The Strongest Sword or a Weakling?
Mihawk vs. Rosen
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"Crocodile!"
Dracule Mihawk stared at Crocodile's body lying prone on the ice. One moment the former Warlord was fighting alongside him to assassinate Rosen; the next, he was dead—felled by nothing more than an overwhelming presence.
Even Mihawk, who rarely lost his composure, felt a chill run down his spine.
Conqueror's Haki.
He possessed this power—the mark of a king—and his mastery was exceptional.
Yet, possessing this same power gave Mihawk a clearer understanding of Rosen's aura than even Crocodile could have grasped. Those without Conqueror's Haki saw Rosen's power as a frog at the bottom of a well might see the moon—aware of its existence, but unable to comprehend its true scale.
For Mihawk, who stood at the pinnacle of swordsmanship and wielded Conqueror's Haki, the difference was excruciatingly clear. Rosen's aura was the vast sky itself, and Mihawk's strength—though formidable—was merely a torch against the sun.
"Your turn."
"Dracule Mihawk."
Rosen's voice cut through the air as he turned his gaze from the fallen Crocodile to the world's strongest swordsman.
The desert king was dead. The Unruly King had been crushed by Haki alone.
Now, only Mihawk remained.
Thud.
The single, light gaze fell upon Mihawk, devoid of any obvious intimidation, yet it caused the master swordsman to instinctively step back.
Every Marine present witnessed it. Yet not a single one mocked the retreat—not even Fleet Admiral Sakazuki.
For Sakazuki, who despised weakness above all else, this was a revelation. If an Emperor facing Rosen was like a firefly against the moon, then Rosen himself was the blinding sun. The powerlessness, the crushing despair—it was more terrifying than death itself.
Mihawk possessed both Conqueror's Haki and the Eagle Eyes that could perceive the true nature of things. His despair was magnified tenfold.
And this was after Rosen had exhausted himself resurrecting two hundred Marines—too weak to manifest even a single Zanpakutō, let alone swing one.
What would he be at full power?
"Huff!"
Mihawk took a deep breath, forcibly expelling the despair. He stepped back into position, gripping his black blade, Yoru.
The retreat had been instinct. The sword was will.
"Is that so?"
Rosen's eyes locked onto the swordsman. In their last encounter, Mihawk had been a challenger. Now, he held the title.
"Then come."
"The world's strongest swordsman."
Each word was deliberate, clear.
Mihawk ripped the collar from his neck. The black metal, which had sealed his Devil Fruit and bound his will, shattered under his grip. He was an eagle, not a dog.
Die or be humiliated—but never surrender his pride.
"I am not Crocodile," Mihawk growled, his Eagle Eyes gleaming scarlet.
Black and red lightning erupted from the ground, coiling around his body like writhing serpents. They bound his blade, infusing Yoru with every ounce of his Haki.
"HAAAAH!"
Mihawk lunged forward, dragging a streak of Haki that cleaved the sky itself. He raised the black blade with both hands and brought it down in a single, devastating strike.
Rend the heavens.
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The Unbreakable Wall
Mihawk's slash was the pinnacle of swordsmanship—the embodiment of Conqueror's Haki and blade mastery combined. A wave of destruction that could split mountains.
Rosen didn't move.
No Zanpakutō manifested. No blade was raised. Not even a hand lifted.
But in the instant Mihawk's sword fell, Armament Haki erupted from Rosen's body—not as a shield, but as a presence. Flowing like liquid metal, it formed a paper-thin, semi-transparent wall before him.
BOOM!
The collision was cataclysmic. Shockwaves like missile strikes tore through the ice, vaporizing everything within a kilometer.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Deafening roars echoed as the ground beneath them collapsed into a massive, basin-like crater.
Mihawk's slash—the strongest in the world—struck the wall of Armament Haki.
The impact was like a tsunami crashing against a cliff face. The ice shattered. The air screamed. The very fabric of space seemed to warp.
Yet the wall held.
Not only did it hold—it didn't move.
Mihawk's blade, infused with Conqueror's Haki and all his strength, could not even scratch the surface of that paper-thin barrier.
"My sword..." Mihawk whispered, shock flickering in his hawk-like eyes. "...cannot even reach him anymore?"
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The Gap Widens
Mihawk had been training relentlessly since that day—since his Black Blade, Yoru, had been broken and he was forced to wear the collar.
He fought. He practiced. He honed his swordsmanship to new heights.
