Anime Girls are Moist

Chapter 1141 1,140: The Tragic Fate of Yamato!

The dust and smoke from Onigashima's fall hung over Wano for a full three days.

Whenever the wind rose, ash mixed with charred fragments drifted down onto the ruined walls of the Flower Capital.

This country, which had lived under the terror of the Beasts Pirates for so long, didn't welcome the victory with the nationwide celebration everyone had imagined.

An inescapable stench of blood lingered in the streets. In the mountains and forests, a near-maddened ferocity lay in wait.

Samurai with swords were everywhere.

There was no joy of liberation in their eyes—only a hatred forged by suffering, burning red-hot.

And that hatred, with nowhere else to go, ultimately fell upon the one person still alive who bore Kaido's name—his daughter, Yamato.

Three days earlier—

The moment Onigashima came crashing down on the outskirts of the Flower Capital, the news of Kaido's death spread across Wano like wildfire.

The first person to crawl out of the island's wreckage was Yamato.

She clutched Oden's diary—its corners frayed from turning, its pages yellowed with age—so tightly her knuckles turned white.

The armor on her body had long since been battered into dents and pits in the fighting, still smeared with blood from cutting through the Beasts Pirates' remaining stragglers.

But her eyes were shockingly bright, as if a fire she'd been hoarding for twenty years was finally blazing out.

She thought: finally.

Kaido was down. Wano was free.

At last, she could stand with the loyal samurai—just like Kozuki Oden in the diary—split open the shackles of this closed-off nation, and lead everyone to the sea they'd yearned for.

She'd even decided what to do first: find the Nine Red Scabbards.

Tell them she wanted to contribute too—to help open Wano's borders.

But what met her wasn't an invitation to fight side by side.

It was a poisoned blade.

"Kaido's bastard!"

The first samurai to recognize her stood atop the rubble, raising a nicked sword and screaming.

The hatred in that voice was like an ice-cold needle, stabbing straight into Yamato's ears—and it still echoed there.

"Kill her! Avenge our fallen comrades—!"

A tidal wave of shouts surged toward her.

Yamato froze on the spot, her mind going completely blank—so blank she even forgot to raise her arms to defend herself.

It wasn't until a cold blade scraped across her cheek, drawing a string of scalding blood, that the biting pain yanked her back to reality.

She stumbled back in a panic, gripping her kanabo so hard her voice shook.

"I'm not your enemy! I'm not like Kaido!"

"I've admired Lord Oden since I was little! I've been fighting Kaido all my life! I want Wano to be free too!"

She explained desperately, trying to tear her heart open and show them everything she'd been hiding.

But the only answer she got was even fiercer abuse.

"Fighting him?"

The samurai at the front took a step forward and spat a mouthful of bloodied phlegm, the hatred in his eyes nearly spilling over.

"You carry that monster's blood. From the day you were born, you should've gone to hell with him!"

"Lord Kozuki Oden? You dare speak his name?"

"You and that animal you call a father destroyed Oden's Wano, slaughtered countless of our people—and now you still dare to pose as righteous?"

"No! I—"

Yamato tried to say more, but a second sword was already chopping down toward her head.

Her defense—her words—were as fragile as paper in the face of the samurai's overwhelming hatred.

From that moment on, she became prey to all of Wano.

For the next three days and nights, she didn't stop for even a second.

From the Flower Capital to Ringo, from Hakumai to Kibi—she fled across Wano's land.

But no matter where she ran, samurai with drawn blades would find her and box her in.

At first, she still forced herself to explain. She only raised her kanabo to block, refusing to strike first—refusing to hurt anyone.

But the samurai wouldn't listen. Every slash aimed for something vital. Every move was meant to kill.

She was driven into fighting back.

Yet every time she knocked someone down, more samurai swarmed in—eyes even harsher, curses even uglier.

"Kaido's leftovers are just as brutal as he was!"

"She's killed so many of our brothers—today she pays in blood!"

"Stop talking! All together—take this monster's head!"

Once, she passed a village that had been mostly destroyed by the Beasts Pirates and tried to stop for a sip of water.

But when the villagers recognized her, they pelted her with stones and swung hoes at her.

An old woman sobbed as she cursed her as a murderer. Children hid behind adults, their eyes full of undisguised fear.

Yamato could only turn and run in humiliation, unable to force out even a single word of explanation.

She ran for three days and three nights—never closed her eyes once, never ate a bite, never even had time to kneel and drink from a mountain spring.

Her armor had been hacked to shreds, hanging off her in pieces, offering no protection at all.

The skin exposed beneath it was crisscrossed with wounds of every depth.

New blood coated old scabs; every movement felt like countless rusty knives sawing into her flesh at once.

Her kanabo had been smashed against so many blades its edges were rolled and battered.

Even the hand gripping it kept spasming from strain—her palm split so deeply the bone showed. The slightest motion sent blood sliding down the length of the club.

Her Haki was long since burned out. She didn't even have the strength left to maintain her hybrid form.

And still, the pursuit never stopped.

In the end, dragging her broken body, she slipped into a dark, damp alley deep within the Flower Capital.

The alley was piled with postwar debris and rotting junk, reeking with a nauseating stench of decay.

Cold rain dripped from the ruined eaves, splashing onto her exposed wounds and sending waves of piercing pain through her.

She pressed her back against a mottled, icy wall and slowly slid down to sit.

She curled up in the deepest part of the alley like a rain-soaked beast with nowhere left to go.

She gulped air in ragged breaths, every inhale thick with the taste of blood.

Her chest felt pinned beneath a boulder weighing a thousand pounds, so heavy she could barely breathe.

Now, she didn't even have the strength to lift a finger.

She raised her head and stared at the narrow strip of gray, lightless sky above the mouth of the alley.

Her eyes were hollow like a dead pond—nothing left of the flame that had burned there three days ago.

Oden's diary in her arms had been soaked and wrinkled by blood and rain. The cover had gone soft and limp, even the writing on it blurred.

Without thinking, she reached out and gently touched the diary.

The moment her fingertips met that familiar cover—one she had rubbed and held so many countless times—an uncontrollable ache surged up her throat, and her eyes reddened instantly.

This diary had once been the only light in her dark life…