Dozens of meters off the Creed, a strange little boat drifted across the waves. It was shaped like an oversized coffin, green-flamed candles burning on either side of the bow. A black, cross-shaped sail rose at the center—beneath it, a single seat—and upon that seat sat a broad-shouldered man with a sword on his back.
Short black hair. A hard, cold face with hawk-like yellow eyes. A trimmed mustache. White-furred black top hat. Wine-red patterned shirt. A dark coat.
Dracule Mihawk—one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, the world's greatest swordsman.
Creed didn't know his purpose, so he did what he always did: he swept the man's stats.
[Name]: Dracule Mihawk
[Attributes]: Strength: SSSS-, Agility: SSS+, Defense: SSS, Spirit: SSS+
[Abilities]: SSSS- Swordsmanship, SSSS- Armament Haki, Yoru Sword Will SSSS- (empowered by the Supreme Grade blade Yoru), SSS+ Observation Haki, SSS+ Heavy-Cut Technique…
[Overall Power]: SSSS-
The more Creed looked, the more he felt a twinge of surprise. A Yonko typically held at least two SSSS-level attributes or abilities—no, at least four instances across attributes/skills. Mihawk's base attributes had only Strength at SSSS-… yet his abilities hit SSSS- three times.
At this moment, Mihawk might even edge out Akainu as Creed had faced him earlier. Of course, by the time of the Paramount War years later, Akainu would reach his personal peak—then, who stood higher between the two would be hard to say.
With such a fat prize before him, Creed wouldn't let it slip by. He silently commanded, "System, lock him. Extract Yoru Sword Will and SSSS-level Swordsmanship."
"Ding! Target: Dracule Mihawk. Extracting Yoru Sword Will and SSSS-level Swordsmanship. Yoru Sword Will will complete in 20 minutes; without the Supreme Grade blade Yoru's empowerment, Sword Will will downgrade to SSS+. Time required to extract SSSS-level Swordsmanship: 10 hours.
Reminder: Previous extraction 'Kaido's Armament Haki' progress remains at 1/10."
As Creed began the extraction, Redfield stepped forward and called out, loud and clear, "Dracule Mihawk—what business do you have here?"
A connoisseur of sword-dao, Redfield had kept close tabs on the world's top swordsmen ever since leaving Impel Down—especially the man universally acknowledged as number one. He had long since committed Mihawk's face to memory, and recognized him at a glance.
If only they could cross blades…
A spark lit in Redfield's eyes, his sword will stirring restlessly with the thought. Somewhere deep inside, he sensed something he wanted from the man before him—like a bat drawn to its true night.
Mihawk had come for Creed; with his solitary temperament, he had no interest in others. Yet when Redfield stood forth, something answered in kind. Mihawk's gaze didn't slide away.
Redfield was like a blood-cold blade, killing intent chill and pure, the reek of battle clinging to his sword will. It was strong enough that the Supreme Grade black blade, Yoru, shifted faintly on Mihawk's back.
"He's the same as me—a top-tier great swordsman."
Then Mihawk recalled that Creed's vice-captain was known as Redfield—a legendary swordsman from decades past, a terror who once strode the New World alongside Whitebeard and Shiki.
"As expected of a legendary great pirate—and a great swordsman."
Answering Yoru's subtle hum, Mihawk decided to broaden today's "whetstone" from one to two. He wanted to see this Redfield's sword-dao as well.
"It is I. Do I have the honor?"
"It's me," Redfield replied.
"Will you cross swords with me?"
"Gladly."
Their exchange was swift and spare, leaving Perona and Robin—who had hurried up at the commotion—staring at each other.
Strangers, meeting once… and they just decide to fight? Are great swordsmen always this direct?
"Let's move farther out," Redfield suggested. The Creed was made of Adam wood, but even that might not endure a duel between apex swordsmen.
"Fine. When I beat you, Creed—you're next," Mihawk said, raising his voice toward the figure standing on the quarterdeck.
"Eek—!"
Curled on Robin's shoulder, Falkor nearly loosed a blast of crackling dragon breath on the spot. How dare he point at her master so casually?
Redfield vaulted from the rail and skimmed over the sea. Mihawk followed, the two of them stopping some seven to eight hundred meters from the Creed.
Creed didn't budge. With his overall power elevated to SSSS-, his extraction radius had expanded to a full kilometer—no need to step off the ship.
Redfield and Mihawk saluted one another, drew, and faced off.
"As expected—both of them, absolute sword fanatics," Creed mused. He respected their exhilaration at meeting an equal. Truth be told, their devotion to the sword outstripped his; he had too many mixed abilities—and two devil fruits yet to fully develop—to pour himself into pure sword-dao as single-mindedly as they had.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!
After their bows, the probing thrusts began—needles of killing edge stitching the air. In blurs of motion, a hundred points flashed in an instant. Steel sang. Sword auras clashed and boomed, churning the sea for hundreds of meters, piling up wave after heaving wave.
"Sigh… men fighting is so boring. Robin, let's go play in the cabin," Perona yawned, tugging at her sleeve.
"You two go on," Creed said as he came down from the quarterdeck. "I'll keep an eye on the ship."
"Alright, Captain." Robin dipped her head, a little embarrassed, and left with Perona.
Boom-rumble!
Jang! Jang! Jang!
Out there, the real bout erupted. Blades howled. A thousand slashes burst forth, sword aura spraying like meteors, sword will arcing like rainbows until the sea itself was overturned—as if two Sea Kings were tearing at each other's throats.
Even the Creed, seven or eight hundred meters away, felt the spillover. Stray sword auras came knifing in, only to dissolve against the invisible wall of Creed's own sword will. He had sheathed the ship in it; none of the duel's scraps could breach his guard.
And then—suddenly—anomalies began to stir upon that distant sea…
(End of Chapter)
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