As the challenger and the junior, Mihawk did not bother with empty courtesies.
He attacked first.
A green flying slash tore forward like a blade shaped storm, stretching a full hundred meters. In an instant, it ripped through the entire arena and split the dueling ground clean in two.
The spectators behind Ito Ittosai went pale. Screams exploded, and bodies scattered in every direction.
In a duel between true masters, it did not matter if the arena was larger than Dressrosa's. Watching was often more dangerous than fighting.
At least the ones on the stage had the strength to dodge.
The crowd did not.
A single mistake, a single stray shockwave, and they would be erased without even understanding what killed them.
"Boy, you're far too murderous, and you have no martial decency at all!"
Ito Ittosai's expression tightened. He had no choice but to block. If he did not, there would be a massacre on Hachimangu Shrine's grounds, and the blame would land on him. The reputation of his dojo would be dragged into the mud.
"Itto Style, Unique Sword!"
He shouted, swinging his blade in a flash.
A pale flying slash roared out to meet Mihawk's green wave.
The collision detonated with a violent scream of steel and pressure. The arena that had been built for this duel collapsed instantly, cracking, exploding, and scattering into broken stone.
"It's Master's Unique Sword flying slash!"
Some of the newer disciples shouted in excitement, eyes shining.
They were still far from the level where they could cut the air itself, so seeing a flying slash felt like witnessing a legend.
If they stayed here, trained here, learned from Ito Ittosai, then one day they too could return home as real swordsmen and protect their villages from pirates.
Mihawk did not call out a technique name.
Because he did not have one.
For him, a normal swing was already a killing move.
He surged forward, closing the distance in a blink. The great sword in his hands became a storm of shadows, the air filled with steel afterimages.
Each heavy strike rattled Ito Ittosai's arms to the bone.
Fast.
Fierce.
Clean.
This rookie overlord was powerful, frighteningly so, and his blade work was sharp enough to make even an old great swordsman feel pressure.
"Itto Style, Exquisite Sword!"
Ito Ittosai countered with a killing technique of his own, but still he could not force Mihawk back.
Too quick.
Too adaptable.
Was this brat reading his Itto Style already?
"You have talent," Ito Ittosai growled, eyes narrowing. "Then I can only show you what I truly have!"
His stance shifted.
The atmosphere changed.
"Itto Style, True Sword, Blade Hiking!"
"Itto Style, True Sword, Moon God!"
The techniques he had never taught his students burst out one after another. His movement and control rose sharply, as if he had squeezed every last drop of skill from his aging body.
Even Mihawk felt his own great sword tremble, the weapon tugged off line by forces he had not anticipated.
So this was it.
This old man could break his straightforward style, the overwhelming simplicity of one force crushing all tricks, using skill alone.
Mihawk stopped mid assault, feet sliding back half a step.
Then he watched.
He studied.
His eyes tracked every shift of balance, every angle, every beat of timing, searching for the crack.
"Soft overcoming hard, using little to move much," he murmured, voice low with interest. "This is… worth learning."
Pressure pressed down on him, but Mihawk did not panic.
He grew brighter.
More excited.
This was what he wanted.
A wall that could sharpen him.
A blade that could force him to evolve.
Far from the ring, among the disciples, Ono Tadaaki's face darkened. His expression twisted between shock and resentment.
So the old man still had this much hidden.
So many things he had never passed on.
In a green tinted space, Brook and Umit stood within the world behind the Gate, watching the duel from up close, invisible to the real arena.
The world inside the Gate mirrored reality perfectly, yet the spaces did not touch unless Brook opened a path.
"Master Brook, your judgment is as terrifying as ever," Umit said, unable to hide his awe. "Mihawk is adapting to Ito Ittosai's techniques unbelievably fast. His becoming a great swordsman is basically guaranteed."
Umit stared at the young swordsman with complicated eyes.
Twenty one years old, and already at this level.
No matter how you looked at it, his future was blinding.
He might even be able to challenge for the title of World's Greatest Swordsman.
But then Umit's thoughts drifted to the monsters at the top.
Red Earl. Shiki. And Brook himself.
With people like that in the world, the title was not something you simply took by being talented.
Unless, Umit thought, all the great swordsmen who relied on Devil Fruits disappeared, Mihawk might have a chance to become the pure World's Greatest Swordsman.
Then again…
Was a great swordsman with a Devil Fruit not still a great swordsman?
If you could not defeat them, what right did you have to that crown?
A "pure" title was just an excuse for the weak.
Brook watched for a while, then lost interest.
To him, the level was still slightly short.
