Shanks had made up his mind—this battle would end on his terms.
He steadied his breathing, the grip on his sword tightening as his eyes locked onto his opponent. In his earlier clash with the team leader, he had already proven his superiority in swordsmanship, and his Observation Haki had given him the edge in predicting and reading movements. But he knew, deep down, that he had only been scratching the surface of what he could truly achieve.
He hadn't yet mastered the balance between those two formidable strengths. His Haki had provided him with foresight, but he hadn't been able to fully align that advantage with the precision of his strikes. His attacks were powerful and fast, yes—but not yet perfectly timed, not yet fluid with his perception.
That lack of harmony had prevented him from finishing the fight swiftly.
Now, he was determined to correct that.
As he launched himself forward, body low and sword ready, he focused entirely on synchronizing his awareness with his movements. He could sense every breath the team leader took, every twitch of muscle, every slight shift in stance. He would not just fight—he would overwhelm.
The team leader's eyes narrowed as he saw Shanks charging straight at him.
He wasn't surprised.
In fact, he had anticipated this.
But the team leader had learned a painful lesson during their last exchange: if he allowed himself to be drawn into a direct sword fight with Shanks, the outcome was inevitable. He would be cut down.
With that in mind, he made his decision.
He would avoid direct confrontation and instead rely on what he did best—long-range combat through ninjutsu. That was his only chance to survive.
The team leader, having made up his mind, wasted no time. His hands moved in a rapid blur, weaving a series of precise hand seals with practiced speed. Without hesitation, he unleashed his jutsu.
"Fire Release: Fire Dragon Bullet!" he roared.
From his mouth erupted a massive torrent of flame, forming the head of a blazing dragon as it surged toward Shanks with violent heat. The flames twisted and roared, scorching the ground as they advanced.
But Shanks was already prepared.
Thanks to his Observation Haki, he had sensed the shift in chakra the moment the team leader began forming hand signs. He hadn't acted immediately—he had wanted to gauge what kind of technique the enemy would use. If it had turned out to be a high-tier, wide-area jutsu with real destructive force, he would have dodged.
Even though he was mid-dash, charging toward the enemy at full speed, he had the reflexes and foresight to avoid a lethal blast if necessary.
But the moment he saw the shape of the jutsu—flames forming into a dragon once again—Shanks narrowed his eyes.
"So, another fire technique," he thought. "Just like before."
He recalled the previous attack from the team leader. The flames had licked his body for a brief moment back then, but his Armament Haki had held firm. It had singed his clothes, yes, and stung a little—but it hadn't been truly damaging. Not to someone like him.
"This level of fire... I can endure it," he reasoned calmly. "With my Haki reinforcing my body, I should be able to push through this for a full minute if I need to."
And that minute was all he needed.
Because if he didn't slow down—if he pressed on through the fire like a phantom cloaked in black steel—he would be right on top of the team leader before the man had a chance to unleash another jutsu.
And when he got close enough… there would be no escape.
Having made his decision, Shanks steeled himself. He wasn't going to dodge. There would be no sidestepping, no deflection, and certainly no preemptive counterattack. He would charge straight through the flames—and give the team leader no warning, no reason to retreat, no opportunity to escape.
Once again, his body began to darken—inky black coating his skin and clothes as Armament Haki enveloped him from head to toe. A moment later, he surged forward with incredible speed, a streak of shadow and steel, cutting through the blazing inferno like a blade through silk.
The team leader's eyes widened. He hadn't expected this level of recklessness. Most would have chosen caution, chosen survival. But not Shanks.
Still, the team leader saw an opportunity. A wicked grin formed under his mask as he poured even more chakra into his jutsu, intensifying the flames. The fire dragon roared louder, grew hotter, and lashed violently around Shanks, attempting to engulf him entirely—an inferno meant to incinerate the price of such "foolishness."
But Shanks didn't slow down.
He pressed forward with unwavering determination. The flames licked at his armor of Haki, but they couldn't break through. His steps remained swift, his movements unshaken. Closer. Closer. Ten meters.
The team leader's grin faded.
Realizing his jutsu had failed to stop the charge, he abruptly cut off the chakra flow, letting the fire die out. In a fluid motion, he unsheathed his sword—just in time.
The very next second, metal clashed against metal as Shanks's blade met his, the echo of their collision ringing through the battlefield like a thunderclap.
The team leader gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath, "Damn it!"
His plan to incinerate Shanks within the heart of his fire jutsu had failed—miserably. Not only had Shanks emerged from the blazing inferno, but he had done so completely unscathed.
Smoke still curled from his clothes, which were scorched and tattered, peppered with charred edges and burn holes. But the man beneath the fabric was untouched.
As the last remnants of the Armament Haki faded from his skin, the jet-black coating peeled away like mist dissolving into air, revealing flesh that bore no signs of burns, no injuries, not even a singe.
That was the power of Armament Haki—unyielding, impenetrable, and terrifying in the hands of someone like Shanks.
The team leader's confidence faltered. His most aggressive tactic had done nothing. And now, Shanks was standing right in front of him, alive… and furious.
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