His first challenge had been against the strongest in the Marines. His Black Blade had shattered, but his sword had reached his opponent before it broke.
His second challenge—this—was against Rosen, a man so powerful he couldn't even swing a sword.
And now?
He couldn't even touch the man.
The gap hadn't narrowed. It had widened into an uncrossable chasm.
"You are indeed not Crocodile," Rosen acknowledged, his voice flat and cold.
Then, his eyes narrowed slightly.
"However—"
"—even the world's strongest swordsman is just a larger insect."
The words were simple. Direct. Brutal.
"That's all."
As Rosen finished speaking, the cracks in the ice beneath their feet—already fractured by the clash of Haki—began to glow with a deep, thick light.
Not magma.
But something worse.
ROAR!
From the fissures, a surge of Conqueror's Haki erupted like a volcanic eruption. It wasn't a wave—it was a storm of pure will, spewing forth and shooting straight into the sky.
In seconds, the Haki condensed.
Five towering black dragons materialized, blotting out the sun. Each was mountain-sized, radiating an oppressive aura that made the ice groan and the sky tremble.
They circled Mihawk from all sides, their massive heads focused on the swordsman below.
"So heavy..."
Mihawk's hands trembled. The pressure bearing down on him was physical, tangible—a mountain on his shoulders. Yoru, which should have felt like an extension of his own arm, now felt as heavy as Mount Tai.
"Divine Burial—Five Dragons' Annihilation."
Rosen's voice was a judgment.
The five dragons, lurking in the sky with nowhere for Mihawk to run, surged downward simultaneously.
BOOM!
The impact was absolute.
The sky and sea lost their color, swallowed by a deep, suffocating black—the color of annihilation itself.
The Conqueror's Haki shockwave tore through reality, shattering ice like a nuclear bomb obliterating everything within its radius.
As the black light spread, the ice layer—stretching for kilometers—simply disintegrated under the oppressive force.
Inside the sphere of Haki, space twisted and compressed, bending like a pretzel before collapsing into a funnel shape.
CRACK!
Centered on the impact point, a chasm cleaved the ice layer in two.
The battlefield—the entire frozen expanse—was split like a continental plate.
One piece of ice tilted at a forty-five-degree angle, swept up by the sheer force of Haki like a ship caught in a storm. The other piece rose high into the sky, suspended in the air.
Apocalyptic destruction. World-ending power.
Every Marine, from the lowest recruit to the Admirals, watched in stunned silence. They understood in that moment: human will, when pushed to its extreme, could crush all things in the universe.
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The Aftermath
Time passed. An eternity? A minute?
Like a dying star, the sphere of light formed by the five dragons' impact began to dissipate.
Color returned to the world. The sky regained its blue. The sea its endless expanse.
CLANG!
Something fell from the sky.
CRACK!
It embedded itself diagonally in the ice.
A black blade. The world's strongest sword.
Yoru.
Planted obliquely in the ice, its edge humming with faint Haki, its owner—Dracule Mihawk—nowhere to be seen.
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Rosen's Assessment
Rosen stood motionless in the crater, the dust settling around him. His Haki had already begun to recede, the five dragons dissolving into wisps of black energy.
He looked at the blade. Then at the crater where Mihawk had been.
The swordsman was gone—either vaporized entirely or thrown to some distant corner of the battlefield. The collar he had worn was shattered, its fragments scattered across the ice.
"Not bad," Rosen murmured, almost to himself.
Mihawk had survived longer than expected. His Conqueror's Haki was strong—stronger than many of the Yonko's commanders. His will was unbreakable, his swordsmanship peerless.
But it hadn't been enough.
Rosen's Haki Core had been operating at full capacity since the battle began. His Blut Vene—defense through blood vessel Haki infusion—was active constantly. Even in his "exhausted" state, he was still a monster.
"Sir!"
Gion's voice cut through the silence. She stood at the edge of the crater, her expression a mix of awe and concern.
"The other Warlords—are they—"
"Dead. Or fleeing," Rosen cut her off. "Secure the area. The battle is over."
Gion hesitated, her eyes scanning the devastation. "And Admiral Mihawk?"
"He'll be back." Rosen turned away. "When he stops falling."
Behind him, the ice groaned. Somewhere in the distance, a faint sound echoed—metal against ice.
The world's strongest swordsman was still alive.
And he would come for Rosen again.
But next time, Rosen would be at full power.
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