It seemed that from this day on, Zoro's clan had inherited a new secret—a secret so shocking that it would come to influence their every decision. A person who hadn't even begun cultivating had managed to unleash sword energy—how could that not be considered strange?
Zoro, once a completely unremarkable figure—someone who had even resigned himself to a life of mediocrity—was no longer the same. Today had changed everything. He had no internal energy, no qi, and yet he accomplished something only warriors of the highest order were supposed to achieve. This could only mean one thing: he was truly extraordinary.
Cultivators nowadays were shadows of what they once were. Back in the day, the truly gifted could bend the world with their power. But now? Now, only by cultivating qi could one even attempt a feat like Zoro's. How far had they fallen, if this kind of miracle no longer came from cultivation, but from something else entirely?
And Zoro—he might just become one of those people. The kind that everyone else fears. If he could continue down this path, if nothing stood in his way, he would grow powerful—immensely powerful.
Maybe one day, he would be the one to overthrow them. Overthrow the outsiders. That was the dream of every cultivator—the belief that no one could truly conquer them. That deep within, they would always resist. And resist they must—until the day the invaders were driven out. It was the one thing they still had left.
Of course, that was easier said than done. The outsiders had already locked them under tight control. Only the most formidable warriors could slip through that net. But even if they could, would they be willing to help? Would they risk themselves for the sake of the displaced?
Perhaps not. Perhaps no one was so selfless. That was the sorrow of the weak. Yet weakness wasn't a permanent state. Given time, even the weak could become strong.
The continent was in turmoil. It had only been a year since the invaders defeated them. One year—not nearly enough time to completely assimilate an entire people. There were only two ways to accomplish that: submission or extermination.
And the second path—slaughter—left behind festering wounds that could one day bring down the entire empire. So the outsiders used both methods: they killed the weak and recruited the strong. That was their strategy.
That was also why the Zoro clan's prodigy had been taken—because he carried a sword soul. That kind of talent could one day evolve into a terrifying adversary. So before he could turn against them, they simply turned him first. Subjugated him. Made him theirs.
The result was a deadly shift in balance. Their enemies grew stronger while their own resistance weakened. A slow, inevitable decline.
Zoro's eyes suddenly snapped open. He was wide awake now. He moved his arms and found that his body had mostly recovered. But a troubling question loomed before him—where exactly was he?
Had that bear launched him to the far side of the Grand Line? Or had he somehow broken free from it altogether?
He couldn't understand a single word from the people around him. That meant communication was impossible. He had never really thought about this before, because the language along the Grand Line had always been unified. But now he faced a problem: he had no idea what language they were speaking.
"Oh well," he muttered. "First things first—I need to learn their language. And I need to get stronger. Can't believe a regular guy's sword aura was stronger than mine. Looks like I've got a long road ahead of me."
He could still feel the pressure from today's fight. It was a heavy, oppressive force—but it was also the drive he needed to grow stronger. Maybe, just maybe, this was the place where he could become truly powerful. And then, one day, he would return to his friends in full glory, stronger than ever.
"But first things first—I've got to whip this body into shape. This thing's a disaster."
Zoro sighed in frustration. This body was unbelievably weak. Words couldn't even begin to describe it. Still, a strong body could be built with training, and he had faith that he would become strong again.
So, he began training—just like he used to do on the ship. Basic drills, push-ups, all the foundational exercises. His current body was too frail for anything more intense. For now, he'd focus on building up the basics. When the time came, he'd ask them for three swords. He couldn't stand being without them. Fighting without blades—it felt unnatural. He needed swords. That was non-negotiable.
The next day, the head of the Zoro clan came with Elder Farstride to check on him. The biggest problem, oddly enough, was that the boy couldn't speak. Or rather, he couldn't understand them. That could become a serious obstacle. If they couldn't solve it, there would be no way to teach him swordsmanship. And now that they knew what he was capable of, they had decided: they would teach him. He needed at least a basic ability to defend himself. Only then could he survive the world outside.
"Zoro, can you understand me?"
The clan leader believed it was simply that Zoro hadn't spoken with anyone for a long time—perhaps he'd been traumatized. With a little guidance, maybe he'd come around.
"What are you saying? I don't understand a word of it! What is your language? Can you teach me?"
Zoro had made up his mind: he had to learn this language. Without it, he couldn't do anything—not the things he needed to do. This wasn't his home. He had to leave one day. That was the truth of it.
"You really don't understand?"
The clan leader's expression changed. He could tell something was off. This wasn't just fear or shock—this boy genuinely had no idea what they were saying.
"Uncle, can you please tell me? What are you trying to say? I don't get it! Don't you speak the Grand Line's language?"
Zoro gestured wildly as he spoke. He truly didn't understand. And language barriers were a nightmare—he couldn't let that remain. Not in his current state.
"It seems he really doesn't know," the clan leader said with a sigh. "We'll have to teach him. Otherwise, he'll remain an illiterate. And that… that's not something we can allow."
Indeed, no matter where you go, illiteracy is a serious problem. One that must be solved.