truth: to defy Kael Ravengarde was to defy the king himself.

Kael turned back to Theon, his towering presence looming over even the golden throne. "Your Majesty, war is inevitable. And war is a fire that must be fed. If the Donquixote Pirates want to test the strength of Elsar, then let us drown them in blood before they ever reach our gates."

Theon sat back on his throne, his fingers steepled as he regarded his monstrous general with a calculating gaze. Kael's words were brutal, but they were undeniably practical.

"You are a man of vision, Kael," Theon said, his voice as sharp and cold as ice.

"A fire that must be fed, indeed. Very well. Draft the decree. Send the recruiters into every village, every town. Offer gold to those who volunteer; threaten those who refuse." His gaze turned to another minister.

"Begin distributing arms to the common folk. We'll prepare them to march within the week."

The room felt heavier as Theon's orders settled into the bones of everyone present. War was no longer a possibility; it was a certainty.

And as Kael Ravengarde sat back into the shadows, his hulking figure a specter of dread, every man and woman in the room understood that the Elsar Kingdom was not a land to be trifled with. It was a kingdom that would fight with everything it had—its wealth, its people, and its monsters.

*****

Shimotsukie Village, East Blue

The small, tattered boat creaked and groaned as it finally scraped against the sandy shore, coming to an unsteady halt. Its patched sails sagged lifelessly, the hull riddled with signs of its long and perilous journey.

Sukiyaki Kozuki exhaled deeply, his breath clouding faintly in the crisp air. Relief washed over him, though his body bore the wear of his arduous voyage. Months at sea had left him leaner and more weathered, his once-pristine robes now faded and tattered from exposure to the salt and wind.

Stepping onto the soft sands of the shore, Sukiyaki paused, taking a moment to stabilize himself. His legs trembled slightly from exhaustion and the unfamiliar steadiness of land. Turning back to the little boat that had carried him through storms and calm seas alike, he bowed deeply.

"Thank you, my companion," he said softly, his voice touched with both gratitude and melancholy.

"You brought me safely to my destination, though it nearly cost you everything. Rest now, for you have served your purpose well."

As if on cue, the boat rocked slightly with the lapping waves, its already precarious frame tilting further into the water. Sukiyaki straightened, watching the vessel with a faint smile before turning his attention to the island before him.

"Ah, so this is where the remnants of the Shimotsuki family settled after all those years..." His voice trailed off as he gazed across the landscape. Though nowhere near the grandeur of Wano, this island had its own charm, its beauty quiet and understated.

Rolling hills dotted with patches of forest stretched inland, their greenery vibrant under the mid-morning sun. The scent of fresh grass and blooming wildflowers mixed with the salty tang of the sea breeze. Further inland, a small village rested comfortably against a backdrop of sloping cliffs, its modest buildings arranged in neat clusters. Smoke curled from a few chimneys, giving the place a warm, lived-in feel.

The sight stirred something deep within Sukiyaki. So this is where it all began for them, he thought. Shimotsuki Kozaburo, your legacy has flourished even so far from home.

Sukiyaki's heart swelled with anticipation. It had been decades since he last saw Kozaburo, the friend who had chosen to leave Wano's isolation and seek freedom in the wider world. Sukiyaki had stayed behind, bound by duty and tradition.

But now, with his son, Oden, leading Wano into a new era, Sukiyaki had finally been able to follow the pull of his heart and seek out his childhood friend.

The journey had not been easy. The seas between Wano and the East Blue were treacherous, littered with storms and monsters that would have claimed a lesser man. But Sukiyaki was no ordinary man.

Even at his age, his strength and skill were formidable, honed by years of leadership and survival. It had been those skills, along with an iron will, that had seen him through to this moment.

And now, standing on this shore, he felt the weight of his struggles lift slightly.

"This island holds such peace," Sukiyaki murmured to himself, his voice tinged with awe.

"Though it is far smaller than Wano, it carries a quiet dignity. Kozaburo, you chose your home well."

As he began walking inland carrying a bundle over his shoulders, Sukiyaki found himself marveling at the simplicity around him. Children played near the edge of the forest, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes.

Farmers tended their fields, pausing occasionally to wave at him curiously. The people here carried an air of contentment that reminded him of Wano in its more tranquil days.

Reaching a hilltop that overlooked the village, Sukiyaki stopped to take in the view. In the distance, he could make out the shape of a dojo, its architecture distinctly reminiscent of Wano's style. His heart quickened at the sight—it was unmistakably the work of the Shimotsuki family, a piece of home transported across the seas.

"This is it," Sukiyaki said, a quiet determination in his voice. "Kozaburo... my friend... I've finally found you."

With renewed energy, he began his descent toward the village, ready to reunite with the friend who had once left Wano behind to forge a new path. But as he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that this journey was not just about reconnecting with an old friend.

