Chapter 671
"NIFLHEIM...!" The word tore across the heavens like a divine decree. High above Aurust Castle, the titanic jaws of the obsidian dragon slowly parted. For a heartbeat the world seemed to pause—as if the land itself understood that something catastrophic was about to be unleashed.
Then the maw of Nidhöggr ignited. Not with fire. But with darkness. A vortex of pitch-black energy condensed deep within the dragon’s throat, swirling like a newborn abyss. Frost formed instantly along the dragon’s fangs, spreading outward like veins of ice crawling across obsidian stone.
The air screamed. And then— The dragon exhaled. A colossal torrent of black flame erupted from Nidhöggr’s maw, descending from the heavens like the wrath of some forgotten god. Yet this was no ordinary dragonfire. Instead of heat, the attack carried the suffocating chill of absolute zero.
The moment it touched the air, the temperature across the entire region plummeted. Wind died.
Clouds froze solid and shattered like glass. The world itself seemed to recoil. Miles around Aurust Castle, the forests of Elbaf were instantly swallowed by a spreading tide of frost. Towering trees—each one the size of fortresses—froze in a single breath, their trunks crystallizing before exploding into glittering fragments beneath the unbearable cold.
Rivers halted mid-flow. Water turned to solid ice in an instant. Even the very air crackled as moisture froze into glittering shards that rained from the sky like frozen stardust. And at the center of it all— The beam fell. The breath of Nidhöggr was not merely an attack. It was a cataclysm.
A massive pillar of black frostfire, so vast it resembled a descending pillar of night itself. The beam was wide enough to swallow entire cities and long enough to stretch across the horizon. For a moment, it looked as though the sky itself had opened to pour down annihilation. The mountain range upon which Aurust Castle stood met the attack first.
The impact was apocalyptic. The beam carved through the ancient stone peaks as though they were nothing more than sand. Mountains froze solid in an instant—entire ridgelines turning pale with rime before the overwhelming pressure shattered them apart. Gigantic cliffs exploded outward into avalanches of frozen rubble, the shockwave tearing through the landscape like a rampaging titan.
An entire mountain collapsed under the force. Then another. The beam continued downward, cleaving through the land with unstoppable fury. Everything it touched froze. Everything frozen shattered.
The earth itself split apart as massive fissures tore across the ground, entire valleys crystallizing before bursting into blizzards of shattered stone and ice. Aurust Castle—once the proud heart of Elbaf—vanished within the colossal torrent. The ancient fortress was swallowed whole.
Walls thicker than warships froze and disintegrated in an instant. Towering spires cracked and burst apart like brittle glass beneath the absolute cold. And the beam did not stop. It roared across the landscape for miles, carving a titanic scar across Elbaf’s terrain—an endless frozen trench where mountains once stood.
From afar, it looked less like a breath attack... and more like a piece of the world itself had been erased. High above, Nidhöggr loomed in the heavens like the embodiment of destruction.
Thousands of meters of obsidian scales glimmered beneath the pale light of a dying sun. His wings stretched across the sky like the shadow of a continent, and his serpentine body coiled through the clouds like a living calamity.
Even among mythical zoans, this was a monster beyond comprehension. And Harald did not hold back. The black frostfire was infused with his Haoshoku Haki, the invisible will of a king woven into the attack itself. The beam pulsed with tyrannical dominance, crushing the air and space around it as if the world itself were being forced to submit.
It was not merely destruction. It was judgment. A single breath from the dragon was large enough to engulf an entire island.
Yet despite the cataclysm he had unleashed upon Elbaf, Harald frowned. The devastation below was undeniable—mountains erased, valleys frozen into graveyards of shattered ice, Aurust Castle reduced to a scar of frost and ruin. But the target of that apocalyptic breath...had not been snuffed out.
The colossal obsidian dragon’s senses spread across the battlefield like a net cast over the world itself. His draconic eyes narrowed as his awareness swept through the frozen wasteland, searching every tremor of air, every ripple of life. Harald did not care that giant soldiers had been caught in the wake of his attack.
He did not care that entire sections of Elbaf had been annihilated. Collateral meant nothing. Only one thing mattered. The Great One’s command: my death. But before the dragon could find me—I reappeared. High above him.
I hovered in the heavens directly above the colossal dragon, so small against his monstrous frame that I was little more than a speck of dust before a mountain. Even my towering three-meter-tall body meant nothing beside Harald’s form that stretched thousands of meters across the sky.
