Chapter 50: The Black Blade's Shadow
Sunny's pov
The sea had gone eerily silent, a hush falling over the waves like a thick blanket smothering all sound. Not even the gulls dared to cry out, their usual squawking complaints silenced by an oppressive presence that hung in the air, thick and unyielding. The salty breeze carried a chill that had nothing to do with the weather, and from the shattered, splintered wreckage of Don Krieg's once-mighty flagship, a small, coffin-shaped boat drifted lazily into view. It cut through the debris like a shadow gliding over water, unhurried and inevitable. Upon it stood a man cloaked in black, his wide-brimmed hat casting deep shadows over his sharp, angular features. On his back rested the largest sword anyone had ever laid eyes on—a monstrous black blade that seemed to absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it, exuding an aura of pure, unadulterated menace.
Dracule Mihawk. The man known far and wide as the greatest swordsman in the world. His golden eyes gleamed like those of a hawk spotting prey from miles away, cold and calculating, piercing through the chaos without a flicker of emotion.
The survivors of Krieg's crew—those few ragged souls who hadn't already been claimed by the sea—gasped in unison, their faces draining of color as recognition hit them like a cannonball to the gut. They scrambled across the floating wreckage, slipping on wet planks and tripping over ropes in their panic. Krieg himself, the armored pirate lord who had boasted of conquering the Grand Line, cursed under his breath, his voice cracking with uncharacteristic fear. "Run! Get the hell away from him! That's Mihawk—the Hawk-Eyes! He'll cut us all down!"
But it was far too late for escape. The pirates' desperate attempts to rally or flee were pathetic, like ants scurrying before a boot. Mihawk didn't even bother to acknowledge their terror. With a single, almost casual swing of his blade—Yoru, the legendary black sword—he carved through the fleeing remnants of the pirate ships as if they were made of paper. The air whistled with the sheer force of the stroke, and the sea itself seemed to split apart, waves crashing outward in violent sprays that drenched the Baratie's deck. Ships shattered in halves with deafening cracks, wooden hulls splintering into jagged fragments, masts toppling like felled trees. Men were thrown overboard in droves, their screams piercing the air before being swallowed by the churning saltwater, blood mixing with the foam in gruesome swirls. None survived the stroke. The once-formidable fleet was reduced to floating rubble in mere seconds.
One strike… and an entire fleet is gone. The thought echoed in Sunny's mind as he watched from the Baratie's deck, his sharp martial artist's eyes taking in every detail—the effortless arc of the blade, the lack of strain in Mihawk's posture, the way the water parted as if in reverence. It wasn't just power; it was mastery, honed to a razor's edge.
Mihawk didn't so much as glance at the carnage he'd wrought, as if erasing a fleet from existence was no more noteworthy than swatting a fly. His golden eyes turned, instead, toward the deck of the Baratie—locking onto Zoro with an intensity that made the air feel heavier, pressing down on everyone's shoulders.
"You," Mihawk said quietly, his voice carrying across the water as though the ocean itself bore it on gentle waves, smooth and uninflected. "You are the one making noise… the one who dares to brandish swords with ambition. Speak your name, boy."
Zoro stepped forward without hesitation, his face pale but his eyes blazing with unquenchable determination. He raised all three swords into his signature stance, the blades glinting in the sunlight like fangs bared for battle. "Roronoa Zoro. My dream is to become the world's greatest swordsman. If I cannot surpass you here and now, then that dream is worthless. I'll stake everything on this fight!"
The crew watched in stunned silence, the weight of Zoro's words hanging like storm clouds. Lucy's jaw dropped comically, her eyes wide as saucers. "Whoa, Zoro! You're really gonna take on Scary-Eyes with that toothpick attitude? Go get 'em! But, uh, don't die, okay? I still owe you a butt-kicking for eating my last cookie!"
Usopp, peeking from behind a barrel with his knees knocking together, whimpered. "This is insane! That guy's sword is bigger than our ship! Zoro, think about this—retreat is a valid strategy! I, the great Captain Usopp, approve of living to fight another day!"
Sanji lit a cigarette with trembling hands, exhaling a cloud of smoke to mask his concern. "Tch. The moss-head's finally bitten off more than he can chew. If he gets sliced up, who's gonna clean up the mess? Not me, that's for sure."
Johnny and Yosaku, Zoro's self-proclaimed bounty hunter fanboys, stood nearby with stars in their eyes despite the terror. Johnny pumped his fist. "Big bro Zoro! You've got this! Show that hawk what a real pirate hunter looks like!" Yosaku nodded vigorously, his bandana slipping slightly. "Yeah! We'll back you up if he plays dirty! Though, uh, from way back here!"
Mihawk studied Zoro for a long, agonizing moment, his expression unchanging. Then, with a faint, almost imperceptible smile that didn't reach his eyes, he reached not for the massive Yoru on his back, but for a small cross-shaped dagger that hung innocently around his neck like a pendant.
