Dracule Mihawk, age nineteen.
Perhaps out of respect, the people of the seas had given me the name Hawk Eyes, for the gaze that seemed able to pierce through all things.
By chance, I once earned the acknowledgment of one of the Twelve Supreme Grade Blades—the black blade Yoru. From that day on, I began traveling the world, honing my skill.
Ever since I read in the papers that Gold Roger was going to be executed, I had felt a trace of regret. I had never crossed blades with him.
But my instincts told me this:
Once the Pirate King died, the seas would surely give birth to swordsmen of extraordinary caliber.
And so the man known as Hawk Eyes crossed the Calm Belt from the Grand Line to the East Blue in nothing more than an ordinary little wooden boat.
Time returned to the present.
"Your great-grade blade is impressive."
Holding back the flaming crimson strike of the man before him, Mihawk let his right arm sink slightly under the force of the black blade. His voice carried over the crashing waves, calm, but with a trace of approval.
For a sword to collide with Yoru head-on and come away unharmed, powerful Armament Haki alone was not enough. The blade itself had to be of exceptional quality.
"Your eyes aren't bad either."
Mo Wu never stopped breathing. The crimson flames radiating from his Nichirin Blade burned hotter and hotter.
With Armament Haki layered over it, every clash between their weapons rang out with a clear, piercing note.
"Dance!"
A simple move. No flourish, no deception.
But it was fast.
It was broad.
It was heavy.
And it struck like a mountain.
As the red light burst through the air, Mihawk seemed to feel pressure for the first time.
His right hand trembled ever so slightly. Then, without hesitation, his left hand rose beneath it, and both hands gripped the hilt together.
In that instant, the aura of the swordsman of the sea changed entirely.
With nothing more than a slight tremor of both arms, he threw Mo Wu skyward.
Then Yoru flashed in the sea wind, carving out one profound trajectory after another. From every direction, his offense closed in on Mo Wu, who had been knocked into the air.
"Tch."
Mo Wu met Mihawk's assault with a single slash, borrowing the force to spring even higher. A scorching breath escaped his lips.
His body temperature began to rise.
His pulse thundered faster and faster.
The mark on his forehead flared like living fire, while lightning and flame coiled around his blade.
"Hybrid Breathing: Scorching Thunder."
A sword of thunder and flame descended from the sky. Crimson light and electric arcs split the water that had surged upward to swallow the battlefield.
Bang!
Numbness and searing heat traveled back through Yoru. Armament Haki spread over Mihawk's straining hands as he leaped lightly backward and landed on the prow of his tiny boat.
"Your swordsmanship is excellent."
The admiration in Mihawk's eyes was plain and undisguised.
He stared sharply at the man who had dropped from the sky onto his little boat.
Then, swinging the black blade once more, Mihawk crossed the distance in a single step and arrived before Mo Wu.
The wooden skiff rocked atop the sea.
Within that narrow space, the two men seemed utterly unconstrained.
They exchanged blow after blow, scattering endless shadows of swords across the waves.
At the same time, the sea rose and fell with their battle, and even the surrounding air trembled beneath the force.
Boom!
When their power collided, towering waves rolled upward, spreading outward like walls of water.
The pitch-black Yoru met crimson brilliance.
Mihawk's sharp pupils contracted.
With Observation Haki and the talent of his eyes working in unison, it was as though he saw through everything.
I've seen through the essence of your swing.
The lungs?
With a slight twist of both wrists, Yoru traced a graceful arc through the air, redirecting the crimson Nichirin Blade just enough.
"Too slow."
Mihawk's voice was cold, like a sentence already passed.
What a pity. The sword is fine. The swordsmanship is too.
Yoru flashed like lightning. His right hand trembled, and the black blade stabbed straight for Mo Wu's lungs.
But—
Clang!
The crisp impact rang out like a temple bell over the sea.
"What?"
Even Mihawk was shaken.
He had clearly seized the opening in this man's stance.
"If you have it, don't assume I don't."
A golden light flashed in Mo Wu's eyes as the Transparent World opened fully.
At that moment, every move of the swordsman before him became almost meaningless.
Bang!
As if alive, the Nichirin Blade moved of its own accord and intercepted the strike at exactly the point it arrived. Then it twisted.
In that instant, Mo Wu's monstrous strength exploded.
