The seven-colored sword radiance finally drew back.
Redfield and Brook craned their necks, eager to see who had won—or at least who held the advantage. This bout was, in effect, the contest for the title of World's Greatest Swordsman.
From where they hovered, though, even flying higher to look down on the center, things remained hazy. Neither dared get closer: Creed and Mihawk's sword intents still spanned the sea, light and darkness interweaving everywhere, turning the whole waterscape prismatic and breathtaking.
A reckless step inside could trigger slashes of killing will—or even a storm of sword intent.
At the heart of the battlefield, their gazes made out a "pit" over a dozen li across.
No seawater at all—just a yawning, bottomless void.
There, indelible layers of sword will lingered.
Supreme sword intent—much like a Logia awakening—could persist and not fade. Those lingering wills formed an invisible force, repelling tens of millions of tons of seawater and shaping that hollow basin.
Two figures hung suspended at the pit's center.
Redfield squinted, unable to judge the outcome at a glance. Still, from a few telltale signs, it seemed likely that Mihawk had lost.
Mihawk's black coat and hat had been blasted away; only a tattered pair of shorts clung to him—decidedly bedraggled.
"As expected of the captain—he even made the world's top swordsman taste defeat," Redfield said, genuine admiration in his tone.
"Yohohoho! Then our captain is the new World's Greatest Swordsman!" Brook laughed.
Once Creed and Mihawk returned, Redfield realized how decisive the defeat had been. Creed had fetched Mihawk a set of clothes before coming back, but the skin that remained visible showed several sword scars.
Creed himself was calm, composed—as if nothing had happened.
In this exchange of blades, Creed clearly held the upper hand.
"If not for other matters, I'd probably continue imposing on you a while longer. Meeting Creed—and all of you—has been wonderful. Once I've handled my affairs, I'll come find you again. See you," Mihawk said, not the least bit dejected—if anything, positively elated.
Watching the coffin-shaped boat glide away, Redfield chuckled. "What an interesting man. No wonder he became the world's top swordsman." Happier in defeat than in victory—Mihawk truly was a sword fanatic.
"Our captain should be the new World's Greatest Swordsman, right? To celebrate, how about a victory march?" Brook, far more excitable than the others, was practically buzzing. After nearly half a century of loneliness, he now had comrades—he wanted a lively deck every day.
"Yes! And a banquet while we're at it!"
Creed's proposal made Redfield cover his face. "Captain, we've had a banquet nearly every day this month. We're almost out of supplies. We need to ration until the next island."
"In that case, just red wine. We still have plenty."
"No. Starting today, strict limits on the red. You lot drink great vintages like soda. In under a month you've put away a quarter of my cellar—another round like that and I'll go mad!" Redfield protested without leaving room for negotiation. Like Mihawk, he treasured wine like life itself.
"Then let's do a rum party."
"No problem, captain! I'll get things ready right now!" Redfield bolted off to make arrangements—forgetting, for the moment, his own rationing sermon.
"I don't get what's so good about red wine," Brook muttered. "Stronger liquor is better. Of course, the best is milk—then black tea!" He'd loved alcohol before, but someone had convinced him milk strengthened bones, and as a living skeleton, he now treated milk like a sacred elixir.
Back aboard, everyone busied themselves. Their captain, as usual, enjoyed the fruits of their labor. With free time on his hands, Creed headed to his cabin to digest the "harvest" from his bout with Mihawk.
… … …
Just then, a call came in.
Crocodile—unexpected, and not with good news.
Because his station lay near Big Mom's Totto Land, Katakuri and Cracker had led a force and wiped the base out. He had already linked up with Gecko Moria and was preparing to select a second foothold.
"I see. Then gather intel on Totto Land and draw up the operation plans. Once I arrive, we go to war with Big Mom."
Since their base had been erased, Creed wouldn't be polite—he would choose Charlotte Linlin as the first target.
The Yonko were a tier of their own, yet differences remained within that tier. From earlier probes and attribute reads, Kaido at SSSS+ was undoubtedly the strongest. Charlotte Linlin read SSSS—clearly a notch below Kaido.
Of course, the "strongest man"—if Whitebeard's illness hadn't worsened after Roger's death—should also be SSSS+ at his current peak.
As for Shanks, he would need another meeting to be sure; prior to the system upgrade there had been no SSSS tier or detailed sub-ranks.
Now that Creed himself had reached SSSS, what fear had he of a fellow SSSS—Charlotte Linlin?
Time to settle old scores with the G-C branch, too.
"Understood, captain… sir!" Crocodile froze, then answered with rising excitement—instinctively adding a respectful "sir."
Half the call morphed into Moria's visage as he grabbed the receiver. "C-Captain Creed, attacking Big Mom now isn't wise! We just arrived—we haven't—" His fighting spirit had been crushed by Kaido; hearing Creed talk of assaulting Big Mom shocked him into hurried dissuasion.
"Moria, my mind is made up."
Creed cut the line.
"At last, this 'fifth emperor' steps fully onto the grand stage—to contest the sea with the rest of you…"
Pocketing the Den-Den Mushi, Creed exhaled and looked to the far horizon.
(End of Chapter)
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