It was about honoring the ties that bound them, the legacy of the Kozuki and Shimotsuki families, and perhaps finding a way to bridge the past and future.

For the first time in years, Sukiyaki Kozuki felt truly alive.

The dojo stood modestly at the crest of a hill, its architecture whispering of Wano's heritage—curved tiled roofs, wooden beams darkened with age, and delicate carvings of sakura blossoms adorning the entrance.

The training grounds sprawled beside it, alive with the clatter of wooden bokken striking in rhythm. Sukiyaki Kozuki approached the edge of the grounds, his worn sandals crunching softly against the gravel. He cast a casual glance over the students, observing their disciplined movements, but soon, something unusual caught his eye.

Among the eager trainees, a handful of students stood apart. They moved with a refinement that spoke of deeper mastery, their strikes flowing with precision and an energy that rippled through the air.

Sukiyaki's keen senses, honed by years of experience, detected it instantly—Ryou. The invisible force emanated faintly from their strikes, controlled yet unmistakable.

For a moment, Sukiyaki was stunned. His eyes widened, then a slow smile spread across his face.

"There's no mistaking it," he murmured to himself, a hint of awe coloring his voice. "These students have awakened Ryou… in the East Blue, of all places."

His travels from the New World to the East Blue had been a sobering lesson in how dramatically the strength of warriors declined the farther one moved from the Grand Line.

In the New World, Ryou—advanced Armament Haki—was common among seasoned warriors. Crossing into Paradise, it became rare. Beyond Reverse Mountain, it was all but nonexistent. Yet here, on this humble island, the legacy of the Shimotsuki line was alive and thriving.

Sukiyaki's gaze softened with pride. Shimotsuki Kozaburo… you didn't just settle here. You planted seeds that have grown into strong roots. The samurai spirit endures, even here.

"Sir, may I help you?"

The steady, composed voice drew Sukiyaki from his thoughts. He turned slowly, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his katana. Standing before him was a man who exuded quiet authority, his presence calm yet commanding.

Koushirou Shimotsuki inclined his head politely, his eyes studying the stranger with care. The man before him was undeniably worn—his robes faded and frayed from long travel, his face shadowed with the marks of hardship. Yet beneath the weariness, Koushirou sensed something extraordinary.

The man's posture spoke of discipline, and the way his hand rested near his blade was not casual but instinctive, the mark of someone who had lived by the sword. His kimono, though tattered, bore the intricate patterns of Wano craftsmanship, and the bundle at his side concealed a blade whose aura seemed to hum faintly with latent power.

Koushirou's gaze flicked briefly to the katana at the man's hip. Though it remained sheathed, the blade radiated a presence that was impossible to ignore.

"A traveler from Wano… no ordinary one, either," Koushirou thought.

Sukiyaki, in turn, appraised the younger man with equal interest. Koushirou's appearance carried the unmistakable mark of Kozaburo's lineage. His features were refined, his dark hair neatly tied back, and his calm, steady demeanor reminded Sukiyaki of his childhood friend.

"You're Kozaburo's kin, aren't you?" Sukiyaki said finally, his voice tinged with both certainty and warmth.

Koushirou's eyes flickered briefly with surprise, but he remained composed. "I am. My father is Shimotsuki Kozaburo. You knew him?"

Sukiyaki's smile deepened, and for a moment, the weariness seemed to lift from his face. "Knew him? I grew up with him. We were boys together in Wano, dreaming of the world beyond our shores. It seems he truly made a life for himself here."

Koushirou nodded slowly, his respect for the stranger deepening. If this man had been a companion of his father, then he carried a history that ran as deep as the Shimotsuki legacy itself.

"Your father left Wano long ago, seeking freedom and purpose," Sukiyaki continued, his tone growing more reflective. "Seeing this dojo, these students… it's clear he found both. You've upheld his legacy well, Koushirou. These students practicing Ryou—it's no small feat to teach such mastery here, so far from Wano."

Koushirou's lips quirked into a small smile, a rare show of emotion. "My father always believed that the way of the sword was not bound by borders. He built this dojo not just to teach techniques but to instill a philosophy—the strength to protect, the will to persevere."

Sukiyaki's expression turned serious. "That philosophy will be tested, young man. The East Blue may seem peaceful compared to the Grand Line, but it is no sanctuary. Trouble will come, and when it does, this place, these students… they will need your strength to endure."

Koushirou's eyes darkened slightly at the weight of Sukiyaki's words. "I understand. And you, sir—what brings you to our humble island after such a long journey?"

Sukiyaki hesitated for a moment before answering, his voice low but firm. "I came to find my friend, and the remnants of the Shimotsuki line and see what my old friend built. But now that I've seen it… I wonder if fate has other plans for me here."

Koushirou studied the older man carefully, sensing the unspoken burden behind his words. "If you are a friend of my father, then you are welcome here. Perhaps we can find those answers together. Why don't I take you to meet my father…?"