He knocked the black blade—and Mihawk's hands along with it—high into the air.
"Thunder Breathing, Sixth Form: Rumble and Flash."
A chill breath left his lips, yet the electricity around him crackled like silver serpents, winding around his body of its own accord.
Still, this alone was not enough to decide the match against a man like this.
Mo Wu's eyes widened. His spiritual force surged.
A golden gleam flashed through his pupils.
Mihawk narrowed his eyes in disbelief.
What did he just see?
It was a sun.
Inside that marine's eyes...
...the sun itself seemed to be rising.
Boom!
Then black-red lightning exploded from nowhere.
Even the man called Hawk Eyes, assaulted by such a sudden barrage, faltered for a single instant.
Though it lasted less than a heartbeat, for Mo Wu, it was enough.
A sword strike of unmatched brilliance split the air with rolling heavenly might, aimed straight at Mihawk's throat.
Just like before.
Sword energy danced. Lightning scattered.
The sea surface split open once more, leaving behind a deep scar before the water rushed back in and sealed it shut.
The plumed Western hat flew into the air, spinning slowly in the sea breeze before finally drifting down onto the waves.
With a slight lift of his Nichirin Blade, Mo Wu flicked the fallen hat back up and set it atop Mihawk's head while the swordsman was still numbed by the current.
Ignoring the humiliation and astonishment in those hawk-like eyes, Mo Wu smiled faintly and casually took Yoru from his hands.
"Mihawk, you rely too much on the black blade."
With that, and without looking at the rage growing in Mihawk's gaze, Mo Wu bent his knees and leaped lightly back onto the warship.
Perhaps because he had no desire to see Mihawk dragged off to Impel Down by a bunch of marines.
He raised the black blade in one hand and smiled.
Then his voice rang across the sea like a cannon blast.
"Hawk Eyes Mihawk has died in the East Blue!"
"Men, set sail!"
The marines looked up at the symbol of victory lifted high above them—
the black blade shining beneath the sun.
Naturally, their excitement exploded. Their faces were filled with awe and worship.
"Gah! Just being able to serve under Vice Admiral Mo Wu makes dying worth it!"
"As expected of Lord Zhige! What Hawk Eyes Mihawk? He ought to be called Dog Eyes instead!"
"That's right! Lord Zhige can crush him whenever he wants!"
As the uproar spread across the sea, the warship's departure horn sounded.
Low and majestic, it echoed over the empty ocean.
And all that remained behind was Mihawk, limp in his little wooden boat, unable to move from the lingering numbness of the current.
It was impossible to say how much time passed before feeling slowly returned to his body.
Only then did Mihawk truly understand one fact.
He had lost.
On his very first day in the East Blue, he had lost.
Not only that—he had lost his black blade as well.
The man who took it had sailed off right under his nose on that warship.
And now...
with no sword in his hand...
what could he possibly use to pursue him?
A vicious glint surfaced in Mihawk's eyes.
Why didn't he kill me?
Was he leaving me alive to endure this humiliation?
A complicated look crossed his face. Against his will, his thoughts returned to those eyes he had just seen.
Those eyes were even sharper than his.
Stronger.
More monstrous.
"Yoru..."
Am I still not worthy of you now?
The viciousness faded. Mihawk let out a long breath and stared in the direction the warship had gone, his eyes filled with uncertainty.
And so he sat there like a stone, drifting with the swaying sea in that tiny boat.
Time passed second by second.
As he sat alone, Mihawk replayed the battle in his mind over and over.
Until—
a stray newspaper drifted by before his eyes.
"The Mystery of Golden Lion's Death? Marine Vice Admiral Zhige Mo Wu!"
The hateful face was printed clearly on the water-soaked page.
"Mihawk, you rely too much on the black blade."
Those cold words echoed in his mind again, and the confusion in Mihawk's eyes slowly disappeared.
"Zhige... Mo Wu... is it?"
"I'll take it back. Until then, keep it safe for me, Vice Admiral... Zhige."
The uncertainty was gone.
Only determination remained.
As he was now, merely an ordinary swordsman, he was not worthy of that blade.
Only when he had become the world's greatest swordsman through his own strength...
only then...
would he go and reclaim it.
And at that moment, the man named Mihawk made his vow.
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