If Amon had not just released such a terrifying sword strike, and if Mihawk could not still faintly sense sword intent lingering around him, he would have seriously doubted whether this man was even a swordsman at all.
"I can wait," Mihawk said at last.
Amon had not expected Mihawk to be this stubborn about a duel.
"Alright then. Wait if you want."
And with that, he really did turn around and head into the cabin.
...
Halfway through cooking, Amon remembered that a guest was still outside.
He stepped back onto the deck and called down, "Hey, Great Swordsman. Want me to make you a portion too?"
"No need."
Mihawk's life revolved around sword and wine. He had never cared much about food. As long as it filled his stomach, it was good enough.
That was also why he could not understand Amon at all. Refusing a duel just because he wanted to eat first sounded absurd to him.
"No need?" Amon repeated, then smiled. "Alright."
Fine then.
No one escaped the law of true fragrance.
Amon had absolute confidence in his own cooking. Just imagining the world's greatest swordsman getting tormented by the smell of his food was enough to amuse him.
The voyage was long and dull anyway. Teasing Mihawk sounded like a pretty good way to pass the time.
So once he returned to the cabin, he worked even harder.
If it were just lunch for himself, he would have thrown together a few dishes and been done with it.
This time, he made twelve.
By the time the aromas filled the cabin, even Amon felt satisfied before he had taken a bite.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect with rice.
When everything was ready, he began carrying the dishes out one by one.
...
Below the ship, Mihawk was still standing in his little coffin boat, facing Amon's vessel from the water.
He had not even put away the Black Blade Yoru.
His only thought was to wait for Amon to finish eating, then start the duel.
At some point, he also pulled out a piece of bread from behind him. It had already been soaked by the seawater and half-dried again, but he bit into it anyway.
His stomach was starting to complain too.
But while he chewed that damp, tasteless bread and thought about how to challenge Amon properly, a rich fragrance drifted down from the deck above.
Mihawk froze.
This was the first time in his life he had smelled food this fragrant.
He could not help drawing in another breath.
Then another.
...
Amon appeared on the deck at just the right moment, leaning slightly over the railing as he looked down at Mihawk.
"Oh? Dry bread?"
He tilted his head, then corrected himself.
"No, wet bread. Tsk. That looks rough."
He let the words settle before adding, "Want to come up and eat? I made enough for two."
Mihawk glanced at the dishes above, then at the soggy bread in his own hand.
Twelve steaming dishes sat up there, each giving off a different aroma, and from the scent alone, there was clearly good wine too.
Worse, after Mihawk refused again, Amon started eating right in front of him, and not quietly either.
"Mmm. So fragrant."
"This wine tastes excellent."
That was too much.
Mihawk's eyelid twitched.
Who could endure this?
He wanted to say something, but his pride would not let him. He had already said no. If he climbed aboard now, it would be a little too shameless.
So instead, he coughed lightly, trying to draw Amon's attention.
Amon looked over at once, face serious in a way that almost looked sincere.
"Oh? Great Swordsman, are you catching a cold?"
He looked Mihawk up and down, from the damp coat to the wet shirt.
"Makes sense. You got soaked pretty badly. Your clothes are still wet."
"You should take better care of yourself."
Amon was enjoying himself.
He knew exactly what Mihawk wanted, but he had no intention of making it easy. He wanted Mihawk to say it himself.
Then Amon sighed at the table, picked up his cup, and spoke like he was talking to the sea.
"These dishes are too many for one person. It would be nice if someone could sit here and share them with me, drink good wine, eat big mouthfuls of meat…"
He clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"Too bad the Great Swordsman doesn't seem interested in food. If I can't finish it, I'll just toss the rest to the fish."
Then he lifted his eyes and looked straight at Mihawk.
"Right, Great Swordsman?"
Mihawk's face tightened a little.
This man was evil.
He cleared his throat and stroked his mustache, forcing a calm expression.
"It would indeed be a pity. Food and wine like this should be shared with one who understands them."
His tone remained composed, but there was an unmistakable hint in it.
He was regretting it already.
"Exactly. Such a pity. I had even been thinking it would be nice to raise a cup with the world's greatest swordsman."
He shook his head again and sighed on purpose.
"What a shame. A real shame. Once I'm full, I'll throw the leftovers to the fish."
Then, after letting Mihawk suffer a little longer, he casually asked, "I'll ask one more time. Great Swordsman, are you really not coming up?"
Mihawk's eyes sharpened at once.
This time, he was not about to miss it.
He drew a breath and put on a reluctant expression. "Since you insist, then I suppose I can reluctantly…"
Amon immediately lifted a hand. "Ah, reluctantly? Then forget it…"
Mihawk's calm finally cracked.
"No, no, no. I'm very willing. Very willing."
In front of good food and fine wine, the world's greatest swordsman finally surrendered to the truth.
Pride meant nothing if your stomach was empty.
Amon burst out laughing.
"Hahahahaha! If that's the case, then hurry up and get up here. Let's eat and drink."
Toward Mihawk, this world's strongest swordsman, Amon actually had a fairly good impression.
He had no interest in fighting him.
But becoming friends with him, that was another matter.
After all, Amon wanted greater strength so he could protect himself and the people he cared about.
Compared to killing and fighting, sitting together, drinking wine, eating meat, and talking freely was far more satisfying.
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