The emerald-green liquid of bio-metal began molding itself according to the preset patterns of the lesser intelligences within it.
In the blink of an eye, the amorphous jelly of green condensed into the towering form of a brand-new, upgraded giant skeletal soldier.
Not only had its height reached nearly eight meters, but its arms and legs had completely abandoned the design of ordinary hands and feet—each limb had reshaped itself into a sharp, conical spear.
At first glance, its four limbs looked less like bones and more like the lances wielded by ancient heavy cavalry.
They were not only unnervingly sharp, but the glint running along the edges revealed that each limb was lined with viciously keen blades.
Furthermore, its chest cavity, skull, and joints had also discarded the old skeletal design, instead sheathed in thick layers of bio-metal—like a warlord clad head-to-toe in heavy armor, exuding an overwhelming aura of menace.
And yet, judging by the protrusions around its joints, it was easy to tell they had been specially crafted—granting the colossus both tremendous protection and startling flexibility.
Taken as a whole, this transformation had completely abandoned long-range combat capabilities, opting instead for a versatile warrior—both offense and defense, both strength and agility in perfect balance.
"Change all you like. It's nothing more than piling on mass. No matter how big it gets, one strike will still split it in half!"
Whitebeard let out a cold snort, already losing interest in this new form.
For to him, this transformation carried no true novelty. It reeked of rigidity—far, far short of the kind of evolution that could alter the flow of battle.
Roya, however, had already seen the true threat hidden in this newly-forged behemoth. But he chose not to speak it aloud.
Some truths had to be faced sooner or later—and the timing right now was perfect.
Just then, a rainbow arc of sword-light slashed across the western horizon, cutting through the sea itself!
It was accompanied by a sharp, commanding voice tinged with arrogance:
"Apologies for being late. Leave this one to me!"
At that flamboyant entrance, everyone instantly knew who it was.
Dracule Mihawk—the very same "Hawk-Eye" who had once been sent by the Navy to challenge Roya, only to be soundly defeated and driven into seclusion.
Whitebeard, who had been about to swing his blade, halted mid-motion, withdrawing his strike as he said with mocking disdain:
"So, the brat finally comes out of hiding. Still as flashy as ever. Looks like my lesson last time was wasted on you."
And yet, for all his words, Whitebeard wasn't blind. He could see the frighteningly condensed energy packed into Mihawk's sword strike. That alone was proof enough that Mihawk now possessed the strength to duel and defeat this skeletal giant singlehandedly.
Otherwise, Whitebeard wouldn't have stopped.
His irritation was aimed less at Mihawk's power, and more at his late arrival—and at his infuriating tendency to appear at the last moment, acting like some aloof master swooping in to finish the job.
The others on the battlefield felt much the same. They sheathed their weapons, holding back their fists and blades, choosing to watch the duel between Mihawk and the giant skeleton unfold.
In truth, many harbored a guilty hope: to witness Mihawk's smugness shattered—to see this habitual show-off get crushed face-first into the sea by the monstrous skeletal giant.
Against Mihawk's vast arc of sword-light, the giant skeleton did not disappoint.
Its left spear-arm trembled—and in the blink of an eye, it shifted, morphing into a massive tower shield large enough to cover its hulking frame.
The surface of the shield was studded with countless diamond facets, each cut to deflect and refract incoming blows. It was a shield tailored precisely to counter long-range slashes like Mihawk's.
Whitebeard gave a slight nod.
"Indeed… this ability to transform instantly—that must be the creature's real trump card. Unless one can surpass its adaptability, breaking its defense will be no easy feat."
Roya only smiled faintly at that.
Meanwhile, Imu's eyes flickered—the blue particles within them twisting into strange ripples, as though she were conducting some secretive, hidden maneuver of her own.
But Mihawk—facing the giant's adaptive defenses—finally unveiled the true result of his seclusion.
The enormous sword-light that seemed born purely for ostentation suddenly split apart!
What had been one colossal blade spanning heaven and earth now fragmented into hundreds of thousands of blades—each ordinary in size, yet together forming a torrential flood of sword-edges, surging like a tidal wave toward the skeletal giant.
Every single blade was like a drop of water in that flood—contributing both overwhelming mass and unstoppable momentum.
And beyond sheer force, they each carried dazzling flexibility.
The blades swerved fluidly around the giant's tower-shield, each carving its own unique trajectory—some stabbing straight, others spinning like drills, others slicing with shearing force.
Even more astonishingly, they worked together like regiments of an army. Each cluster attacked its own sector, striking with the coordination of a vast battalion.
And at last, Mihawk revealed his true form.
Balanced on the cross-shaped pendant-sword that usually hung at his chest, he stood suspended in the air, hands folded behind his back—wrapping himself in an aura of peerless arrogance.
Shanks couldn't help but sneer.
"Ha! And here I thought you'd really mastered flight. Turns out you're just hitching a ride on your sword."
But regardless, the sheer spectacle of Mihawk's entrance rekindled in many hearts the memory of his once-unquestioned title: The World's Greatest Swordsman.
On the battlefield, the skeletal giant's adaptability was staggering.
The instant its left shield was bypassed, its right spear-arm also morphed into a second shield.
But Mihawk's storm of blades was ceaseless, piercing through every seam, flooding between the twin shields to strike within.
Within a single breath, the giant's shields thinned and fused, closing gaps and locking together into a full eggshell barrier, sealing it completely within.
Even so, Mihawk's swords continued to infiltrate, stabbing through the shell.
The giant skeleton, however, was no mere punching bag.
From its chest cavity burst eight thin, whip-like arms—each morphing into sword-blades of their own, slashing at the invading swords within its shell, countering Mihawk's assault.
The onlookers finally let out a collective sigh of relief.
If Mihawk had truly crushed the giant in one move, it would have meant suffering his insufferable arrogance yet again.
But Mihawk only let out a cold snort, his voice dripping disdain:
"Defend? You think you can actually defend against this?"
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