Chapter 670

A darkness colder than the deepest trench settled upon Elbaf. Then—Imu snapped. From Gunko’s body erupted a surge of Haoshoku so immense it felt almost physical. The air compressed. The clouds above the shattered palace spiraled violently as an invisible tidal wave of will exploded outward.

It rolled across Elbaf like the wrath of a fallen heaven. Mountains trembled. The sea quivered. Across the island, giants who had only just regained consciousness collapsed once more as the crushing force pressed against their spirits. Veteran warriors who had stood against armies buckled, knees slamming into the earth as the pressure forced the breath from their lungs.

The very atmosphere thickened. Even the remnants of the dream beasts disintegrated where they stood, unable to endure the tyrannical authority radiating from the throne room ruins. And yet—I did not move. Not a step. Not a breath.

Imu’s Haoshoku crashed against me like a black tsunami—and shattered. Around my body my own will had already taken shape, a domain of pure Conqueror’s Haki so dense that the air within it crackled constantly with black lightning. Every wave of Imu’s power slammed into that invisible wall and fractured like glass.

Again. And again. And again. Because unlike mine—theirs flowed through a borrowed vessel. The body of a God’s Knight could not channel the full sovereignty of the being that ruled the world.

"Thou... darest to defy Me?"

Imu’s voice thundered through the broken halls of Aurust Castle, reverberating across the shattered battlements and into the storm-choked skies above Elbaf. Gunko’s body floated higher, dark tendrils of shadow writhing around her like living serpents as the ancient rage within threatened to spill forth unchecked.

For a brief moment— The world glimpsed the fury of its hidden ruler. A fury that had drowned kingdoms. A fury that had erased history. A fury that had ruled unchallenged for eight hundred years.

Then—it vanished. Like a blade returning to its sheath. The storm of Haoshoku receded with terrifying precision. The dark tendrils withdrew. Gunko’s wings folded slightly as Imu’s breathing slowed, their presence once more becoming composed, regal... controlled.

That level of restraint could only belong to someone who had lived for centuries believing themselves above all others. A god did not lose themself to anger. A god chose when to unleash it. Imu had watched a God’s Knight die before their eyes. Watched immortality severed in a single stroke.

And yet, within seconds, they were calm again. Calculating. Their ancient gaze settled upon me with renewed clarity. It took them less than a heartbeat to reach the conclusion I had already known. Through this vessel—they could not kill me. Not with certainty; after all, they had tried it with Poseidon and had failed. Imu couldn’t truly challenge me while their power was divided.

But there were... other methods. Slowly, their gaze shifted past me. Toward the towering figure pulling himself fully upright amidst the ruins.

"Harald." The single word carried command. The giant king lifted his head despite the blood still pouring down his back. The wound on his nape burned violently where my blade had marked him, refusing to close. Yet he stood. Imu’s wings spread behind Gunko as their voice echoed across the battlefield once more, now calm... and utterly merciless.

"Long hast thou sought purpose beneath our dominion." Their trident tilted slightly. "Long hast thou petitioned for thy true charge." Their eyes glimmered faintly with something colder than hatred.

"Then hearken well, O King of Giants." The storm clouds above Elbaf swirled violently as their decree fell upon the land like scripture. "Thy first command I now bestow." A pause. Every giant within earshot felt it. "Unleash the might of Elbaf."

The trident lifted and pointed directly at me. "Bring unto Mu... his head."

The words rang with divine finality. Imu would not normally gamble a piece like Harald. Even with the immortality they had bestowed, they understood the truth of the battlefield. Against me—against one who had inherited a fragment of godhood and taken the first true step toward divinity—Harald alone would have stood no chance.

But circumstances had changed. Because Harald had eaten something... extraordinary. Even Imu had not expected it. When the giant king had revealed the nature of the fruit he had consumed, even the ancient sovereign of the world had felt a rare flicker of surprise.

For millennia they had searched for it. Not a god-fruit. Not quite. Yet something that brushed dangerously close to that forbidden category. A power born from the world itself. A devil fruit tied to the land, the giants, and the ancient forces that once shaped the world.

