A few minutes later.
Issho finally managed to pull himself away from the crowd.
After leaving the casino, he followed his usual routine—heading to a nearby bakery to buy bread, intending to distribute it to the port's poor.
But today, he found someone had already beaten him to it.
Even more surprising, the approach was far more meaningful than simple charity. Recruitment notices had been posted directly in the homeless settlement near the docks.
They weren't offering handouts—they were offering jobs.
The wages were generous by Raven Harbor standards, enough to support not just one person, but an entire family.
Issho instinctively touched the loaf of bread still in his hand as he listened to the bustle in the distance—shouts from foremen recruiting workers echoed through the port.
For a moment, he stood in silence.
He understood all too well: bread could only ease hunger for a day.
But jobs—real work—gave people a reason to stand on their own feet.
"Is this really a port ruled by pirates…?" he muttered to himself.
"Why do the people here seem so much more hopeful than those in the kingdoms I've visited?"
"As long as you work hard… you can live a decent life."
He looked down thoughtfully.
"The Lord of this place, Grayza and Knight Gawain… they're truly something else."
"I really hope I get to see them with my own eyes."
With a quiet sigh, Issho still handed out the bread he brought, then turned toward a tavern.
Snap!
The door creaked open, and the heavy scent of alcohol and the noise of drunken laughter rushed out to greet him.
But Issho's steps paused.
From a corner of the room, he felt a presence—undeniable, sharp, and fierce.
Even though his eyes were long gone, his instincts and his Observation Haki told him: the man in that corner was waiting for him.
"Oh~"
"Is today my lucky day?" Issho chuckled, fingers brushing the cane sword at his side as he walked past the crowd toward the corner table.
As he sat down, a glass of sake was placed in front of him.
"Please," came a calm voice.
It was Gawain.
He had sensed Issho's presence the moment he arrived at Raven Harbor days ago. After all, a powerhouse like Issho—a man chosen by the Navy from among elite candidates like Momosagi and Chaton to become an admiral—wasn't someone to ignore.
Even if he didn't match his predecessors like Aokiji or Akainu in every way, Issho stood near the pinnacle of the world's strength.
Gawain couldn't afford not to take notice.
Still, for now, they weren't enemies. Not yet.
"Sorry for the interruption," Issho said, nodding politely. He picked up the glass, took a sip, then raised his head, his milky eyes seemingly peering straight through Gawain.
"It's a pity I can't see your face—Knight of Raven Harbor, pirate leader, Mr. Gawain."
"You're paying that much attention to me?" Gawain raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly.
"False humility is no different from arrogance. Your spirit blazes like the full moon in a cloudless night—even in a crowd, you shine."
"Honestly, I've never seen a swordsman as formidable as you in the East Blue."
"Well... except for one madman who got bored and came over from the New World just to go 'fishing'."
Issho was momentarily surprised, then replied calmly,
"To earn such praise from you, he must've been something extraordinary."
As he spoke, a faint buzzing sound came from the sword at his side.
It hadn't stirred like this in a long time.
Issho smiled.
"Oh? Sorry about that. Seems this guy is getting excited."
"It's been a while since he's sensed another strong swordsman."
"He's got a blunt personality—if I had to describe it, he's like one of those street enforcers from Wano."
"Irritable and impulsive, but with a burning heart inside."
Gawain's gaze drifted to the sword in Issho's hand.
At first glance, it looked ordinary—simpler even than the Seikō Masamune he carried himself.
But appearances can be deceiving.
"Yakuza Kasen (*Yakuza Firing Line)—one of the Twelve Supreme Grade Blades," Gawain murmured.
The moment the words left his mouth, his own blade began to stir.
If Yakuza Firing Line was like a proud and fiery gang leader, then Seikō Masamune was a bloodthirsty madman.
Issho felt it too—the rising bloodlust from the sword at Gawain's hip. His own fighting spirit stirred in response.
"I had many questions," Issho said, his voice lowering.
"Like, what kind of pirate could make a place like Raven Harbor flourish?"
"What kind of man could make civilians show such hope?"
"But now, I don't need to ask anymore."
He smiled faintly.
"True swordsmen understand each other through battle."
"Mr. Gawain… please enlighten me."
He was answered by a single word, spoken with quiet certainty:
"Gladly."
Gawain stood, paid for the wine, and gestured for Issho to follow.
They headed for the mountain ridge behind Raven Harbor.
Only in such a secluded, rugged terrain could they unleash their true power—without holding back.
Gawain held great respect for the man beside him.
Issho's "color" was a rare purple—an intertwining of red and blue. He embodied the fiery resolve of Akainu and the quiet humanity of Aokiji.
In many ways, Issho represented the future of the Navy—a vision of justice not warped by power or politics, but defined by balance, mercy, and will.