He shifted his attention, searching the crowd, searching the shadows beyond the ring.
The Navy would come.
And if any familiar names showed themselves, Brook would not mind capturing them and handing them to the Universal Government.
If any of them carried a Devil Fruit, even better.
Life or death did not matter.
Back in Hachimangu Square, the duel continued to escalate.
Mihawk, already wounded, began to master Ito Ittosai's True Sword style through sheer combat instinct. His sword intent and fighting spirit climbed higher and higher, as if he could break into the realm of a great swordsman at any moment.
His tachi style and Shinto style slowly absorbed the old man's Unique Sword and True Sword. Even his fierce, direct approach began to gain a new shape, a prototype of hardness mixed with softness.
Ito Ittosai's heart chilled.
This was not normal growth.
This was monstrous.
This boy's sword talent is terrifying.
He cannot be allowed to live.
The old man's killing intent surged, thick and ugly.
His Fushato was wrapped in dense Armament Haki.
This was no longer a simple swordsmanship contest.
Ito Ittosai was going to bully Mihawk with Haki.
Observation could be replaced by a swordsman's intuition.
Armament could be replaced by sword aura and sword energy.
But when you fused Armament Haki with sword force and flying slashes, that was the foundation for dominating the New World.
Ito Ittosai did not believe a rookie who had never entered the New World could match him in Armament.
He was going to end this now, with power Mihawk could not answer.
"Itsukushin Style, Sōkodachi Technique, Secret Art…"
His voice dropped into something cold and final.
"Muryou Sword!"
Ito Ittosai raised the massive black blade and unleashed his trump card.
He would not allow Mihawk to use him as a stepping stone.
He would not allow his name to become the foundation of another man's legend.
If you want to sharpen yourself on my corpse?
Dream on.
Mihawk felt the murderous pressure crash over him. His golden ringed pupils tightened.
Then, instead of fear, something fierce erupted.
A will to live, and a will to kill, tangled into one.
His eagle eyes locked onto Ito Ittosai's technique.
Irregular.
Unpredictable.
A sword that seemed to have no form.
Inside the green space, Brook's gaze sharpened, genuinely surprised.
"Interesting."
He had been considering whether he would need to save Mihawk.
It seemed the future World's Greatest Swordsman did not need help at all.
"A swordsman with such terrifying intuition… he's actually brushing the edge of Observation that can glimpse the future."
Brook's lips curled behind the mask.
"That's a frightening gift."
The duel ended in the next breath.
Mihawk took a severe wound, a blade piercing through the right side of his chest. But he twisted his body at the last instant, dodging the strike that would have speared his heart.
Then he countered.
His sword flashed.
Steel cut clean across Ito Ittosai's neck.
At that exact moment, vines and roots surged up at terrifying speed, trying to save the kingdom's greatest swordsman.
--------------
A thin red line bloomed across Ito Ittosai's neck.
Then it split open.
Blood sprayed out in a violent arc.
The greatest swordsman of the Kingdom of Sizkael, the master of Hachimangu Shrine on Okazuru Island, finally released Fushato, the blade still buried in Mihawk's chest. He clamped both hands over his throat in horror, but it was useless. Hot blood kept gushing through his fingers like a broken dam.
Ito Ittosai twitched like a fish thrown onto dry land. His mouth moved, yet no sound came out. His eyes shook, full of disbelief, as his legs gave way and he collapsed.
Mihawk's strike was not just a cut.
Nagawesai had severed the artery, and the sharp sword energy had also punched through his cervical spine. Ito Ittosai lost control of his body completely. He could not even lift a finger to fight back.
His strong physique only made it worse.
It kept him alive long enough to understand what was happening, long enough to drown in despair while he waited for death.
The confident vice admiral from Marine Headquarters did not even react in time to save him.
And Ito Ittosai himself never imagined his ultimate move would be dodged, then answered with an instant kill.
He had been too arrogant.
The moment he believed he had won, his focus loosened for a heartbeat, and in that heartbeat he became nothing more than a stepping stone for a rookie.
As his life drained away, memories flooded in.
The days when he loved the sword with all his heart.
The wandering years, full of pride and youth, challenging warriors across the seas.
The breakthrough into the realm of a great swordsman.
The founding of Hachimangu Shrine.
The applause of nobles.
The gradual rot, the hunger for status, the obsession with power.
He heard the panicked screams of his disciples, then the frantic cries of his son and grandson. He saw the late arriving green vines reaching for him.
Then everything went dark.
Inside the green space, Brook calmly reaped the soul of a great swordsman. When his gaze fell on the thick vines and the roots spreading like a net, his eyes brightened.
