Zoro is a man of ambition, yes, but never of vanity. His three-sword style, a curiosity to the untrained eye, is not a gimmick. It is a symbol. A tribute to the one friend he lost and the vow he made beside her grave. When he speaks, it is not to boast. When he draws his blades, it is not to impress. He does not kill for glory, nor seek titles for praise. He walks the path of the sword with the stoicism of an ancient knight, faithful not to kings but to ideals. Honor. Loyalty. Resolve. These are his creeds.

Through Zoro, the sword becomes more than a weapon. It becomes an oath. His greatest battles are not only against enemies with blades of their own, but against the limitations of flesh, of spirit, of fate. When he falls, he rises bloodied but unbroken. When he bleeds, he bleeds not for himself but for his captain, for his crew, for the dream they sail toward. He is not without flaws. He gets lost, he growls, he drinks too much. But these human trappings only polish the myth. They render him more complete, more compelling, more unforgettable.