Ten minutes later.
Behind the mountain of Raven Harbor.
Two figures stood silently, facing one another amidst the jagged terrain.
The howling sea breeze rustled the trees, startling birds into flight as it swept through the forest, tugging at their cloaks.
Gawain's gaze fixed on the man before him, and a wave of fighting spirit surged in his chest.
This was nothing like his previous encounter with Hawkeye, where he had been overwhelmingly outmatched.
The aura radiating from Issho told a different story—this was a man standing on equal ground.
He hadn't yet reached the towering strength he would one day show at Dressrosa. But for the Gawain of today, he was the perfect opponent.
Then, without warning—
Clang!
Two overlapping sounds of steel echoed through the air as both swords were drawn.
The force of the unsheathing alone seemed to rip through the wind.
Gawain vanished from sight.
His speed shattered the sound barrier, kicking up a trail of white mist—a clear sign that his body had surpassed the speed of sound.
His physical power had soared, and with it, the deathly aura of his swordsmanship surged as well.
Clang!
Issho reacted just in time, drawing his blade to parry Gawain's strike. The sheer impact knocked him back several meters.
For a moment, the black blade in Issho's hand trembled violently.
It was excited—thrilled by the presence of a worthy rival.
"A high-speed swordsman…?" Issho murmured, his expression growing serious.
"And that sword—no ordinary weapon. I recognize that aura. It's from Wano Country…"
"The Great Grade sword: Seiko Masamune."
"Among Wano's famed blades, it stands apart. Its murderous nature is unmatched—even the most violent sword in Wano's history."
"A kind-hearted man… wielding such a bloodthirsty sword?"
He smiled.
"How interesting. Let me see the will your blade carries!"
In a blur, Issho swung his sword horizontally, accurately intercepting Gawain's next strike.
Sparks scattered through the air like fireworks.
The unleashed sword energy carved savage marks across the surrounding peaks, one slash even cleaving a mountain clean in half.
Boom!
A massive boulder shattered on the ground, splintering into rubble as dust billowed into the sky, engulfing the battlefield.
But the haze didn't last.
A stronger sword aura tore through it like a storm wind, scattering the dust in an instant.
Within the clearing fog, the two warriors clashed again—this time at close range, relentless and fierce.
One moved with blinding speed, pressing the attack with flurries too fast to follow, enhanced by future sight and deadly precision.
A whirlwind of bloodlust.
The other stood firm, relying on calm strength and years of honed skill.
Though his opponent could foresee his moves, Issho's responses were fluid, slipping past danger with unshakable poise.
True mastery was never flashy—it was silent, subtle, and overwhelming.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A rapid barrage of strikes echoed through the mountains.
Issho staggered slightly with each hit, his blade expertly fending off Gawain's onslaught.
But doubt crept into his expression.
"Such brutal swordsmanship… You fight like you intend to tear down everything that stands in your path."
"This doesn't match the man I imagined—the one said to have brought prosperity to Raven Harbor."
"I thought you would be… kind."
"But maybe I was wrong."
"A pirate's territory gives hope, while the world ruled by the Government is drowning in despair."
His voice grew quieter, more uncertain.
Everything he'd seen and heard in Raven Harbor contradicted decades of experience.
If this was right…
Then what did that make the World Government?
Issho gritted his teeth and suddenly roared:
"Why?!"
Clang!
Another exchange. Gawain retreated, appearing dozens of meters away. His sword arm trembled slightly from the repeated clashes.
He rotated his shoulder and spoke evenly:
"So tell me—what exactly sets this port apart from the rest of the world?"
"You've wandered for years, seen the pain of the poor and powerless. Have you found your answer yet?"
Issho didn't reply.
But the grip on his sword tightened.
Boom!
With a sudden burst of force, Gawain leapt back again, landing hundreds of meters away.
He stomped down, crushing the rock beneath his feet, then charged forward like a cannon shot.
"It seems you haven't found your answer!"
"No… it's worse."
"You never truly looked for it. You're blind—not just in your eyes, but in your heart!"
His voice thundered across the battlefield.
Gawain's already blinding speed surged even higher.
His Observation Haki, sharpened to its limit, painted the next three seconds of battle clearly in his mind.
Issho would block his next attack.
Then he'd strike back.
Then repel.
Again.
But Gawain was tired of that game.
Mid-charge, he abruptly halted and slammed down with such force that the stone beneath him shattered.
In that frozen moment—before Issho's swing could finish—Gawain surged forward again, closing the gap in a blur.
Swish!
A streak of blood arced through the air.
Though Issho had tried to dodge, he was just a breath too slow.
Gawain's blade sliced across his cheek, leaving a deep, clean cut—a scar that would never fade.