[RLOP] Chapter : 30 - Shutenmaru

“Isn’t that Big Brother?”

“Who’s the real monster here…?”

“That brat’s terrifyingly strong, isn’t he!?”

The bandits scanned the hall in disbelief, eyes darting between the shattered stone wall and the white-clad youth still standing tall. Their jaws slackened when they spotted Ashura Doji, half-buried in the rubble.

They didn’t know he had only used less than forty percent of his strength. All they knew was that their boss—the man feared as Kuri’s strongest monster—had been sent flying by a boy barely grown.

Lucci…

Have you grown stronger again?

Yamato’s wide brown eyes locked onto the young man, her hands unconsciously clutching the edge of her clothes.

Her earlier reasoning had seemed sound: if Lucci had barely managed to defeat Denjiro, then against Ashura Doji—his equal—this battle should’ve been another desperate clash.

But now…

Her gaze flickered to Ashura Doji as he rose from the wreckage. His flawless performance gave nothing away; Yamato couldn’t tell he had held back. Naturally, she assumed something else—

That Lucci had evolved yet again.

What Yamato couldn’t see, Hiyori saw clearly.

Could it be… is Ashura Doji truly considering becoming Lucci-sama’s subordinate?

Her brows knitted. Though he had sworn loyalty as a vassal, Hiyori had never been naïve enough to think Ashura Doji would faithfully carry out every command. That was why she had hidden the truth—about Lucci’s Zoan powers, about his victory over Denjiro.

But seeing this scene unfold, she realized such precautions were unnecessary.

Her heart, her focus, her faith—rested solely on Lucci.

In the rubble, smoke and dust cleared to reveal Ashura Doji’s burly frame. Cracks spiderwebbed across the rock wall where he had landed.

He staggered to his feet, brushing debris from his shoulders.

Who am I? Where am I? What was I doing?

Lucci’s punch had been merciless, yet measured—enough to rattle him without causing real damage.

Shaking the dizziness from his head, Ashura Doji heard a calm voice drift over the chaos:

“It seems you chose wrong. Compared to the sword, my fist is stronger.”

Sword? Fist?

His daze shattered the moment his eyes found Lucci—still standing, expression calm as ever. In an instant, everything returned.

I am Kuri’s strongest monster. This is Mt. Atama. And I’m going to make this brat cry.

Ashura Doji’s gaze darkened. “Don’t get cocky, kid!”

With no further words, he stomped the ground and shot forward like a cannonball, his massive frame blurring as he closed the gap.

This time, he wouldn’t bother with his blade. That arrogant claim—‘Compared to the sword, my fist is stronger’—burned in his mind.

Fine then. He’d use his fists to grind the brat into the ground.

Dark Armament Haki coiled up his arm, encasing his fist like black steel.

Sixty percent power.

Straight punch.

Cry for me!

His eyes locked onto Lucci’s every twitch, refusing to underestimate him again. Winding up, he swung with enough force to split stone.

Bang!

The two fists met, and the hall erupted. The air howled as a vortex burst from the impact, rattling the rafters.

For a few tense seconds, the clash held. Then Ashura Doji’s eyes widened.

A crushing power surged through his arm, splintering bone and grinding against his knuckles with a creaking sound.

The first time, he thought he had been careless.

But now—watching closely—he saw it.

A punch faster than his own. A counterstrike that landed after he swung, yet still overpowered him.

And worse—Lucci’s fist was coated in Armament Haki, its flow smooth, refined, denying direct collision.

Ryou… second stage.

The realization struck him as he was blasted backward, body smashing into the wall once more.

From across the hall, Lucci’s calm voice followed:

“Your punch isn’t fast enough. Nor is it fierce enough.”

He paused, gaze steady.

“If this is your level, then my evaluation is simple: you’re not as good as Denjiro.”

Boom!

Dust rained as Ashura Doji’s body embedded into the wall again.

Disbelief surged in his chest.

The second stage of Ryou… Princess Hiyori, he’s already mastered it! And that speed—how!? I threw the first punch, and yet he still struck after me?

But the words cut deeper than the pain.

Not as good as Denjiro…?

Did that mean this brat had already faced Denjiro?

Ashura Doji’s gaze flicked toward Hiyori. But she wasn’t even looking at him.

Her eyes, her entire being, were fixed on Lucci.

A hollow laugh escaped his mind. Ah… Princess Hiyori has grown, too.

Ignored, manipulated—and strangely relieved.

She had found someone she wished to protect.

But even so…

Princess, defeating Orochi will not be child’s play.

Gritting his teeth, Ashura Doji made his decision. He would no longer hold back.

Not to prove himself, but to respect the boy before him.

For Rob Lucci was no longer just some arrogant brat.

He was an opponent worthy of his full strength.

Ashura Doji rose slowly, brushing the dust and rubble from his broad shoulders. His gaze locked on Lucci as he asked solemnly:

“Kid… what did you mean by ‘not as good as Denjiro’?”

Lucci tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Do you really want to know?”

As Ashura Doji began to advance, Lucci casually unbuttoned his suit jacket. He didn’t want it ruined—he had no change of clothes besides a kimono. Tossing it to the floor, he revealed his lean, powerful physique and strode forward to meet him.

Ashura Doji’s expression hardened. No more disdain, no more underestimation. With every step the boy took, his presence grew heavier, sharper.

