As Guts and Mihawk advanced towards the center of Grove 27, the already tense atmosphere of Sabaody's port seemed to thicken.
The other Shichibukai, sensing the impending clash, settled into their preferred positions.
Moria, with a low, rumbling chuckle, found a relatively comfortable spot on a large, uprooted tree.
Doflamingo, a wide, unsettling grin plastered on his face, perched himself on a bubble tree branch, his long limbs dangling.
Boa Hancock and her sisters stood regally near a fountain, poised for the spectacle.
Not far away, Sengoku, still grumbling to himself, was attempting to reconnect the Den Den Mushi that Borsalino had taken to call Garp's.
Tsuru stood patiently beside him, her astute eyes observing every detail.
Borsalino was nowhere to be seen - perhaps, having decided the show wasn't worth his time and gone home.
Kuzan, meanwhile, had somehow acquired a ridiculous beach lounge chair and was sprawled across it, sipping a drink, an air of utter nonchalance.
Guts, as he strode forward, suddenly realized his left hand was still clutching the beautifully wrapped gift from Tsuru for Robin.
He turned, looking for a place to put it down.
Before he could decide, Hancock, with an almost imperious grace, stepped close and plucked the gift from his grasp.
"I shall hold this for you, black lobster," she declared, her eyes glinting with mischief.
"And should you, by some shameful display, lose to this... man... I shall personally show this to Robin while detailing every one of your embarrassing mistakes!"
She punctuated her threat by pointing her thumb at Sandersonia, who, to Guts's mild exasperation, was already holding a camera, ready to capture every humiliating moment.
Guts merely sighed, the sound barely audible amidst the distant sounds of the archipelago.
He turned back, positioning himself, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his colossal partner.
With a fluid, practiced motion, he drew the Dragon Slayer, its immense, obsidian blade shimmering menacingly in the full moon's light.
Mihawk, his Yoru already drawn, regarded Guts with his hawk-like gaze.
"Shall we begin?" he inquired, his voice low and calm.
Guts gave a terse nod.
Mihawk, still a considerable distance from Guts, made his first move.
With a deceptively simple swing, he unleashed a slash from Yoru, not directly at Guts, but at the very air itself.
The attack, imbued with a thick, condensed aura of Haki, far beyond his previous 'greeting', was nothing less than Advanced Armament Haki.
It was a skill known only to a precious few, and few who had faced it were still alive to tell the tale.
This deadly air slash, a razor-sharp wave of pure destructive force, shot towards Guts.
It split the very earth it crossed, and sliced the air so fast that it was impossible to catch even with a highly trained eye.
But then, an impossible thing happened.
The attack, aimed perfectly, designed to cleave through anything in its path, passed a few centimeters from Guts's armored form.
Hn? A flicker of genuine confusion crossed Mihawk's face.
Mihawk never missed.
And Guts hadn't even moved.
How had it not hit him? It was utterly baffling.
He tried again, and again, air slashing relentlessly, each attack a perfect projection of his supreme swordsmanship, yet each still missed, passing narrowly by Guts, harmlessly carving through the ground behind him.
Then, Guts made his move.
He seemed to appear instantly before Mihawk, a blur of black steel and monstrous intent.
He brought the Dragon Slayer down in a strong, vertical slash, raw power behind it.
Mihawk instinctively moved to stab, but then his body seemed to split in two, an agonizing sensation, blood spurted from an illusory wound.
He stumbled, rolling instinctively sideways, watching in horror as his mind betrayed him.
He saw himself cut in two, and knew, with a sudden, chilling clarity, that he was not supposed to stab, but Parry and divert his sword's trajectory.
Guts's Dragon Slayer, unhindered, fell, crushing the ground like a meteor, creating a crater, then continued its downward trajectory, aiming for Mihawk once more.
Mihawk's thoughts screamed; he had lost his chance to counter-attack. He was supposed to attack Guts to kill his momentum, but his mind, his instincts, were inexplicably failing him.
He was still desperately gathering his mind, trying to understand why he kept making these fatal mistakes.
The Dragon Slayer came, a relentless force.
Mihawk, with a desperate surge of will, used Yoru to guard, blocking the colossal blade.
The impact sent him flying, so fast he was a streak towards a towering Yarukiman mangrove.
Before crashing, he spun his body in mid-air and kicked the Yarukiman mangrove behind him, propelling himself instantly back towards Guts.
Guts swung the Dragon Slayer horizontally, meeting Yoru in a direct, explosive clash.
The impact was immense, a shockwave that blasted the surrounding area, tearing apart bubbles and cracking the ancient roots of the mangroves.
"Oi oi oi... isn't that a bit too dramatic just to play the senior card?" Doflamingo drawled from his perch, a lazy grin on his face as he tilted his sunglasses down to peer over the rim, utterly entertained.
Both fighters became blurs, vanishing and appearing in a whirlwind of devastating strikes, each clash bringing more destruction to the surrounding environment.
After a moment that stretched into an eternity, Mihawk finally made progress.
Yoru, guided by supreme skill, tore through Guts's throat, a small part of his neck uncovered by the Berserker Armor.
Blood spurted, a dark crimson spray. Only for the blood to instantly evaporate, and the wound to heal instantly, the flesh knitting back together as if it had never been cut.
Guts was like an unstoppable calamity.
