Raising Legends in Roger’s Shadow

The moment the wooden door to the forge creaked open, a wave of heat surged out.

Inside, an elderly blacksmith with snow-white hair was hammering a glowing slab of metal, sparks flying with every strike.

"Take your time looking around, kid," the old man grumbled without raising his head. "I don't take commissions anymore. If you find something you like, buy it. If not, I couldn't care less."

Ritter's eyes were immediately drawn to a massive greatsword hanging on the wall it was pitch-black from hilt to tip, with a blade nearly nine inches wide.

"This sword…" His eyes lit up, and he found himself walking toward it, completely entranced.

The blacksmith finally glanced up and fixed his sharp gaze on Ritter. "That sword's no toy, brat. Get lost if you're here to mess around."

"I'm not playing!" Ritter retorted, not backing down. "I'm serious. I really want a heavy sword for my weapon."

Roger sauntered over and gave a low whistle. "Oh? Now that's a sword with character."

The old man gave a snort. "That's my finest work. I call it Black Tide. Made from a rare material I stumbled upon in my youth. Most people can't even lift it."

Ritter swallowed hard at the mention of its weight but he wouldn't back down. "Let me try."

The blacksmith gave a mocking chuckle. "Sure. If you can lift it, it's yours."

Ritter took a deep breath and wrapped both hands around the hilt.

"Ugh… it's so heavy!"

The blade didn't move an inch.

Jabba burst into laughter. "Give it up, kid. You're way too scrawny to even lift that thing."

Rayleigh frowned slightly. "That kind of weight isn't suited for a child."

But Roger rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "Ritter, try using Armament Haki."

The blacksmith's eyes flickered with surprise. This five or six-year-old boy… could use Armament Haki?

Ritter blinked, then nodded. He closed his eyes, channeling his strength, and gradually wrapped both arms in a thin layer of Armament Haki.

"Raaahhh—!"

Black Tide finally lifted off the rack but Ritter's arms trembled violently.

The old man squinted. "…Interesting little brat."

Roger grinned. "So, old man? That sword belongs to him now?"

The blacksmith was silent for a moment, then let out a sigh. "…Fine. Leaving it here only lets it collect dust. If you can lift it, you can have it."

Ritter's eyes widened in disbelief. "Really?!"

The old blacksmith turned toward the furnace, waving a hand without looking back. "Remember swords can be weapons, but they can also be partners. Don't let it down. Its name is Black Tide. Can you make its name known across the seas?"

Now Ritter understood why Captain Roger had made that solemn promise to Uncle Tom.

It was the kind of promise one man makes to another.

Clutching Black Tide in his arms, Ritter met the old man's back with unwavering eyes. "I'll make sure this sword becomes famous across the Grand Line. That's my promise."

The old man chuckled heartily. "I believe you. Go on then. I'm retired now. That sword is my finest creation and my final one. I'll be keeping an eye on you."

With Black Tide now his, Ritter strapped it to his back. He had to get used to the weight as soon as possible.

He began running ten laps around Water 7 with the sword on his back. What used to be a breeze now felt like a marathon.

Even with his monstrous stamina, Ritter was soon drenched in sweat. At nearly six years old, he might be in the One Piece world with naturally denser muscle, but he still weighed only about sixty pounds.

And this sword wasn't light by any stretch.

If Ritter weren't a transmigrator with a few cheats, Black Tide might've crushed him flat. Forget using it in combat just carrying it around would be a nightmare for most people.

But Ritter wasn't discouraged. He believed that once he could wield Black Tide like an extension of himself, his combat power would soar.

Just look at how Lola transformed Luffy into Nightmare Luffy. That giant sword required eight seasoned pirates to lift it Black Tide couldn't be that much lighter.

Ritter's feet sank into the stone streets of Water 7's harbor. The blade taller than him by far pressed down on him like a mountain.

He couldn't help but think about the protagonists from all those other transmigration stories. By age four or five, they were already towering over grown men.

But here he was still just a little bean sprout.

"N…ninth lap…" Ritter panted, his vision going dark at the edges. Even with Armament Haki cushioning the pressure, the straps binding Black Tide to his back were digging painfully into his shoulders.

The good news was, Ritter could now maintain low-level Armament Haki almost constantly.

Jabba leaned against a railing, munching an apple. "Hey kid, want me to hold that thing for a bit? Take a break. The sword's already yours it's not going anywhere."

"No… thanks!" Ritter growled through gritted teeth, his legs like lead. "This is a promise between two men!"

Up on a rooftop, Rayleigh watched silently, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

He noticed that even though Ritter's steps were heavy, each stride was perfectly measured down to the inch. The kid was using Observation Haki to control every single muscle fiber.

Rayleigh couldn't help but chuckle. "With that level of precision and awareness, you could've been a fencer. Why pick a greatsword?"

But Ritter had thought it through.

Sure, if he used a rapier or a fencing foil, he could make full use of his fine control. But heavy swords had their own appeal: they consumed more stamina and moved slower, but they packed tremendous power and demanded superior physical fitness.

Stamina wasn't something Ritter ever worried about.

As for the sluggish swings, his Fog-Fog Fruit would compensate.

Against anyone of equal strength, Ritter was confident that no one could take a clean hit from him and stay standing unless they specialized in raw physical power like he did.

And if you asked whether swordsmanship was supposed to be bold and straightforward…

Well, he had a Logia-type devil fruit. Why the hell would he fight fair? If he didn't use Black Tide to beat people with sneak attacks, he'd be letting himself down. He wasn't about brute force he was about strategic treachery.

THUD!

At the finish line of the tenth lap, Ritter finally collapsed face-first. Sword and all.

Black Tide hit the ground with a dull boom, startling the nearby seagulls into flight.

Roger laughed and scooped him up. "Kuahahaha! You actually made it through the whole thing on day one? Not bad!"

"N… not really…" Ritter mumbled, completely limp in the captain's arms. "I crawled the last half lap…"

At the far end of the dock, the old blacksmith stood quietly, pipe glowing faintly.

He watched the tiny figure struggle to rise, then lift Black Tide once again.

A faint smile played at the corners of his lips.

"Hey, kid," he suddenly called out. "You know why it's called Black Tide?"

Ritter looked up, face dripping with sweat. He hadn't expected the old man to be here.

"The tide might look slow… but it wears down the hardest rock," the old man said, blowing a smoke ring. "A heavy blade doesn't need an edge. True mastery lies in subtlety."

"You think I'd hand over my masterpiece just 'cause of a few words?" he added with a snort. "Of course I had to come see for myself. I'm counting on you, brat."

Ritter grinned, eyes blazing. "Just wait, old man. I'll make Black Tide a legend."

From that day forward, Ritter trained in the courtyard he lived in:

At dawn, when the morning mist hadn't lifted, he practiced the most basic slashing motions.

At noon, under the blistering sun, he hung upside down from the mast with Black Tide strapped on, doing crunches.

At night, beneath the pale moonlight, he used his Haki to nourish the sword.

Ritter had never worked so hard before.

Turns out, the promise between two men was the best kind of motivation.

Forget the cheap "honey trap" tactics of seduction this was the real one:

"I can't go on… take my dreams… and go see the world for me. I believe in you."