The difference in scale was absurd. The difference in power was not. I held Shusui and Akatsuki in both hands. The black blade and the crimson blade. Both were saturated to their absolute limit with my Haki. Black and crimson lightning erupted around my body like raging serpents of living power. The air warped and bent around me as if space itself struggled to endure the pressure of my will.
Reality trembled. I could feel it. The world. The currents beneath existence itself. My mind sank deeper into the flow of the world as the Voice of All Things whispered through my senses. The rhythm of the earth, the breath of the sea, the pulse of the sky—everything aligned with the storm gathering within me.
The power building around my blades was monstrous. So monstrous that even Nidhöggr felt it. Harald’s massive draconic head snapped upward. Golden dragon eyes widened before narrowing into slits as he sensed the overwhelming surge of power gathering above him. Instinct roared through the ancient beast as his enormous body twisted in the sky.
But a creature of such colossal magnitude did not possess the luxury of swift movement. Not against an opponent who was little more than a dot in comparison. Even so, Harald reacted with terrifying speed for a monster his size.
Lightning exploded across his scales as he swung one of his massive forelimbs toward me, the dragon’s claw descending like a falling mountain. The limb alone was large enough to crush entire fleets, the talons tearing through the sky with thunderous force.
"ITEN NICHI RYŪ...!" My voice cut through the storm. Cold. Unshaken. "TWIN DRAGON DESCENT."
I moved. And the world followed. I dropped from the sky like divine judgment. Two blades descended. Crimson. Black. As I fell, something impossible happened. The overwhelming torrent of Haki pouring from my body began to take form. From the aura surrounding my blades, two colossal ethereal dragons erupted into existence—manifestations of pure will and power.
One was crimson, vast and serpentine, its body flowing like rivers of blood through the sky.
The other was pitch black, darker than the void itself, its scales shimmering with obsidian lightning. Dragons. Born not from myth. But from sheer Haki.
The crimson dragon roared silently as it surged toward Nidhöggr’s exposed nape, its massive form coiling around Akatsuki like a divine executioner. The black dragon spiraled around Shusui, its abyssal body lunging toward Harald’s incoming claw. Two dragons. Two blades. Two strikes meant to rewrite reality.
Then— BOOOOOOM!
The heavens erupted. Harald’s colossal claw and my descending blade met in midair. Yet they never truly touched. The repulsion between the two torrents of Haki was so overwhelming that the forces clashed before steel and flesh could meet. Silver lightning collided with pitch-black power.
The shockwave that followed tore through the sky like a detonating star. Harald’s claw—capable of erasing entire island chains with a single strike—met the tiny blade that looked no larger than a needle by comparison.
Yet that insignificant speck... Refused to yield. For a moment that felt like eternity—but lasted only a heartbeat—the two forces pushed against one another. The dragon claw strained. The tiny blade trembled in my hands. Then I pushed harder. More Haki flooded through my arms, through Shusui, through the black dragon coiled around the blade.
The pressure exploded. The ethereal black dragon lunged forward with a silent roar— SPLASH!
Blood erupted into the sky. Shusui carved cleanly through the massive claw. The obsidian limb split apart as if severed by an invisible guillotine, dark dragon blood spraying across the heavens in a crimson storm.
At the exact same moment—Akatsuki fell. The crimson dragon descended like divine punishment upon Nidhöggr’s exposed nape. It was as if reality itself had been sliced open. A single line formed across the dragon’s neck. The obsidian scales—layered with titanic armament Haki—offered no resistance.
The crimson blade dug deep. Straight into the dragon’s neck. The cut cleaved through scales, flesh, and bone as if they were nothing but air. Harald’s massive wings beat violently just in time, his colossal body jerking sideways to escape the full trajectory of the strike. But it was too late to avoid the damage.
The blade carved deep across the side of his neck. A wound so massive that it would have split mountains in half. Dragon blood exploded outward in a torrential flood, raining down upon the battlefield below like crimson storms.
For a moment, the sky itself seemed to bleed. Then the roar came. "ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAARRR!!!"
The sound shook all of Elbaf. It was not merely a roar. It was the cry of a wounded god. Across the land of giants, warriors looked toward the heavens in disbelief as they witnessed something spoken of only in ancient legends.
The titanic dragon Nidhöggr—the calamity that could blot out the sun—had been wounded. And the one who wounded him... was a single man. Hovering in the sky like an executioner. This was no longer a battle between titans. This was no longer a war between kings. This was something far greater.
