He could pull it off, sure—but not now. Right now, Zoro doubted he could even chop through a tree without hurting himself. The truth was simple: he just couldn't do it yet.
"This," the clan leader said, "is sword energy. It's real—it exists—but it's closely tied to the weapon you wield. Everyone has qi inside them. The stronger your qi, the more forceful your attacks become. And this qi—it has no ceiling. It only grows stronger. But having qi alone isn't enough. Still, without qi, you'll never get anywhere."
As he spoke, the clan leader drew an ordinary sword. This time, he didn't channel any qi into it—yet in an instant, the sword emitted a burst of sword energy strong enough to cleave the remaining stone clean in half. Zoro saw it all clearly—and noticed something else too.
The sword broke.
"With the right skill, even a regular blade can unleash powerful sword energy," the clan leader explained. "But there's a risk—if the force is too great, the sword might shatter. That's what happened to your weapon yesterday. That kind of power isn't easy to control. I couldn't manage it myself until I reached the fourth tier of cultivation."
This was the essence of the Old Method—a path of swordsmanship that emphasized unity of essence, energy, and spirit. The New Method required only qi, and so was much easier to learn. But easier meant weaker. That, too, was easy enough to understand.
The Old Method was simply too demanding. Most people couldn't follow its path and instead turned to the more accessible modern techniques. But the world doesn't reward shortcuts. They may have gained strength quickly—but when push came to shove, they were still defeated.
That was failure, plain and simple.
Zoro, for his part, had no idea what the man was saying. He didn't even know who the man was. If the clan leader ever found out that Zoro couldn't recognize his own father, he'd probably skin him alive.
And yet, Zoro picked up on one thing: the man had handed him a sword. That could only mean one thing—he wanted to test Zoro's strength.
"So," Zoro muttered to himself, "you want to see my technique, huh? Fine. I'll show you something."
He felt underestimated—and he didn't like it. Was he really that weak now? No. He refused to believe it.
If they wanted a show, then he'd give them one to remember.
Zoro had always been defiant to the core. On the Grand Line, the only person who could keep him in check was Luffy. No one else even came close.
He didn't take the sword. He fought with blades—real blades. Swords weren't his style. His body rejected the feel of them on instinct. He searched around for another weapon, but to his dismay, found nothing else to choose from.
It looked like this would have to do.
"Is he… picking a weapon?" Zorren asked, watching curiously. "Wait, does he not use swords?"
Zoro was clearly looking for a blade. But blades were now forbidden. To them, that ban was a humiliation—a cruel irony. They, who had once been proud wielders of the blade, now weren't even allowed to touch one.
And yet, judging by Zoro's movements—especially how he had instinctively chosen an axe yesterday—it was obvious: he was a blade-user.
Still, Zoro couldn't find what he was looking for. He scratched his head, confused.
Did people here not use blades anymore?
Or did blades not even exist in this world?
In the end, he settled on an axe. It wasn't about how it looked—it was about how it felt. The motion of using it… wasn't all that different from wielding a blade.
The core of blade techniques was the cleave—that downward force. A proper slash with a blade could actually unleash more power than a sword. But swords, on the other hand, were faster, more agile, and more versatile in close combat.
Each had their own strengths.
"Looks like the boy really does want to use a blade," the clan leader said, narrowing his eyes. "That's… unexpected."
Could he truly be planning to practice the blade again?
But blades were banned now. Anyone caught with one could be in grave danger. It wasn't something to be taken lightly.
"But using a blade is dangerous," Zorren said nervously. "Surely the young master doesn't intend to use one? If word got out…"
"Let him be," the clan leader replied. "If he's serious, I do have a blade he could use. This boy… he's not the same anymore. What happened in that month he went missing?"
There was a glimmer in the clan leader's eyes—a quiet excitement.
It was as if something had finally awakened in Zoro. And that was exactly the kind of person the clan leader admired. Someone different. Someone uncompromising.
He began to wonder: perhaps fate had sent him this child to carry the Zoro clan to glory once more.
Perhaps the old prodigy no longer mattered—because this one was a true genius.
"Well, for now it'll have to be the axe," Zoro muttered. "Later, I'll see if someone can forge me a proper blade. It just feels wrong without one…"
Then he grinned—a sharp, wicked grin.
"Alright, time to give them a real show."
He was about to unleash the very first technique he had used in this world—the one he'd developed on Skypiea while facing Ohm, the man who could read thoughts with his Mantra. That day, if Ohm hadn't been so cocky, if Zoro hadn't discovered his new move…
Things might've turned out very differently.
"Let me show you—"
"The Soaring Slash!"
Zoro dropped into his stance—the stance of a beast ready to pounce. Suddenly, the onlookers felt it: Zoro's killing intent.
And it was terrifying.
In a flash, the slash erupted from his axe—a blazing arc that tore through the air. Just as he released it, the handle of the axe snapped in half.
Shattered by sheer force.
That alone was enough to reveal just how monstrous the power was. The arc of the slash twisted into the shape of a phoenix—wild and majestic.
The attack vanished moments later.
But what remained—was shock.
Pure, bone-deep awe.