Lucy's jaw dropped even further, nearly hitting the deck. "Oi! What the hell?! He's fighting Zoro with a pocketknife!? That's like bringing a spoon to a sword fight! Is this guy mocking us or just really cheap on weapons?"
Nami slapped her forehead, groaning. "This is humiliating. Zoro, don't let him toy with you like that!"
"Don't mock me!" Zoro roared, his pride ignited like a powder keg. He charged forward with ferocious speed, his muscles coiling as he unleashed his attack. "Santoryu… Oni Giri!"
The three blades slashed down with devastating force, the air humming with the power behind them—a move that had felled countless foes before. But Mihawk hadn't even shifted his stance. With a casual flick, he caught all three swords effortlessly on that tiny cross-knife, the clash ringing out like a bell. He looked almost bored, as if parrying a child's tantrum.
Sunny's sharp martial eyes tracked the duel with intense focus, analyzing every nuance. No wasted movement. Every angle precise. He isn't just defending—he's teaching Zoro his insignificance. The way Mihawk held the dagger, it was a lesson in humility, forcing Zoro to confront the vast chasm between them.
Zoro pressed on relentlessly, strike after strike raining down in a barrage of steel and sweat. Beads of perspiration dripped from his brow, his veins straining against his skin as he poured everything into each blow. But every single one was parried with a single, effortless flick of Mihawk's wrist, the dagger dancing like it had a mind of its own.
"Why do you falter before a small blade?" Mihawk asked calmly, his voice steady amid the chaos. "Draw your full strength. Or do you fear the weight of my true sword? Show me the ambition you claim."
Zoro snarled, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but his eyes burned brighter. "Don't underestimate me! I won't hold back!" He pushed off the deck with explosive force, leaping high into the air for his finishing move. "Three Sword Style—Tatsu Maki!"
The whirlwind slash tore through the air like a tornado, ripping up planks from the Baratie's deck in splintering bursts. Wood chips flew everywhere, and the crew ducked for cover—Usopp yelping as a shard whizzed past his nose. "Watch the aim, Zoro! I'm too young to be collateral damage!"
Johnny and Yosaku cheered wildly. Johnny: "That's our big bro! Spin him into next week!" Yosaku: "Yeah! Make him regret that tiny knife—turn it into a pretzel!"
Mihawk raised his dagger once more, the tiny blade gleaming mockingly—then, finally, he sighed, a sound of mild disappointment. "I see. Very well. If this is your limit, then witness the true gap."
With deliberate grace, he sheathed the tiny cross back around his neck and reached for the massive blade upon his back. Yoru, the Black Sword, was drawn free with a low, ominous hum that vibrated through the air. The sunlight seemed to dim as it shimmered, the blade's edge so sharp it cut the very wind. The air grew heavier still; even Lucy swallowed nervously, her usual bravado faltering. "Uh… that's a big sword. Zoro, you sure about this? I mean, I could lend you my slingshot or something…"
Sanji muttered under his breath, "Idiot marimo… if he dies, I'm not cooking his funeral feast."
Nami gripped the railing, her knuckles white. "Sunny… this is bad. That sword… it's like it's alive."
Sunny nodded subtly, his own senses on high alert. "Yeah. But Zoro won't back down. That's his strength—and his stupidity."
The clash was instantaneous, a blur of motion that ended in one resounding impossibility. Yoru swung in a wide, elegant arc, meeting Zoro's whirlwind with overwhelming force. Zoro's swords shattered beneath the impact, fragments of steel exploding outward like shrapnel. The black edge carved across his chest in a clean, lethal cut, blood spraying in a vivid arc that painted the deck red. Zoro fell to his knees, gasping, his body trembling but refusing to fully collapse, sheer willpower holding him upright.
Lucy's scream tore from her throat, high-pitched and raw. "ZORO!! No, no, no! Get up, you green-haired dummy! You promised me a rematch!"
Usopp wailed, covering his eyes. "He's done for! We're all done for! That hawk guy's gonna turn us into sushi next!"
Johnny and Yosaku froze in horror. Johnny: "Big bro… no way…" Yosaku: "He… he took that hit like a champ, but… that's gotta hurt!"
But Mihawk lowered his blade slowly, his golden eyes narrowing with a faint glimmer of approval—rare praise from such a man. "You have courage… and pride. Enough to face death head on. In this vast world, that is no small thing."
Zoro gritted his teeth, blood trickling from his lips as he forced his battered body upright one last time. He turned his head—not toward Mihawk, but toward Lucy, his voice cracking but ringing clear with unbreakable resolve. "Lucy… from this moment on… I swear to you… I will never lose again! To anyone! Not until I stand at the top!"
Lucy's eyes burned with tears, but her grin was fierce and watery, a mix of sorrow and pride. "You'd better not, or I'll kick your ass in the afterlife! And haunt you with bad jokes forever!"