A clash where gods themselves bled. And in the very first exchange—their beloved king had already fallen into disadvantage. Below the battlefield where gods clashed in the heavens, Elder Jarul simply sat where he had fallen. Dazed.
The ancient giant stared at the ruined landscape with hollow eyes, the devastation around him far beyond anything his centuries of life had prepared him to comprehend. Aurust Castle was gone.
Not damaged. Not shattered. Gone.
Miles of land surrounding it had been transformed into a frozen wasteland, mountains sheared apart and forests entombed beneath jagged glaciers born from Harald’s breath. The sky itself trembled as titanic shockwaves rippled from the battle raging far above.
Even for Jarul—the eldest and wisest among the giants of Elbaf—this was something beyond understanding. He didn’t even thank Loki. The younger giant stood nearby, breathing heavily after dragging Jarul away moments before Harald’s devastating breath attack had erased the battlefield. Had Loki hesitated even a second, Jarul would have been nothing more than frozen fragments scattered across the ice.
Yet the old giant said nothing. He simply stared at the heavens. Because the truth was slowly settling into his bones. And it terrified him.
Loki, meanwhile, kept his eyes fixed on the sky where the colossal form of Nidhöggr clashed against the lone figure of Rosinante. At first, Loki had simply been shocked. Now... Now his mind was racing. He knew his father. Even with all their disagreements... even with the bitterness between them... Loki knew the kind of man King Harald truly was.
And the Harald he knew would never have declared Rosinante an enemy of Elbaf. Not like this.
Not after everything. Loki had fought Rosinante once before. And he had been utterly crushed. But even in defeat, Loki had seen the man clearly enough to understand something important.
Rosinante was many things. Cold. Merciless to his enemies. A monster on the battlefield. But he was not the kind of man who would betray someone he called friend... or slaughter giants without cause. Harald’s accusation felt wrong. Completely wrong.
But what truly tipped the scales of Loki’s doubts... was the absence of someone. Earlier, in the chaos of battle, Loki hadn’t noticed it. But now—with Aurust Castle erased... With the battlefield silent beneath the roaring heavens... He realized something that made his blood run cold.
He couldn’t feel Dora’s presence anywhere. She had left before him. She had gone ahead to investigate the disturbance at Aurust Castle. And now—nothing. No trace. No aura. No voice.
Just emptiness. A terrible thought crossed Loki’s mind.
One so dangerous that he almost refused to acknowledge it. But once it appeared...he couldn’t stop it. Because if that thought was true... then the reason behind Rosinante’s overwhelming killing intent to bury all of Elbaf suddenly made horrifying sense.
"Shanks." The voice broke the silence. Scopper Gaban pushed himself upright, brushing frost and debris from his battered floral shirt. Despite the injuries covering his body, the legendary pirate still stood tall, his massive axes secured once again at his hips.
"You should leave Elbaf before it’s too late." His sharp eyes scanned the apocalyptic battlefield above them. "Don’t get caught in the crossfire." Gaban rolled his shoulders, testing the stiffness in his muscles before nodding to himself.
"I’m going to find Ripley and the others... bring them somewhere safe before its too late." Even now, the man known as the Mountain Eater still had fight left in him. Shanks didn’t argue and simply nodded. He didn’t foolishly offer to intervene in the battle raging in the sky. Because he knew better.
He had watched the exchange between Rosinante and Harald. He had felt the Haki tearing through the heavens. And for the first time in a long time... Shanks understood something with brutal clarity. He was not ready for that battlefield.
The might Rosinante was currently displaying—the sheer overwhelming dominance of his Haki—made Shanks acutely aware of how far he still had to go; even from miles away he could feel the suppression of that overwhelming haki despite it not being aimed at him. His hand drifted to the straw hat resting against his head.
The hat his captain had entrusted to him. Along with his hopes and dreams. The hopes of the man who believed the next generation would lead the world into a new era. And yet... Compared to the monster currently fighting an ancient calamity in the sky—Shanks felt small.
But instead of discouraging him... It only made his spirit burn hotter. His Haki flared slightly, the air around him trembling with renewed resolve. Gaban noticed. A faint grin tugged at the corner of the veteran pirate’s mouth.
"You’ll catch up eventually, Shanks." He placed a firm hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeezed. "Go at your own pace." His voice carried quiet confidence. "Roger entrusted you with everything because he believed in you."