Now that power rested within an immortal giant king. And behind him stood the full might of Elbaf. Thousands of warriors. A nation of titans. A force capable of shaking the seas. Imu’s gaze returned to me. Cold. Patient. Supremely confident once more.

"Behold, Rosinante," they declared softly, their voice carrying the weight of centuries. "Let us witness whether thou, who wouldst tread the path of gods, canst endure the wrath of an entire kingdom."

Behind me, the storm thickened. Before me, Harald’s massive form straightened fully. And the ground beneath Elbaf began to tremble.

BWOOOOOOOOOOOM.....!

The sound came like the roar of an ancient god awakening. I made no move to stop Harald as he called for his giant warriors. Why should I? I blamed them as much as I blamed Harald himself. Whatever warmth I had once held for Elbaf had long since turned to ash. Not after they had let Dora die upon their sacred land. Not after her blood had stained the soil they so proudly called holy.

It was irrational, I knew that much. The giants had not driven the blade into her. Harald had. And even he had done so only after losing his mind beneath Imu’s control. But rage is a fire that devours reason. And mine burned hotter than any logic could extinguish.

I needed an outlet for it. A vessel through which the fury clawing inside my chest could finally be unleashed. If that meant the giants of Elbaf had to perish... then so be it. If I had to paint the roots of the World Tree with the blood of their entire race so that Dora’s name would never be forgotten... Then that was exactly what I would do.

The warhorn’s call did not merely echo—it rolled across Elbaf like a living force, deep and thunderous, older than the castles and older than the forests that crowned the island. It was not a simple signal. It was a summons.

A sound carved into the bones of the giant race since the age when their ancestors had marched beside legends. The horn’s voice carried through valleys, across cliffs, over the colossal branches of the World Tree, vibrating through the land like the heartbeat of war itself.

BWOOOOOOOOOOOM.

High above the shattered battlements of Aurust Castle, King Harald lowered the massive horn from his lips. The artifact was ancient—its surface carved from the ivory of some long-extinct leviathan, runes etched across it by hands lost to history. It was a horn that had been sounded only a handful of times across the centuries.

Only for one purpose. Full mobilization of the giants. But Harald did not hesitate. His mind was no longer his own. Corruption twisted through his thoughts like rot through roots, the will of the depths and the command of the sovereign overriding the instincts of a king. Consequences meant nothing. He raised the horn again and blew once more.

BWOOOOOOOOOOOM.

Across Elbaf, everything stopped. Just outside the ruined gates of Aurust Castle, Loki froze mid-step. The massive prince stood amidst shattered stone and fallen battlements, his sharp eyes narrowing as the warhorn’s call rolled over the battlefield. Beside him stood Elder Jarul, battered and bleeding but still upright.

The ancient giant’s face had darkened the moment the horn sounded. Loki glanced sideways at him. He had already heard enough. Jarul had explained the truth during their retreat from the castle—the truth of Harald’s corruption, the abyssal power twisting his will, the monstrous battle unfolding within those walls.

Whoever had blown that horn—it wasn’t truly Harald. It was something wearing him.

"Gihahaha...!" The careless laughter cut through the tension. A short distance away, Saint Sommers stretched his arms lazily, his grin as wide and ridiculous as ever. "As much as I’d love to linger a little longer," he said with mock disappointment, "and slaughter a few more of your kin ..."

His eyes flickered briefly toward the shattered castle. "...I’ve just received new orders." His smile returned. "So I suppose—until next time."

Despite the casual tone, a thin layer of unease lurked beneath it. Because earlier he had felt it. That streak of lightning. That monstrous surge of Haoshoku that had burst from the castle like the birth of a calamity.

And then the abyss had shuddered. For a fleeting moment, it had felt as though something fundamental within their connection had been severed. Even worse—his Devil Fruit had refused to respond. Under that overwhelming wave of Conqueror’s Haki, his ability had simply... stopped. It had been the first time since he’d received it.

And Sommers did not like firsts. Just minutes earlier when the castle gates had burst open. From the smoke and rubble had emerged Shanks, Gaban, and Elder Jarul himself—each wounded, each bearing the marks of a brutal clash. Even with Saint Killingham at his side, Sommers had quickly calculated the odds.

