As Garp's words fell, both Kizaru and Tsuru turned their gazes toward the battlefield.
The once grand Human Auction House in the lawless zone was now half a ruin. Enel's lightning hadn't struck this exact area, but it hardly mattered—Rosinante had practically torn the place apart himself.
He swung his long blade with fierce precision. Each motion unleashed cutting gales of sword aura that ripped through the ground, sending massive slashes carving through nearby buildings. One after another, structures split apart, debris scattering like paper in a storm.
But when those same slashes met Silvers Rayleigh, they seemed laughably fragile.
Rayleigh also held a long sword. With a faint flick of his wrist, Rocinante's attacks shattered mid-air like glass under a hammer.
Then—flash. Rosinante vanished and reappeared beside him, blade whispering through the air in a silent arc aimed at Rayleigh's neck.
Steel met steel. With effortless grace, Rayleigh turned his wrist and parried. A quick twist, a counterstroke—and in a heartbeat, Rosinante's form faltered, his rhythm broken, his once-smooth attacks turned desperate and defensive.
Before the Dark King, Rosinante's swordsmanship looked like that of a child swinging a toy.
"Not bad for a warm-up, huh? Rosinante looks like a rookie out there," Kizaru drawled lazily, the corners of his lips lifting in mock amusement.
"You idiot," Garp snorted. "That's not because Rayleigh's too strong—it's because Rocinante's swordsmanship is third-rate."
"Oh, I see… so you're saying I got injured by third-rate swordsmanship, huh?" Kizaru threw up his hands in mock despair.
Tsuru chuckled softly. "Judging by his form, yes, his swordsmanship isn't refined enough to be called that of a true swordsman. But when combined with his Devil Fruit powers, he's dangerous. Right now, he's just unlucky to be facing one of the world's top swordsmen. Against anyone else, his style would be lethal."
Just as Tsuru finished speaking, Rocinante's presence shifted. His entire body seemed to blur into nothingness—a state of absolute silence. Then—
Slash.
A single strike. Silent, invisible, faster than thought.
Rayleigh's eyes widened slightly. For a split second, even the legendary Dark King didn't react. Then, relying purely on instinct, he raised his blade—clang!—blocking Rosinante's death blow at the very last instant.
"That's the move that beat you before, isn't it?" Garp said with a grin. "Tch… all his swordplay's trash, except for that one trick. It's fast, silent, deadly—but only because of his ability. The swordsmanship itself is still third-rate."
Kizaru smirked. "Fine, fine. I admit it—his swordsmanship's rough. But that power of his? If you let your guard down even for a moment, you'll pay for it."
Garp raised an eyebrow. "Guard down? What's that supposed to mean?"
"…Forget I said anything," Kizaru muttered, sighing helplessly.
Meanwhile, on the field, Rayleigh sheathed his sword with a smooth motion. "Alright. I understand now where your problem lies."
"My problem?" Rosinante asked, catching his breath. "With my current understanding of power and combat, improving my swordsmanship shouldn't be so difficult. Why can't I break through?"
Rayleigh's answer came calm and sharp as a blade: "Your foundation."
"My foundation?" Rocinante frowned. "You're saying my basics aren't solid?"
It didn't make sense to him. Since crossing into this world, he'd lived by the sword. To survive, he'd trained endlessly. With no teacher, he built himself from scratch—years upon years of repetition, training his fundamentals until they became second nature.
"No," Rayleigh said with a faint smile. "Not lacking—misaligned."
"Misaligned?" Rosinante echoed, puzzled. "How can the basics be misaligned?"
"You taught yourself, didn't you?" Rayleigh asked.
"Yes. Back then, I had no one to guide me, so I learned whatever I could on my own."
Rayleigh nodded. "That's the problem. Your swordsmanship doesn't follow any school or lineage. It's based on instinct—efficient, simple, lethal. That kind of style is perfect for killing… but not for growing. You built your fundamentals with an assassin's mindset. Every movement you honed was made for silent execution, not true combat."
He paused, his tone turning serious. "In this world, even assassins can become swordmasters—but not if their foundation is crooked. The basics exist for a reason—they are the roots from which all true swordsmanship grows. Once your roots twist, you'll never reach the sky. You can kill—but you'll never master the sword."
Rosinante was silent for a long moment, processing the words. Then he asked quietly, "Can it be corrected?"
Rayleigh sighed. "You've trained those flawed basics into your very bones. Fixing them won't be easy. The only way is to start over—relearn the foundation from scratch. If you're truly determined, I can teach you."
Rosinante nodded without hesitation. "Then I'll be in your care."
He had wielded a blade for more than ten years. Abandoning all that progress would be painful—but not as painful as stagnation. So, under Rayleigh's guidance, Rosinante began retraining from the very beginning—stance, breath, motion. The foundation of the sword.
Kizaru tilted his head, watching from afar. "Wow~ training sword basics right before a war. He's got confidence, I'll give him that."
"They've been preparing for this all along," Garp said quietly, eyes glinting as he looked toward the shifting figures flickering through space on the other side of the lawless zone.
Kizaru whistled. "That's a lot of wormholes~ terrifying, really."
Tsuru's expression hardened. "Such a dense network of spatial coordinates… it covers the entire lawless zone. If used properly, the Grey Nation could trap every enemy that enters."
"Inform Sengoku," Garp ordered coldly. "Tell him not to interfere. Once those portals finish linking up, anyone who steps foot in that zone is as good as dead."
Kizaru raised an eyebrow. "You really think it's that bad?"
"With those wormholes," Garp said darkly, "and their enhanced weaponry… even if the entire Marine Headquarters invaded, we'd still have no chance."
Tsuru exhaled softly. "So Rosinante's truly prepared to win this war."
Garp nodded. "Unless monsters like Whitebeard or Kaido show up… he's already won. Most won't even see his face before they're wiped out."
Kizaru's playful smirk finally faded. "…That bad?"
"Bad enough that even Kuzan's sniper cover couldn't hold it off. Anyone else walking into that field is walking to their death," Garp said grimly, standing to leave.
Kizaru and Tsuru exchanged a look. For once, neither had a quip to offer. They cast one last uneasy glance toward the countless glowing wormhole markers dotting the lawless zone—then quietly turned away.
The storm was coming.
And this time, even the Marines would rather watch from the shore.