But deep down, even Gaban couldn’t help a small, lingering doubt. Because the power Rosinante was displaying... Was something he had never witnessed before. Not even from the monsters of Roger’s era. And the question quietly echoed in his mind.
Can anyone truly catch up to that little monster...?
Just before Gaban leapt away, he turned toward Jarul, who still sat motionless amid the ruins.
"Try to keep your giants away from that fight," Gaban warned. "If you truly don’t want them dying alongside your king." His gaze shifted toward the sky, where the dragon roared once more as it fired a breath attack, which was cleaved in half like it was nothing.
"That isn’t something you can reason with." With that, Gaban launched himself into the air; it was unsure as to whom he was talking about, whether King Harald or Rosinante himself. His battered frame shot across the sky like a cannonball as he sped toward Walrus School, where Ripley and the others were still stationed.
Shanks remained behind for a moment longer. He took a deep breath. He then placed the straw hat firmly on his head. For now... He would retreat. Because he knew something in his gut. Even if he stepped between them now... Even if he begged for mercy on Elbaf’s behalf... Rosinante wouldn’t hesitate. There were many things that man would compromise on.
Politics. Alliances. Even power. But family? That was sacred to him. And with Dora’s death any chance of reconciliation between the two sides had truly died there—Shanks shuddered slightly. Because he knew exactly what that meant for Elbaf.
"Did he kill her...?" The sudden question stopped Shanks in his tracks. He turned. Loki stood there, his gaze still fixed upon the sky where the world seemed to be tearing itself apart. His voice carried no emotion.
"Did my father kill Dora...?" Shanks didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Loki had already connected the dots. The God’s Knights. Harald’s sudden declaration of hostility against the Donquixote Pirates. Dora’s disappearance. And the wrath of the man now threatening to consume Elbaf itself.
There was only one conclusion. Dora had died. And Harald’s blade had been the one to take her life.
After a long silence, Shanks finally spoke. His voice was quiet. "That thing up there..." His eyes drifted toward the monstrous dragon battling Rosinante. "...is no longer King Harald." He looked back at Loki. "He’s a prisoner of his own mind."
A brief pause followed. Then Shanks added softly, "Try to forgive him... if you can. It wasn’t truly his fault."
And with that—Shanks vanished. The ground beneath his feet cracked as he launched himself toward the distant sea, racing after the Red Force, which was already dozens of miles away from the shores of Elbaf. Behind him, the sky roared. And the battle between gods continued.
****
Near the ruins of what had once been Aurust Castle, the battlefield had fallen into an uneasy stillness. The land itself was barely recognizable.
Jagged pillars of ice and shattered stone jutted from the ground like the broken teeth of some titanic beast. Frost from Harald’s devastating breath still clung to the earth, turning entire hillsides into glistening tombs of crystal. Smoke and mist curled through the frozen wasteland, drifting lazily around the half-buried Abyss Circle embedded in the shattered ground.
Beside it stood three figures. The remaining God’s Knights. At their feet lay the cold, lifeless body of Saint Maffey. Her head rested several paces away from her body, her expression frozen in the same arrogant fury she had worn moments before her death. The ground around her had been stained dark with blood that had already begun to freeze in the unnatural chill of the battlefield.
For the first time in centuries... One of the God’s Knights had truly died. Even Saint Sommers, whose mouth was usually incapable of remaining shut for more than a few seconds, kept his silence. His usual playful smirk was gone. Because one wrong word now wouldn’t earn him a glare.
It would earn him the wrath of Gunko...or worse. The wrath of the Great One.
Gunko stood motionless beside Maffey’s corpse, her mismatched eyes reflecting the distant flashes of lightning erupting across the heavens. The oppressive aura that had once surrounded her—when Imu had taken control of her body—had faded, leaving behind only the cold, calculating presence of the knight herself.
Yet even she did not look away from the sky. Far above them, the heavens trembled as Rosinante and Harald continued their titanic clash. Each collision of Haki rippled through the atmosphere like the beating of a war drum. Even from miles below, the pressure was unbearable.
Rosinante’s Conqueror’s Haki tore through the air like invisible blades, scraping against the skin and gnawing at the spirit of anyone unfortunate enough to remain within its reach. Harald bore the full force of it. And even transformed into the legendary Nidhöggr, the giant king was clearly struggling.
Finally, Sommers broke the silence. "Gunko-chan..." His voice lacked its usual carefree tone. "Should we intervene...?"