With that final vow, Zoro's strength gave out, and he collapsed face-first onto the deck, blood pooling beneath him in a stark crimson stain.
Sunny was already there in a flash, his movements a blur of efficiency as he knelt beside the fallen swordsman. "Kuso…" Sunny hissed under his breath, his hands pressing into Zoro's skin with pinpoint precision. A series of rapid taps—knocking points along Zoro's chest, neck, abdomen, and key meridians—followed in quick succession. Each strike was calculated, drawing on Bang's fluid martial arts for rhythm and Jirō's deep anatomical knowledge for accuracy. Blood flow slowed to a trickle, pain dulled as nerves were temporarily numbed, and vital energy redirected to stabilize the wounds. It was like conducting an orchestra of the body, every tap a note in a symphony of survival.
Zoro jerked slightly, groaning through clenched teeth. "W-what are you—ow! That stings, you bastard…"
"Shut up," Sunny snapped, his focus unbroken as his fingers danced across pressure points. "If you want to die, do it later. I'm keeping you alive whether you like it or not." His strikes were clean, fluid, a perfect blend of Bang's graceful, water-like martial fluidity and Jirō's surgical precision—targeting arteries to clot, muscles to relax, and organs to protect. Sweat beaded on Sunny's brow from the concentration, but within moments, Zoro's bleeding eased dramatically, his ragged breaths steadying into a shallow but stable rhythm. He was still unconscious, his body a mess of cuts and bruises, but alive—defying the lethal intent of Yoru's edge.
The crew erupted into a mix of relief and chaos. Lucy dropped to her knees beside Zoro, clutching his hand tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks but her voice steady. "You hear that, Zoro? Sunny's got you. No dying today, okay?
Sanji rushed over, cigarette dangling forgotten from his lips. "Damn it, marimo… you had us all worried. If you kick the bucket, who's gonna argue with me over stupid stuff?" He knelt to help, wrapping makeshift bandages with surprising gentleness.
Usopp emerged from his barrel, fanning himself dramatically. "Phew! That was close! I thought we were gonna have to rename the ship 'Zoro's Memorial Merry' or something. Sunny, you're a miracle worker—teach me that knocking thing so I can fix my own panic attacks!"
Nami hovered nearby, her hands clasped tightly, relief washing over her features. "Idiot… all of you. But… good job, Sunny. I don't know what we'd do without you." Her voice softened, a hint of warmth breaking through the worry.
Johnny and Yosaku crowded in, Johnny slapping Zoro's shoulder lightly—earning a glare from Sunny. "Big bro's tougher than nails! That scar's gonna be epic—chicks dig scars!" Yosaku nodded, wiping a tear. "Yeah! We'll tell everyone how you almost beat the world's best! Almost…"
Sunny exhaled deeply, sitting back on his heels as the adrenaline faded, sweat on his brow. That was close… too close. One wrong tap, and Zoro would've been gone. But the swordsman's willpower had bought him time—enough for Sunny's techniques to work their magic.
Mihawk watched the scene unfold silently from his boat, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he sheathed Yoru with a soft click that echoed across the water. "Live, swordsman. Grow stronger. When you can reach this blade, seek me again." His eyes swept over Sunny for the briefest instant, a flicker of intrigue in those golden depths, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips. "And you… you have dangerous eyes. A fighter who stands outside the sword's path, yet walks beside it. Curious. Perhaps our paths will cross in more interesting ways."
With that enigmatic parting, he stepped fully onto his coffin boat, the vessel turning smoothly as if guided by unseen hands. In moments, he was gone, swallowed by the sea's vast horizon, leaving only ripples in his wake.
The silence left behind was broken by Lucy's voice, shaky but determined. "Zoro's alive, right?! Sunny! Tell me he's gonna be okay!"
Sunny sighed, wiping his hands on his pants as he stood. "He'll live. Thanks to his stubbornness… and a little knocking magic. But he's gonna need rest—and probably a lot of grog to numb the pain when he wakes up."
Lucy knelt closer, still clutching Zoro's hand, her smile trembling through the tears. "You idiot… don't scare me like that again. Next time, let Sunny fight the scary guys first!"
The crew gathered close—Sanji muttering curses under his breath while preparing a quick meal to aid recovery, Nami relieved but quietly shaken as she organized bandages, Usopp spinning tall tales of his "brave support" from afar, Johnny and Yosaku boasting about Zoro's "epic stand" to anyone who'd listen. The vow Zoro had made hung in the air like a promise etched in steel, binding them all tighter than ever.
For the first time, Sunny felt the weight of it too. Zoro's dream wasn't just his own anymore. It belonged to all of them—the crew, the ship, the endless sea ahead.
And as the waves carried Mihawk's shadow into the distance, Sunny knew their journey had only just begun.