He did not like them. Then the order had come. Not through Gunko. Not through Harald. Directly through the abyss itself. A command from the Supreme One. Retreat. Return to the Holy Land. Sommers never ignored a direct order from the one who ruled the world.

So he chuckled, shrugging his shoulders theatrically. But before he could step away— A giant guard near Loki suddenly roared.

"That is the rally call of the King!" The warrior raised his colossal axe, eyes blazing with fierce loyalty. "The King calls for war!" Without hesitation he turned toward the castle. "The King needs us!"

With a thunderous step, he charged forward. Unlike Loki and Jarul, the other giants did not know the truth. They did not know Harald was corrupted. They did not know a hidden sovereign had taken control of their king.

All they knew was this: Foreign invaders had struck their land. And now their king had sounded the horn. Which meant one thing. Even Harald, the mightiest warrior among the giants, was struggling to hold the enemy back. And that was unacceptable.

Across Elbaf, the aftermath of the earlier Haoshoku clash had left the battlefield eerily quiet. The dream beasts that had once rampaged across the island—manifestations of Saint Killingham’s power—had already disintegrated beneath the crushing waves of Conqueror’s Haki that continued to ripple from Aurust Castle.

They had simply collapsed into drifting motes of dreamlike mist. But the giants who remained standing... Were something else entirely. In the frozen valleys of the underworld forest, a towering giant warrior wiped blood from his brow as the warhorn echoed through the trees. He did not hesitate. He lifted his massive hammer.

"The king calls!" With a roar, he began running. Each step shook the earth.

Along the cliffside battlements overlooking the sea, a squad of armored giants who had been fighting against the dream beasts slowly rose from their knees. Moments earlier they had been forced down by the crushing pressure of the two titanic Haoshoku users clashing at the heart of Elbaf.

But they had endured. Their muscles trembled. Their lungs burned. Yet their spirits had not broken. They were the elite of the elite. Warriors who had survived countless battles across the seas. The strongest bloodlines of the giant race.

When the warhorn sounded, every one of them stood. Axes were lifted. Spears were raised. Massive shields slammed against the ground in unison.

"TO THE KING!" They began running. Across valleys. Across forests. Across bridges carved into the colossal branches of the World Tree. Hundreds of giants surged forward like a living avalanche of iron and fury. Every single one of them had endured the storm of Haoshoku still raging over Elbaf.

Every single one of them possessed the will to remain standing beneath the pressure of two monstrous conquerors. These were not ordinary warriors. These were Elbaf’s champions. The pride of the giant race.

Hundreds of titanic figures now thundered toward Aurust Castle, weapons gleaming, armor clattering, war cries rising into the darkened sky. The ground trembled beneath their charge. Because their king had called. And the giants of Elbaf would answer.

"Go on..." Harald said, rolling his shoulders as arcs of lightning rippled through the air around him. "Show me what makes you so confident that you can challenge the might of the Great One."

The warhorn slipped from his hand and clattered against the stone floor of the throne room before tumbling down the steps. He did not even spare it a glance. There was no longer any need for it. Elbaf had heard the call. Now it was time for the king to reveal his true power.

My eyes narrowed. A violent ripple of energy burst from Harald’s body like a shockwave, rattling the pillars of Aurust Castle and sending cracks racing along the marble floor beneath our feet. Gunko’s lips slowly curled into a cruel smile.

"Thou art sorely mistaken if thou believest that only gods and devils strode this world in the First Age," they said softly, their voice thick with ancient amusement.

"Nay... there were beings born of nature itself—creatures whose might could rival the heavens and drag even divinity into the dust." Their gaze shifted toward me, filled with mocking delight. "Rosinante... behold one such sovereign of ruin."

The words sent a cold ripple down my spine. I knew fragments of the old legends—half-erased stories carved into the ancient murals of Elbaf—but my knowledge was incomplete. I had come into this world from another, arriving halfway through its history with little more than scattered pieces of truth.

Whatever power Harald possessed... It was something even I had never truly understood. Then the transformation began. Harald’s body convulsed. Bones cracked like thunder splitting the sky. His spine arched violently as his frame began to swell—muscles tearing, reforming, expanding with grotesque speed as scales erupted from beneath his skin like obsidian blades forcing their way to the surface.

