Uchiha Puppet Master, Starting from One Piece.

When those four words came out of Nasujuro Sei's mouth, the atmosphere in the flower room became heavy again.

It's not because Nasujiro Sei's words carry any weight, but because they are so few that the very fact that this word is being spoken again eight hundred years later gives one a sense of temporal displacement.

"There's one more person."

Pittor Saint said, pulling a small piece of paper from his pocket: "Our people caught an extremely faint aura at the last moment. That aura was hidden in a place that no one had noticed, and had never been sensed before. It was as if it appeared suddenly."

Who is that?

"Insufficient information to confirm identity."

Pittor Saint said, "But one thing is certain: the way that aura exists is completely different from ours. It is not hidden, not disguised, but perhaps... the way she exists itself makes everyone who tries to sense her feel that there is no one there."

Silence fell once again among the flowers.

Im turned around again, facing the map.

His gaze returned to the area of ​​Elbaf.

Elbaf, and the unnamed islands and atolls surrounding it.

"Shanks, Mihawk."

Im recited the names one by one, his voice as calm as if he were reading a list.

"Plus Uchiha Hakuba and his pirate crew."

He paused.

"With such a lineup appearing on the outskirts of Elbaf, it seems Shanks has his own plans."

"Capture Loki, the Giant Prince."

"According to our intelligence, Shanks requested that the Giant Prince not be killed in the end," said Vocuri.

"Get under control."

Im repeated those three words.

"Not killing?"

"They actually let him live?"

Im tapped the location of Elbaf on the map with his finger.

The tap was very soft, but in the silence among the flowers, the sound was amplified countless times, like a boulder crashing into a room covered with mirrors.

The sound reflects, overlaps, and amplifies between each mirror, eventually becoming a wall made of sound waves that presses in from all directions simultaneously.

"Who from the Knights of God is over there?"

"Shamkes".

Pittor said, "Junzi is with him. They have arrived on the outskirts of Elbaf and are secretly observing Loki's movements."

Is that enough?

"uncertain."

"There's one more thing."

Nassuro Sei said, taking a step forward.

The first generation Kitetsu beside him made a short, crisp sound as he took a step: "My lord, are you still interested in Harald's death?"

Im did not answer.

But at that moment, the candlelight among the flowers suddenly tilted in the same direction, as if an invisible, enormous hand had pressed down from above, bending all the flames.

"explain."

Loki was accused of patricide and sentenced to a hundred years in prison.

Nassuro said, "But Loki is obviously so young, he shouldn't have that kind of strength."

Chapter 231 Test

The outskirts of Elbaf.

The towering trees that used to block out the sky have become sparser here, not because the land is barren, but because the land is more fertile and supports other plants.

The ground was covered with a thick layer of fallen leaves, which had been piled up for hundreds of years. The bottom layers had been compressed into black humus, and stepping on them produced a dull, soft sound, as if stepping on the skin of some huge creature.

There was a smell in the air that was different from that at the seaside.

It's not salty, not fishy, ​​but a flavor closer to "ancient".

Damp wood, rotting leaves, and the sweet scent of some unknown flower emanating from afar, like honey diluted many times over.

Bai Yu walked in the middle of the group, slightly towards the back.

Shanks walked at the front, with Griffin hanging at his waist, the longsword swaying gently with each step he took.

Mihawk walked to Shanks' left, maintaining a precise, constant distance—one step.

Not too much, not too little, not following behind, not walking side by side, but a wonderful distance between companionship and independence, close enough to offer support at any time, far enough that one would not feel that he is deliberately following.

Jabba walked to Shanks' right.

His pace was completely out of character for his age.

It's not the kind of speed that old people push themselves to the limit, but a speed that's closer to saving energy. Every step is taken in the most energy-efficient position, and every muscle is used only when necessary, without wasting any energy.

Bai Yu watched Jaba's gait, his gaze shifting back and forth between his ankles, knees, and hips.

That kind of footwork is not that of a swordsman.

A swordsman's footwork is linear, taking the shortest distance from point A to point B, with each step preparing for the next strike. Jabba's footwork, however, is circuitous. It's not that he's actually going in circles, but rather that his body's center of gravity is constantly making an extremely slight, lateral sway.

Left, right, left, right, each swing perfectly synchronized with the frequency of my heartbeat.

That was the pace of a dual-wielder.

People who use two weapons for a long time, because they hold a knife in each hand, need to maintain completely independent and non-interfering center of gravity control on both sides of their body. This control will slowly and irreversibly change the way a person walks, making each step seem to create space for both hands to swing and cut simultaneously.

Bai Yu withdrew his gaze.

Artoria walked to his right, her breathing even and deep, each inhalation creating a stable, perceptible core of power beneath her ribs.

Rangiku walked at the very back of the group.

They walked for about half an hour.

The road suddenly opened up at an inconspicuous bend.

It wasn't a gradual opening, but a sudden, almost violent one. The gap between the two giant trees widened dozens of times after a certain step, as if a giant hand had forcefully pried the two trees apart to the left and right, revealing the empty space that had been hidden for a long time.

The open space was large enough to accommodate dozens of giant warriors in formation at the same time.

However, everyone's attention was drawn to it.

That was a giant.

They weren't the giants from the Navy Headquarters; those giants were only about twenty meters tall, which was already quite tall.

The person before me is a being that is closer to a mountain range.

Just by sitting there, he was taller than the first branch of all the giant trees around him.

His back was slightly hunched, and his two incredibly long arms hung down at his sides, his fingers buried in the pile of fallen leaves, each finger resembling a fallen sapling that had not yet rotted.

He was at least sixty meters tall, and you could tell he seemed quite bored.

boring.

It is a genuine, thorough, and deep-seated boredom, like a wild beast that has been caged for too long, filled with boredom.

He wore a dark coat whose original color was indistinguishable. The fabric seemed exceptionally heavy for the giant's size, as if it were sewn from a single piece of canvas. The coat was covered with holes of various sizes.

There was something at his feet.

A weapon.

Iron Thunder.

The divine weapon, Iron Thunder.

The supreme weapon passed down through generations of giants, which only true kings can wield.

Bai Yu stared at Tie Lei for a while, then looked away.

Because the giant moved.

He raised his head.

He revealed an incredibly young face.

That face was completely different from the rugged and savage image of the giants.

His eyes seemed quite bright.

Those eyes were looking at Shanks.

Looking at Jabba.

Looking at Mihawk.

Looking at Bai Yu.

Looking at Artoria.

Looking at everyone.

He looked at each person one by one, his gaze lingering on each one for exactly half a second, no more, no less.

Then he laughed.

The smile appeared in the same way he opened his eyes—without warning, without transition.

It was the kind of genuine, heartfelt, undisguised joy of seeing an old friend.

"Oh?"

His voice came down from above, loud and deep, like thunder rumbling across the sky.

But in that enormous volume, every word was pronounced exceptionally clearly, without any ambiguity or hoarseness, like the sound of a giant bell being struck—loud, yet clear.