On the small boat stood a man, posture straight, arms crossed, wearing a cowboy hat.
Strapped to his back was a massive cross-shaped sword.
But what drew the most attention were his eyes—sharp and predatory like a hawk's.
Piercing, suffocating.
The World's Greatest Swordsman—
Dracule Mihawk.
An overwhelming sword aura surged toward Shanks like a breaking dam, slicing the sea before them in two.
A wall of white spray rose as seawater surged to either side.
Shanks smiled, but then his eyes narrowed, turning utterly serious.
A terrifying aura erupted from him in turn, crashing forward like a flood to meet Mihawk's.
Boom! Bang!!
The collision of their wills resounded like thunder.
At the center of the sea, the two forces clashed.
The area roared with energy—sparks burst from the impact, the very magnetic field seemed to twist, and arcs of blue lightning flickered in the air.
Above, the thick clouds split open directly over their clash, revealing a gash of clear blue sky.
The sea's surface sank several meters, forming a massive depression in the water.
But as quickly as the auras came, they faded.
The two men withdrew their pressure. The sea returned to calm, the clouds slowly knitting together again.
If not for the countless Sea Kings floating unconscious on the surface from the clash, one could believe nothing had happened.
The small boat drifted closer, and the hawk-eyed man leapt aboard the pirate ship.
"Yo, Mihawk, long time no see," Shanks greeted.
Mihawk's gaze fell to Shanks' empty left sleeve. "For one of the Yonko, I refuse to believe there's anyone in the East Blue capable of taking your arm. No such man exists in this world. Give me a reason. Why?"
Shanks' mind drifted back. "On my way back, I had a drink with Whitebeard. He asked, 'How could someone like you lose an arm in the East Blue?'"
"I told him: I bet it on the New World."
Looking out at the sparkling sea, Shanks said, "In the East Blue, I saw hope. I saw the hope to topple this decaying world. I gave my left arm to strengthen his resolve—and to teach him what it means to be a man."
"I'm curious… who could make you value them so much?"
"Haha, you'll see in time."
"You're left-handed," Mihawk said. "Losing your left arm must've hurt your strength. Need my help? News of your injury has stirred the New World."
"A bunch of petty scoundrels—why should I care? I've switched to wielding my sword in my right hand. I believe abandoning my left will make me even stronger in the future."
"Oh? Then once you've fully mastered your right hand, we'll have a match. I want to see if your swordsmanship has declined… or improved."
"Speaking of swordsmanship—your title as the World's Greatest Swordsman might not be safe in the future." Inexplicably, the image of Creed came to Shanks' mind.
Truth be told, Creed was a man he couldn't see through.
Aside from his old captain Roger, Creed was the second person who had ever given him that feeling.
When he'd parted ways, Shanks had distinctly sensed a sharp sword aura from Creed.
"Oh?" Mihawk's interest was piqued. "Sounds like you got more than you expected from your trip to the East Blue. I'll look forward to his arrival."
Mihawk gave a faint smile. The title of World's Greatest Swordsman hadn't been given to him—it had been earned by cutting down countless swordmasters. He feared no challenger.
…
(End of Chapter)
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