The throne room exploded outward. Stone pillars shattered as his body grew beyond their limits, the entire structure of Aurust Castle groaning under the strain. A deafening roar burst from Harald’s throat— but it was no longer human.

It was the roar of something ancient. Something primordial. Black scales surged across his body like a living tide, swallowing flesh as his limbs twisted and elongated. His arms thickened into colossal forelimbs tipped with talons the size of warships. His legs expanded into monstrous pillars capable of crushing mountains.

Then came the wings. They erupted from his back in a violent explosion of flesh and bone, unfurling with a thunderous snap that tore the castle roof apart as though it were made of parchment. The sky above Elbaf split open. What rose from the ruins of Aurust Castle was no longer a giant king. It was a dragon king.

A colossal, four-legged beast whose sheer size defied comprehension. Nidhöggr. The legendary devourer of roots. The dragon whispered about in the oldest carvings of the First World. And the creature before me... dwarfed every story. Its body continued to grow. And grow. And grow.

Where Kaido’s mythical Azure Dragon form stretched for over a thousand meters... This monster swelled far beyond that. Thousands of meters of obsidian-scaled flesh coiled and expanded across the land as Aurust Castle collapsed entirely beneath the impossible mass.

Entire districts of Elbaf’s capital village were cast into shadow beneath the dragon’s rising body. Its wings alone stretched for miles, each slow movement stirring hurricane winds that tore rooftops free and bent the branches of the colossal World Tree. Gasps and terrified cries echoed across the giant kingdom.

Warriors who had marched to answer Harald’s call now stood frozen, their weapons trembling in their hands as they stared upward in disbelief. The dragon kept rising. Its massive frame towered over Elbaf itself, its coils spreading across the mountains and forests like a living continent of black scales.

Nearly all of Nidhöggr’s body was the color of deep obsidian, scales gleaming like polished night beneath the fading sunlight. Only its underbelly bore a lighter shade, pale and armored like ancient stone. Its horns curved like jagged crowns toward the heavens. And its eyes burned like molten gold. Then the wings fully unfurled.

The moment they did, the world went dark. The sheer magnitude of the dragon’s form eclipsed the sun itself. The light of day vanished beneath its shadow. Across Elbaf, warriors, villagers, and even the ancient beasts of the forest fell silent as the sky was swallowed whole by the monstrous silhouette.

Just as the ancient murals had warned. A dragon so vast... that it could bring night by blotting out the sun. And standing before it—I realized something with chilling clarity. This was not merely a king wielding a mythical Zoan. This was a calamity given flesh.

Harald—King of Elbaf—had become the legendary Nidhöggr.

"Nidhöggr...!" Loki’s whisper escaped him like a breath stolen from his lungs. His eyes were locked upon the colossal obsidian dragon that had risen above Aurust Castle—its immense body swallowing the sky, its wings stretching across the heavens like the shadow of some forgotten apocalypse.

For as long as he could remember, Loki had dreamed of proving himself worthy before Ragnir, the ancient guardian of Elbaf’s sacred treasure. The trial had always been spoken of in hushed reverence among the giants—a test meant only for the greatest of warriors. And yet Harald had never allowed him that chance.

But now... Seeing the legend itself given flesh—seeing Nidhöggr, the dragon of myth—the sight stole Loki’s breath. A creature that until now had existed only in carvings upon ancient stone and fading murals stood before them in terrifying reality.

But as awe filled his chest... Confusion soon followed. Loki’s brow furrowed. He knew the truth. Harald had once sought the same trial before Ragnir... and failed. The guardian had deemed him unworthy of the Devil Fruit sealed within Elbaf’s sacred vault.

So how...? How could his father now wield this godlike power? Slowly, Loki turned toward the only person who might know the answer. Elder Jarul. The ancient giant stood nearby, leaning heavily upon his spear. His weathered face—normally as steady as stone—had gone pale as death as he stared up at the monstrous dragon looming over their homeland.

Nidhöggr’s return had always been spoken of as salvation for the giants. A guardian of their race. A symbol of their ancient glory. But the way Jarul looked now... It felt less like salvation— And far more like calamity. Because Jarul knew something the others did not. He knew who now wielded that power.

