Rhett shoved open the forge's wooden door. A wall of heat slammed into his face. An old blacksmith with snow-white hair hammered a piece of glowing metal, sparks flying.
"Look around if you like," the old blacksmith said without looking up. "I don't do custom orders. Buy what you like, leave what you don't."
Rhett's eyes locked onto a massive sword on the wall—a pitch-black greatsword with a blade nearly nine inches wide.
"That… that sword…" Rhett's eyes widened, and he took a step toward it.
The old blacksmith finally looked up, his sharp eyes fixed on Rhett. "Kid, that sword isn't a toy. Go play somewhere else."
"I'm not here to play!" Rhett protested, his voice firm. "I want a heavy sword as my weapon."
Roger strolled over and let out a low whistle. "Oh? That sword looks interesting."
The old blacksmith snorted. "That's my masterpiece. Called 'Black Tide.' The material? Something I found in my youth. Most people can't even lift it."
Rhett swallowed hard at the mention of its weight, but refused to back down. "Let me try!"
The old blacksmith smirked. "Fine. Lift it, and it's yours."
Rhett took a deep breath, gripping the hilt with both hands—
"Ugh… so heavy!"
The sword didn't budge.
Gaban burst out laughing. "Kid, give it up. Your scrawny frame can't lift it."
Rayleigh frowned. "The weight of that sword really isn't suitable for a child."
But Roger stroked his chin, thoughtful. "Rhett, try using Armament Haki."
The old blacksmith's eyes lit up—this five or six-year-old kid actually knew Armament Haki?
Rhett blinked, then nodded. He closed his eyes, channeling all his strength. A faint black coating of Armament Haki began to wrap around his arms—
"Hyah—!"
Black Tide was finally lifted, but Rhett's arms trembled.
The old blacksmith narrowed his eyes. "…Interesting kid."
Roger grinned. "Well? Old man, does the sword belong to him now?"
The old blacksmith was silent for a moment before sighing. "…Fine. It's just gathering dust here. If you can lift it, take it."
Rhett's eyes widened in delight. "Really?!"
The old blacksmith turned toward the furnace, waving dismissively without looking back. "Remember, a sword is both a weapon and a partner. Don't let it down. Its name is Black Tide. Can you make it famous across the seas?"
Rhett felt a sudden understanding of why Captain Roger had solemnly promised Tom that day—it was a promise between men.
Rhett hugged Black Tide to his chest, his gaze firm as he looked at the old blacksmith. "I'll make this sword famous across the seas. That's my promise."
"Ha ha ha ha ha! I believe you. Now go—I'm retiring. This is my masterpiece, my final work. I'll be watching you."
With Black Tide secured to his back, Rhett knew he had to adapt to its weight. He began running laps around Water 7. What had once been easy now felt like an endless journey.
Even with his monstrous stamina, Rhett was drenched in sweat. He weighed only around sixty pounds. Black Tide was undeniably heavy for him—only his transmigrator's advantage made it possible.
For anyone else, the sword would outweigh them several times over. Fighting with it? Forget that. Just carrying it would be a struggle.
But Rhett wasn't discouraged. Once I master Black Tide, my lethality will soar.
After all, hadn't Lola transformed Monkey D. Luffy into Nightmare Monkey D. Luffy? That weapon had required eight battle-hardened pirates to lift, and it wasn't much heavier than this.
Rhett's feet sank into the dirt of Water 7's docks. The massive sword, taller than he was, pressed down on him like a small mountain.
Why was it that every transmigrator before me had been blessed with a monstrous physique? Four or five years old and already three or four meters tall—no problem. But here he was, still a pint-sized runt.
"Ninth… lap…" Rhett gasped, his vision blurring. Even with Armament Haki dampening the strain, the ropes securing Black Tide dug painfully into his shoulders.
Low-intensity Armament Haki was something Rhett could maintain indefinitely.
Gaban leaned against the railing, munching on an apple. "Kid, want me to carry it for a bit? Take a break—it's not like the sword's going anywhere."
"N-no!" Rhett forced the word through gritted teeth, dragging his leaden legs forward. "This is a promise between men."
Rayleigh watched from a higher vantage point, his gaze thoughtful behind his glasses.
He noticed that while Rhett's steps were heavy, each stride was precisely measured. The boy was using Observation Haki to finely control every ounce of his strength. Rayleigh chuckled softly. "With such precise control and observation, why bother with a greatsword?"
In truth, Rhett had chosen the greatsword after careful consideration. If he'd opted for a rapier or saber, he could have wielded them with finesse. A greatsword's drawbacks—its high stamina drain and slower movements—required exceptional physical conditioning.
But stamina was something Rhett never worried about. As for slow movements, the Mist-Mist Fruit could compensate. At equal strength levels, Rhett believed no one could withstand a full-force blow from him—unless they specialized in physical enhancement.
Shouldn't swordsmanship be about relentless forward momentum?
Well, I'm a Mist Fruit user. If I'm not ambushing someone, I'm already being generous. Forget honor—I'm aiming for a low-key, cunning life.
"Thud!"
At the tenth lap's finish line, Rhett finally collapsed, Black Tide crashing to the ground with a deep rumble that sent nearby seagulls scattering.
Roger scooped him up, laughing heartily. "Ku-ha-ha! Completing the full run on your first day? Not bad!"
"It's… not like that…" Rhett lay limp in the captain's arms, unable to lift a finger. "The last half lap… I crawled…"
The old blacksmith stood at the docks, his pipe glowing faintly. He watched the little figure struggle to his feet and hoist the greatsword once more, a hint of a smile crossing his face.
"Hey, kid," the old blacksmith called out. "Do you know why it's called 'Black Tide'?"
Rhett looked up, his face drenched in sweat, surprised to see the old man here.
"The tide seems slow, but it can wear down the hardest rock," the old blacksmith said, exhaling a puff of smoke. "A greatsword has no edge, yet it achieves perfection through simplicity."
"There's no way I'd just hand it over based on a few words. Of course, I had to see it for myself. Keep it up, kid. I'm rooting for you."
"You just wait, old man. I'll make this sword famous across the seas."
In the days that followed, Rhett's routine became relentless:
At dawn, with the morning mist still lingering, he practiced the most basic slashing techniques.
Under the midday sun, he hung upside down from the mast, Black Tide strapped to his back as he did crunches.
In the moonlight of deep night, he infused the sword with his Haki, nurturing it.
Rhett had never worked so hard before. A promise between men turned out to be the best motivator.