So that was it.
Vice Admiral Aramaki of Marine Headquarters.
A Nature type Forest Forest Fruit user.
This Forest Fruit felt even higher tier than the Lush Fruit, with far greater potential.
On the shattered arena, Ono Tadaaki, the eldest disciple of Hachimangu Shrine, rushed forward. On the surface, he looked like he was trying to recover his master's body.
But his eyes were greedy.
They kept darting to Mihawk's severe wounds, and to the two massive swords.
Fushato.
Nagawesai.
If he could snatch both, his strength would soar.
He could even switch to a two sword style, Niten Ichiryu. After all, his master had kept so many techniques hidden. If Ittosai had been unworthy to teach him, then learning from other schools would be perfectly reasonable now.
The teacher was dead.
Aramaki watched Ittosai die in front of him, and irritation flashed through him. Taking over Hachimangu Shrine peacefully just became troublesome.
He was wearing the cloak of justice. He could not simply seize the place by force.
Vines hardened like spears shot down from the air toward Mihawk.
Fleet Admiral Kong might have wanted to recruit Mihawk as a new Warlord, but Aramaki was already furious.
He wanted to drain this pirate dry and turn him into nutrients.
Mihawk stared at the incoming vines. The wound through his chest stole his strength, making every breath heavy. He could only retreat, barely avoiding the lethal strikes.
He had no choice now.
He could only entrust his life to that big shot.
So joining that man's organization might not be a loss after all. At least I won't die today.
Is this what it feels like, being protected?
Not having to worry about being hunted down the moment you are exhausted or injured?
Just as the vines were about to pierce Mihawk's body, a door opened in the air.
A void split open.
A man in a black robe stepped out, wearing a ridiculous smiling mask.
He casually reached out and caught the vines with one hand.
Cold spread instantly, crawling over the dense roots and branches like frost, locking them in place.
"Yohoho, why is there a big sharp knife growing out of you?" Brook chuckled. "Fine, I'll help you take it out."
He grabbed Fushato and yanked.
Hard.
The massive blade tore free from Mihawk's chest. Blood splashed, but the moment it left the wound, it froze under Brook's cold energy.
Brook tossed several Jack level Blood Crystal Dandelions at Mihawk.
"This level will do. You're not worth the Roger, Kaido, or Oden ones yet."
Mihawk did not hesitate. He swallowed the blood crystals like they were nothing.
The hole in his chest began to close at a speed visible to the naked eye. The deathly pallor on his face faded, color returning as his breathing steadied.
Aramaki, meanwhile, froze the instant the masked man appeared.
A terrifying sense of crisis tightened his skin.
Cold sweat rolled down his forehead.
This was not just pressure.
This was great terror.
The aura alone was heavier than Admiral Kong's, and the life force was so vast that even Aramaki, a Nature user who embodied vitality itself, felt ashamed.
He did not need time to guess the identity.
One of the Six Hell Kings of the Hell Pirates, or…
The Pirate Overlord Brook.
Retreat.
That was Aramaki's first thought.
The moment he saw that invincible figure, Aramaki scattered seed clones in every direction and transformed his body into forest.
As long as a single root, a single vine, even a single seed survived, he could be reborn.
Nature itself did not die.
Ono Tadaaki also stopped dead.
What was happening?
Why were monsters like this interfering in a duel between his master and Mihawk?
His dream of snatching two great swords shattered in an instant.
He did not waste another breath.
He spun around and ran.
A battle at this level was not something a weakling like him could even watch safely. He would wait until these giants left, then he would take Hachimangu Shrine from Ito Sawakoshi.
Brook watched Aramaki flee so decisively and felt genuine admiration.
Decisive. Practical. Not like the naive, rigid kind of "proper" Marine.
He looked at the dandelion fluff and the countless seeds drifting on the wind, and his interest in the Forest Fruit's survival tricks grew even stronger.
"Vice Admiral Aramaki," Brook said, his smiling mask facing the forest. "Are you interested in becoming a candidate admiral for the new navy under the Universal Government?"
He had not expected this man to join the World Government's navy in the first place.
A face formed on the trunk of a massive tree, Aramaki's expression carved with fear.
"Which Hell Kings are you?" he demanded. "Or are you… Brook himself?"
Even as he spoke, his mind was screaming escape.
Those seeds should have already drifted far away.
He should have been safe.
But Brook seemed to see through him.
Dark matter poured out like a tide, spreading into a curtain of black sky that swallowed the entire Hachimangu Shrine area.
In an instant, every last seed was intercepted.
.....
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