"Jarul..." Loki said quietly, his voice tense. "What is happening...?"

He needed answers. He knew Harald’s mind had been corrupted. He knew something monstrous had unfolded inside Aurust Castle. But the situation had shifted so suddenly, so violently, that even Loki struggled to grasp it.

Before Jarul could speak— A thunderous voice shook the heavens. The dragon spoke. And its voice carried across all of Elbaf.

"My brethren..." The words echoed like thunder rolling through mountains. Across the forests, the villages, the mountain strongholds, and the massive branches of the World Tree itself—every giant lifted their heads toward the sky. For decades, that voice had guided them. The voice of their king.

"For many long years," Harald continued, his titanic form coiling across the heavens, "I have spoken to you of peace." His voice carried the weight of sorrow. Of regret.

"I believed that giantkind could find its place within this world... not through conquest, but through coexistence." Below him, thousands of giants listened in stunned silence. "It was an ideal," Harald said slowly. "A dream." His massive golden eyes burned like twin suns in the darkened sky.

"But today..." A pause. "Today I have come to understand the truth," the wind howled around his colossal wings. "Even if we giants extend goodwill to the world... even if we choose peace..." His voice hardened. "The world will never allow it."

Murmurs spread among the gathered warriors. Harald continued.

"Today, the kindness we offered... the hospitality we gave... has been repaid with betrayal." His enormous head lowered slightly, gaze sweeping across the land below. "A man I once welcomed into our home without prejudice... a man I allowed to walk our lands as a friend..."

His voice became cold. "Has revealed his true nature." The dragon’s massive jaws parted as his voice boomed across the kingdom. "The Donquixote Pirates have laid siege upon Aurust Castle and have slaughtered our kin." Shock rippled across Elbaf. "They have attacked our homeland."

"They have harmed our warriors."

"They have endangered our children."

"They have sought to force the giants of Elbaf into submission through deception and treachery."

The giants listening felt their blood run cold. Because they trusted Harald. And they had already seen chaos erupt across their land. Dream beasts attacking villages. Battles erupting at every corner. The land shaking with monstrous power. To them... his explanation made perfect sense.

"I have had enough," Harald growled in his dragon form. "Enough of the peace I offered foolishly to this treacherous world." His wings stretched outward, blotting the heavens entirely. "A peace that was never respected."

"A peace mistaken for weakness." His voice thundered like war drums. "They came to us as friends..." The dragon’s eyes burned with fury. "And used that trust as a shield to stab us in the back."

Many giants clenched their weapons. Their warrior blood—suppressed for decades under Harald’s reforms—began to stir.

"So I decree this now." His voice became iron. "No more."

"No more shall the giants of Elbaf bow to this false peace."

"No more shall we allow the world to mistake our restraint for weakness." The dragon’s roar shook the forests. "From this moment onward... we shall embrace once more the path of our ancestors."

A roar of wind swept across the land.

"And I..." His voice rose like a battle cry. "I, your king...will lead you from the front." The dragon’s colossal body shifted above Aurust Castle like a living mountain. "Together... we shall bend this world beneath the might of giants once more!"

A roar of approval began to spread. The old blood was awakening. The ancient pride of the giants.

"But first..." Harald continued. His burning gaze turned toward the distant ruins of Aurust Castle below him. "Let us destroy the invaders who dared defile our homeland."

His voice turned savage. "Kill Donquixote Rosinante." The dragon’s war cry shook the heavens.

"Kill him...Kill them all!"

For a brief moment, silence. The giants hesitated. But only for a moment. Because they believed their king. Because Harald had led them for decades. Because they had already seen destruction spreading across their homeland. Their confusion began to twist into something darker. Into rage.

Axes were raised. War cries erupted across Elbaf. The warrior blood of the giants—suppressed for an entire generation—boiled once more. Hundreds. Thousands. Elite warriors began marching toward Aurust Castle. Believing with absolute conviction that they were marching to defend their homeland.

That they were answering their king’s call. That Donquixote Rosinante was the enemy threatening Elbaf. High above them, hidden beneath the shadow of Nidhöggr’s colossal form, a faint smile spread across Harald’s monstrous dragon face. The lie had taken root. And an entire kingdom had just been turned into his army.