He sent a flurry of slashes relentlessly towards Mihawk, his attacks coming without pause.
The other Shichibukai, even Doflamingo, seemed to freeze, their usual arrogance replaced by stunned silence.
Moria stared, his mouth agape. He was sure Mihawk's sword was coated with Advanced Armament Haki; even powerful Devil Fruit abilities should lose their effect against it. Yet, Guts healed.
Hancock, however, knows Guts's capabilities, her eyes gleaming with a strange excitement. She was already urging Sandersonia to take more pictures.
Mihawk, realizing the true nature of the fight, raised his Observation Haki to its absolute limit, desperately trying to repel anything affecting his mind, but to no avail.
He felt like he was fighting underwater, drowning, every move sluggish, every thought clouded.
Guts's attacks never stopped, a relentless tide, not giving him chances to breathe.
Mihawk kept dealing with what should have been fatal blows to Guts's uncovered parts, only for the Devil Swordman to heal instantly, his monstrous body defying all logic.
Mihawk started hallucinating, the air filling with screaming and wailing that were not there, images of his own body being torn apart flashing before his eyes.
His muscles were tearing, his bones cracking with every desperate parry and block.
The strain was immense.
It didn't last much longer.
With a final, desperate parry, Yoru flew from Mihawk's hand, spinning through the air before embedding itself into a distant mangrove.
Mihawk stumbled, defenseless, as the chilling weight of the Dragon Slayer rested firmly on his neck.
He had lost.
Their duel, one that had seemed destined to last for days, had concluded in less than an hour.
"It's all true..." Sengoku mumbled, his mouth hanging wide open, his golden spectacles reflecting the terrifying truth. The rumors about Guts being unkillable... they were all true.
"I lost," Mihawk stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet carrying the weight of an undeniable truth.
He looked at the Dragon Slayer still resting on his neck, then back at Guts's unyielding gaze.
Guts rested his partner on his back then simply gave a slight shake of his head. He then pointed to the small, now perfectly healed, line on his neck where Yoru had torn through moments before.
He turned his back, beginning to walk towards Boa Hancock and her sisters.
"Did you use all your power?" Mihawk called out, his voice sharp with a renewed curiosity.
Guts stopped.
Another silent shake of his head.
Mihawk let out a long, slow sigh, a sound of both frustration and profound understanding.
"I see," he rumbled. "Then, I shall come for another challenge. Be ready."
Guts looked back over his shoulder, a rare, almost feral grin stretching his lips. "Anytime."
Mihawk then strode to retrieve Yoru, pulling it from the mangrove with a soft rasp of steel. As he turned to leave, Tsuru's voice stopped him.
"Dracule Mihawk," she called out, her tone firm. "I need to check you for any corruption affecting you."
Mihawk paused, turning with a quizzical look. "Corruption? What do you mean? I feel nothing."
His face was impassive, betraying no sign of distress.
"Guts is capable of corrupting others," Tsuru explained, her gaze serious. "It's best to be sure."
Mihawk, after a moment's consideration, gave a brief, acknowledging nod.
"Very well." He stood still as Tsuru approached, enveloping him in the translucent, shimmering energy of her Wash-Wash Fruit ability.
To her profound surprise, as the spiritual grime was scrubbed away, only a small amount of corruption affected Mihawk's mind and spirit.
Despite the utter destruction Guts had caused during their clash, despite the terrifying psychological onslaught, it became clear: he had held back a lot.
From his lounge chair, Kuzan let out a long, low whistle, genuinely amazed by the spectacle he had just witnessed.
Sengoku, meanwhile, had a wide, gleeful laugh erupt from deep in his chest.
A profound wave of satisfaction washed over him. In his mind, a new strategy solidified: Finally, someone who can help me watch over these other Shichibukai!
Unseen by most, Crocodile had silently ascended atop a towering Yarukiman branch, his figure almost camouflaged among the leaves. His eyes, fixed on Guts, gleamed with absolute certainty. It's true now, he thought, taking a slow drag from his cigar. The issue Ohara created a weapon... it's not a ship, or an artifact. It's that armor. Guts's armor is that weapon. A weapon capable of making its wearers unkillable.
He would have it.
He must make it his own.
With a final, determined puff of smoke, he vanished, leaving behind only a few grains of sand that quickly dissipated in the wind.
Moria, after watching Mihawk depart, turned his massive frame towards Guts.
"Kishishishi! You and I should be friends, Devil Swordman!" he rumbled, before lumbering off in his direction.
Doflamingo, ever the opportunist, approached Guts with a lazy swing of his limbs. "Fufufu... a fascinating display, Devil Swordman." He slipped a small, elegant business card into Guts's gauntleted hand.
"Should you ever require... specialized services... do give me a call." His mind was already whirring, devising intricate schemes on how to make use of Guts.
Hancock, seeing Guts finally heading towards them, marched forward, her hands on her hips. "Black lobster! You should have gone into your full lobster form! Don't let that man hurt you!" she pouted, completely missing the point of the duel.
Guts simply shook his head. "Mihawk is that good," he grunted, a rare, almost humble acknowledgment.
"And it was only a friendly duel."
With that, Guts, followed by a still complaining Hancock and her sisters, began to walk towards Grove 30, where Gargar awaited them, ready to take them away from the chaotic aftermath of the Warlords' first, memorable gathering.