His gaze flickered upward toward the apocalyptic battlefield. Even asking the question made his stomach tighten. The pressure radiating from Rosinante felt less like Haki... and more like standing before the wrath of a god.
Gunko didn’t even look at him. "And do what?" she replied flatly. Her voice was calm. Almost bored. But there was a dangerous edge hidden beneath it.
"Offer your head?" That made Sommers stiffen slightly. Gunko finally turned toward him, her gaze sharp. "Do you truly believe you are capable of handling someone of his caliber?"
Her eyes drifted briefly to Maffey’s severed corpse. "Do not forget. Our immortality means nothing before that monster."
For the briefest moment, something unusual flickered within Gunko’s eyes. A trace of fear. Not panic. Not terror. But the cold, rational fear of someone who had just realized a truth that shattered everything they had believed for centuries. The God’s Knights had always stood above the world. Untouchable. Unkillable.
Even when they were weaker than the monsters ruling the seas, their immortality ensured victory eventually. Time itself was their weapon. But today... That illusion had been violently destroyed. Rosinante had severed Maffey’s head before she even realized she was dead.
And worse—the divine blessing granted by the Great One had failed to save her. For the first time in centuries... The God’s Knights had been forced to confront a terrifying reality. They could die.
Saint Killingham quietly turned his head toward Saint Sommers. The normally flamboyant knight looked like he wanted to argue. A dozen sarcastic replies probably sat on the tip of his tongue. But in the end... He swallowed them. Because deep down, he knew Gunko was right.
Even if the three of them attacked together, they would accomplish nothing. Rosinante would simply cut them down before they even finished drawing their weapons. For all his arrogance... Sommers had no intention of becoming the second corpse on the battlefield today.
"Well then..." Sommers muttered after a moment, forcing some of his usual bravado back into his voice. "What are we doing standing here?" He jerked a thumb toward the sky.
"The Great One ordered a retreat. Maybe we should return to the Holy Land." His gaze lingered on the massive dragon battling in the heavens. "I’m sure Knight Harald and the full might of Elbaf will deal with that monster eventually."
Despite the fear gnawing at him, Sommers still believed that much. After all, Harald was no ordinary God Knight. With the power of Nidhöggr and the blessing of immortality granted by Imu, the giant king possessed strength rivaling even an Ancient Weapon.
Sooner or later, Rosinante would exhaust himself because, despite all his strength, he was simply mortal. And when that moment came, the combined might of Elbaf would crush him.
At least... That was what Sommers told himself.
Gunko hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps." She turned her gaze skyward one final time. But unlike Sommers... She held no such confidence. Because she had felt it. That overwhelming Haki earlier. The kind of Haki that had momentarily snuffed out the power of the Abyss itself.
Even the colossal presence of Nidhöggr seemed small beneath that pressure. For the first time in centuries... Gunko couldn’t predict how a battle would end.
"Hm." She finally nodded. "Let us fall back."
"As for that battle..." Her voice grew quiet. "There is nothing more we can do here."
Sommers exhaled in relief. But just as the three prepared to leave— Killingham gestured toward a nearby cluster of massive figures.
"What about them?" Several giants lay scattered across the frozen battlefield. Their bodies unmoving. Their eyes closed. Even amid the chaos, Killingham had managed to capture a handful of weaker giants and trap them within his dream prison. He hadn’t dared summon more dream beasts after earlier.
The violent backlash when hundreds of his creations were obliterated by Rosinante’s Haki had nearly split his skull apart. Even now, the echo of that collapse still rang painfully in his head.
Gunko glanced toward the sleeping giants. Her eyes gleamed thoughtfully.
"Bring them...they may prove useful." She stepped toward the Abyss Circle as faint black flames began to flicker across its ancient markings. "The Elders have several research projects that may benefit from such specimens."
Her lips curved slightly. "Perhaps we may even extract traces of Ancient Giant DNA from their bloodline."
Killingham nodded silently. The sleeping giants were lifted effortlessly by Saint Sommers powers, suspended like puppets trapped within invisible dreams. The Abyss Circle ignited. Black flames surged upward, twisting into spiraling pillars of darkness.
One by one, the remaining God’s Knights stepped into the burning portal. Gunko was the last to enter. Before disappearing, she cast one final glance toward the heavens, where the sky continued to shatter beneath the clash of two monsters.
For the first time in centuries... a God’s Knight felt genuine relief at retreating.