Taiyo stood alone in the forge, the sacred materials from Kouzaburou laid before him. These weren't ordinary metals—these were remnants of Wano's ancient legacy, saved across decades for a craftsman worthy of forging something legendary. And now, they had found their smith.
He began by melting the materials, using the same secret techniques he had mastered through creating Gekkōken and Kurokiba. But this time was different. This wasn't just swordsmithing—it was a ritual.
With the first strike of the hammer, Taiyo invoked Sun Breathing.
He poured everything into each blow—his skill, his strength, his will. He struck at a speed of 1,500 times per second, a rhythm no human eye could follow, faster than thought, faster than instinct. The metal rang out like a song of creation, resonating with something deep and ancient. Flames erupted from the steel—not an ordinary forge fire, but something far greater. Flames as hot as the core of the sun, radiating not just heat, but life.
As his hammer fell endlessly, something deeper awakened within him. His breath, once calm and controlled, became pure force. His muscles trembled—not from fatigue, but from holding together the sheer will he was pouring into the blade.
And then it happened.
A pressure filled the forge—Conqueror's Haki.
Unconscious, wild, and overpowering. It erupted from Taiyo without restraint. The entire forge trembled. The walls cracked. Birds dropped from the sky in a wide radius. Yet Taiyo didn't notice—he was beyond awareness. Beyond limits.
In that moment, Taiyo became something more.
The Will of the Sun God Nika—the liberator of the oppressed, the breaker of chains—manifested through his strikes. Flame coiled around his body, golden and divine. His every blow carried the weight of freedom, joy, and unyielding hope. His hammer was no longer just shaping metal—it was sculpting a miracle.
Days passed. Weeks. Months.
Three entire months.
No sleep. No food. No water. Just raw, unshakable willpower.
His body withered. His right arm thinned, nearly skeletal—but it still struck with the same monstrous force, powered by the burning spirit within him. The very essence of Sun Breathing, combined with awakened Haki and the mythical energy of Nika, fueled his every moment.
And then—finally—the metal changed.
The massive batch of ore, enough to create ten Great Grade blades, had been consumed by the process. In the end, there remained only enough for a single sword.
A nodachi, longer and broader than a katana. Forged for a warrior who would fight not just enemies, but fate itself.
The blade glowed a radiant crimson red, like the rising sun over the Grand Line. Along its surface, a mark shimmered—a perfect replica of the symbol on Taiyo's face, etched not by hand, but by sheer willpower and spiritual fire.
The forge fell silent.
Taiyo stood still, eyes dim from exhaustion—but in his hands, he held something divine.
A sword not meant for this world.
A sword born from the flames of hope.
A blade that would one day cut through fate itself.
And though it was unnamed—for now—it already had a destiny.
The moment Taiyo had waited for finally arrived. The sword was complete. With his body on the brink of collapse and his spirit still blazing, he lowered the blade into the special oil Kouzaburou had provided. As the red-hot steel met the liquid, a sound echoed—deep, rhythmic, and unmistakable. It was the Drum of Liberation.
It wasn't the original rhythm that came with the Mythical Zoan fruit now eaten by Luffy. No—this was different. It was a memory, an echo of freedom passed down among the people. A drumbeat born not from a fruit, but from the hopes of the oppressed, whispered through generations. A people's song for a better world.
But then, the rhythm changed.
Black flames erupted from the sword's surface, consuming the entire blade in divine fire—the flames of Amaterasu. The will of Nika vanished, replaced by another presence. The sword no longer sang the song of the Drum God, but danced with the breath of the Sun itself—the breath of Hinokami Kagura.
The fire was beyond heat. It was transcendent, divine. As Taiyo touched the hilt, the intensity threatened to incinerate him, but he did not release his grip. He was the sword's creator, and he would not be subdued by his creation. He would not ask permission. He would prove his worth.
As the flames clashed against his soul, his Conqueror's Haki erupted. The forge trembled as two wills collided—Taiyo's and the blade's. The sword, now housing the essence of something divine, resisted. It tested him, challenged him, as if to say: Only the Sun itself can hold me.
The struggle reached a stalemate.
Then, just for a fraction of a second, the sword faltered.
That was all Taiyo needed.
In a burst of raw spiritual force, his Conqueror's Haki surged like a solar flare, pushing past the resistance and flooding into the blade. To Taiyo, it was simple dominance. But if any seasoned Haki master had been watching, they would have warned him: You're offering too much. This sword will take everything if you let it.
But Taiyo didn't care.
He gave everything.
And then—it submitted.
The flames dulled to a steady, burning glow. The sword, once wild and unbound, now pulsed in sync with Taiyo's breath. It had acknowledged him. It had accepted him. It was no longer just a weapon—it was a part of him.
Taiyo smiled faintly. He had done it.
He had forged the strongest sword the world of One Piece had ever seen—a weapon capable of cutting down tyrants, liberating nations, and answering only to its maker, and its name is Zanka No Taichi, Longsword of the Remnant Flame.
Then, his body gave out.
He collapsed where he stood, fainting from the unimaginable toll. His right arm, now completely marked with the Sun Seal, still clutched the sword. The blade radiated heat like an ember, though it hadn't yet been swung.
Far away in his house, Kouzaburou felt the shift in the air—Taiyo's breathing had stilled.
Alarmed, the old swordsmith rushed toward the forge.
When he arrived, what he saw stopped him in his tracks. Taiyo was barely recognizable—thin to the bone, his body pushed to its absolute limit after three months of forging without rest, food, or sleep. Kouzaburou reached out, heart pounding, prepared to give aid.
But before he could touch him, a gentle wave of butterflies emerged from Taiyo's body.
They fluttered around him, glowing faintly, then vanished into the air, healing his body in an instant. The divine fatigue was gone. His muscles were restored. But his mind, which was still recovering from months of sustained willpower and spiritual exertion, remained deep in slumber.
Kouzaburou knelt beside him, eyes wide—not with fear, but awe.