So he wasn’t showing his full strength either…

Three years in the mountains, and monsters like this are already emerging outside?

Gripping his sword, Ashura Doji gathered his aura, condensing it into a single piercing point—like an unsheathed blade.

Lucci’s voice was calm, almost mocking:
“I killed Denjiro on the way here. What now? Are you going to avenge him?”

Ashura Doji arched a brow. “Denjiro? Dead? …Hah. You think too much. Why would I avenge a traitor?”

He leaned forward, hand on scabbard, the other on his hilt. Armament Haki began to flow steadily into his blade, coating it like liquid iron.

Lucci’s eyes narrowed. He recognized the stance instantly—it was the same desperate iai slash Denjiro had used. But Denjiro had faltered then. Perhaps this time…

A small smile curved on his lips. “It seems I can enjoy myself after all.”

Black Haki rippled once more across his fists.

Ashura Doji’s eyes sharpened. “Kid, I choose the sword.”

“And I’ll choose the fist.”

The air cracked like thunder. Two sonic booms tore across the hall as they launched.

Whoosh!

A storm of wind howled outwards, the bonfire flames lashing violently.

The bandits screamed in disbelief.

“Boss is using Ryou!?”
“Against a kid!?”
“Wait—look! Their strikes didn’t even collide!”
“That brat’s using Ryou too… and it’s the second stage! Same as Boss!”

Shock rippled through them. As natives of Wano, they knew exactly what that meant. Ryou—their word for Armament Haki. But few in all of Wano could freely wield its advanced stage: the flowing emission, able to coat weapons, or even strike from a distance.

Yet this boy, barely in his teens, wielded it with terrifying mastery.

“Thirteen? Fourteen? How can such a body hold so much Haki!?”
“Whose descendant is he!?”
“No… he’s a monster in his own right!”

Elsewhere, Yamato and Hiyori were struck speechless.

Lucci… are you evolving again? Even in the middle of battle?

That damn Ashura Doji is going all out! But it’s fine… Lucci-sama hasn’t even used his Devil Fruit yet!

Their eyes never left him, though their thoughts differed.

Meanwhile, the ground beneath the two combatants began to crack like shattered glass.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Their Haki clashed, compressing into visible shockwaves that detonated into rings of force. Black and violet sparks snaked outward, tearing at the air itself.

At such speed, only twisted afterimages remained.

For the bandits, it was beyond comprehension. But Ashura Doji, locked in the clash, understood perfectly.

This brat… does he even feel pain!? His bones are breaking, yet he doesn’t flinch!?

A cold sweat broke over him. He raised his sword to intercept—but it was too late.

The fist was already there.

If it landed, he’d lose consciousness. But at this angle, his blade would also sever Lucci’s arm.

He’ll hold back. He must! No one would risk their arm for a single strike.

Once he retreats, we’ll clash again. With my Haki reserves, I’ll outlast him. He’s talented, but attrition is my battlefield.

Ashura Doji’s lips curled into a confident grin. Victory through endurance—that was his path.

But the grin froze.

Lucci’s expression never changed. No hesitation. No retreat.

Impossible… are you even human!?

Ashura Doji’s roar tore through the air. “Kid! I give up! You’re insane!”

All his Haki surged into his blade, trying to parry what was coming. His own skin darkened with Haki, ready to shield his face.

But battles decided in an instant allow no hesitation.

Before he could finish coating, Lucci’s fist landed.

Boom!

The same wall, the same place—but this time, it collapsed entirely under the impact. Ashura Doji vanished into the rubble.

Lucci stood still, blood dripping steadily from his knuckles.

It wasn’t Ashura Doji’s blood—it was his own. His bones had cracked, piercing skin, and the samurai’s blade had carved deep into his arm before lodging into his muscle.

The hall fell silent. Bandits gaped at their boss’s broken body, then at the youth whose fists dripped red.

Lucci…

Yamato’s eyes burned with resolve. I must grow stronger… strong enough to fight beside him.

Beside her, Hiyori trembled. Why won’t he use his Devil Fruit? Why is he letting himself bleed? Tears welled in her eyes as she clung to Yamato.

The Oni girl gently stroked her head. “He has his reasons. Just trust him. He won’t lose.”

In the center, Lucci tore the embedded blade from his arm without a flinch, tossing it to the side.

His voice was steady, cold. “You hesitated. Just like Denjiro.”

He glanced at the rubble. “Get up. You should still have strength left. Don’t disappoint me.”

From beneath the stones, a hoarse laugh emerged.

Ashura Doji staggered up, face bloodied but spirit unbroken. “Kid… aren’t you afraid?”

“Why should I be?”

“The value of an arm… for a fighter…”

Lucci’s reply was calm, almost cruel. “So what? If the fight is worth it, even losing an arm is a fair price.”

In truth, he knew Ashura Doji could never take his arm. If he wanted, he could shift into his beast form at any time. But here, in human flesh, he wanted to measure himself—to test the limits of his fists.

Ashura Doji sighed, collapsing cross-legged onto the ground. His sword lay across his knees.

“Terrifying… truly terrifying. No need to continue. I surrender. In strength, and in spirit—you’ve surpassed me. From this day on, I’ll follow your commands.”

He paused, face twisting in something between shame and pride.

“Ah… and don’t call me Ashura Doji. Call me Shutenmaru. I prefer that name.”