The wooden branch lay snapped in the mud, a reminder of my failure. Brogy was right. A weapon is just a messenger, and mine was too weak for the news I was trying to send.
I looked at my hands. They were calloused and shaking from the vibration of the giant's shield, but they were the only things on this island that wouldn't snap under my own power. I didn't need to throw the sword away; I needed to master the fist so I would never have to rely on a stick again.
"I'm not dropping the blade, Brogy," I muttered, tucking the broken hilt into my belt. "I'm just making sure my hands are deadlier than the wood."
Dorry watched me from across the flames. "GABABABA! A warrior who carries both is a warrior who never runs out of options. If you can't throw a punch that shakes the air, you'll never survive the Grand Line."
I stood in the clearing, but I wasn't just hitting things anymore. To move with that level of speed in a world where the gravity felt heavier and the enemies were mountains, my body needed to be tougher.
"You have the form, Haon," Dorry said, walking over with a massive length of rusted anchor chain he'd scavenged from a shipwreck. "But your bones are still too light. You move like a feather, but you need to hit like a falling star."
He draped the chain over my shoulders. It felt like a building had just collapsed on me. My knees buckled, and I felt the air leave my lungs. Each link was as thick as my waist.
"Now," Dorry commanded, pointing toward the steep, muddy slope of the central volcano. "Climb. If you stop, the weight will crush you. If you run, you'll break your ankles. You must learn to carry the world while you fight it. A man who cannot shoulder his own weight will never shoulder the weight of a king."
I began the ascent. Every step was a battle. My muscles felt like they were tearing and rebuilding with every inch I gained. I closed my eyes, trying to focus. I didn't want to just brawl; I wanted the refined, invisible strikes I knew were possible.
I stopped fighting the weight and started looking for the balance in my own stride. I adjusted my stance even under the chain, standing as tall as the pressure allowed. I shifted my weight, moving with a light rhythm despite the tons of iron dragging behind me. I was learning how to generate power from the ground up.
By the time I reached the first ridge, my breath was a ragged hiss. I dropped the chain and turned to a massive, moss-covered boulder. I didn't use brute force. I used the rotation I'd perfected during the climb, snapping my hip at the last second.
WHACK.
A chunk of stone shattered instantly. My bones felt denser and harder, forged by the pressure of the climb.
"You're finally getting it, Haon," Brogy yelled, walking toward me as I came back down. He dropped his axe and balled his hand into a fist larger than my entire torso. "Stop hitting the surface. If you want to move a mountain, you have to find its center. Do not strike with your arm; strike with your soul."
"Then show me the center, Brogy," I said, my voice cold.
Brogy didn't wait. He stepped forward, and the ground groaned. He threw a simple, straight punch. The air in front of his fist compressed, creating a wall of wind that hit me before his hand even arrived.
I didn't run. I remembered a truth I'd heard before: "Power comes in response to a need, not a desire. You have to create that need."
I moved. I didn't just dodge; I moved into his blind spot while he was mid-swing. I was so fast it looked like I had vanished. I appeared right under his outstretched arm, my body coiled like a spring.
I drove a precise, high-speed kick into the side of Brogy's knee, then followed up with a flurry of strikes to his ribs. I wasn't aiming for the muscle; I was aiming for the joints.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Brogy let out a sharp "Oof!" and actually took a full step back, his eyes wide. "GABABABA! I couldn't even see those hits! Your strikes have weight now!"
He brought his other hand down in a massive hammer-fist. I didn't dive away this time. I parried the side of his wrist with my palm, using his own momentum to slide past him.
"You're fast, kid," Brogy grunted, looking down at me with respect. "But remember: A man who fears nothing is a man who loves nothing. Use your fear. Let it sharpen you, but never let it stop you."
I stood my ground, my hands held low in a relaxed pose. I was breathing heavily, but my eyes never left his.
"I'm not just fast, Brogy," I said, wiping blood from my lip. "I'm the one who's going to stand at the top. I'll carry whatever weight I have to."
Dorry laughed, leaning on his sword. "He's forged the iron in his blood today! But rest now, Haon. Tomorrow, we see if you can do that while holding a blade."
I looked at my hands. They were steady. The training was working. I was finally becoming the fighter I needed to be.