Capítulo 251: Chapter 251
It had been close to ten months since the World Government revealed the existence of the Ancient Weapon, and in those months, the world had undergone a profound transformation. I had secluded myself in East Blue, diving into relentless training alongside Mihawk and the rest of my crew.
Of all those I trained with, it was Lucci who showed the greatest improvement. His mastery of the Mythical Dragon Zoan fruit had been nothing short of extraordinary. His physique had now reached a level akin to Kaido's, and sometimes, I wondered if he might even surpass Kaido one day.
Lucci's foundation was rock solid, and with Dora as his sparring partner, he was growing at an alarming rate. The hellish training I put him through was brutal, but Lucci never once complained.
Unlike Smoker, who constantly grumbled about the harsh conditions, Lucci had a singular focus on becoming stronger. His tenacity made me suspect that he might possess Conqueror's Haki, but so far, he had shown no signs of wielding the Supreme Color.
It wasn't just Lucci who was progressing, though. Miyamoto, Dora, Smoker, even Leo, and Mansherry were all showing remarkable growth. With Mansherry's healing powers, I could push them through extreme, nearly fatal training without worrying about their recovery.
Recruiting Mansherry had been a masterstroke. With her on our side, the efficiency of our training had multiplied at least a dozen times. Injuries that would have taken months to heal were now fixed in a matter of days, if not hours.
This allowed us to continuously train without the hindrance of long recovery periods. Every member of our group was growing exponentially.
While we trained in relative peace, the world outside was anything but calm. In the New World, the power structure had shifted dramatically.
The Donquixote Family had solidified its status as one of the reigning overlords, with Doflamingo earning the title of Emperor. He had claimed his place among the overlords of the sea. Rumor had it that I, too, had gained a few more monikers, such as the 'Shadow Emperor.'
I didn't care much for titles, though. What mattered to me and the crew was building our strength. We were in a rare period of relative peace, and we intended to make the best of it.
However, the New World had become a swirling vortex of chaos. The power vacuum left by Big Mom and Golden Lion Shiki had thrown everything into disarray. Their once-mighty territories were being carved up by other forces. Kaido, in particular, had been aggressively annexing their former domains.
The remnants of the Big Mom Pirates were in shambles, struggling to survive under the relentless onslaught. Charlotte Smoothie had initially tried to defend the remnants of their empire but was no match for Kaido's overwhelming strength.
It was only through Katakuri's timely intervention that they managed to escape, though they vanished soon after. Many began to doubt whether Big Mom was truly dead. If Katakuri, who had been reported dead after the destruction of the Sorbet Kingdom, could survive, there was a chance that Big Mom was still alive as well.
Currently, the New World was ruled by three recognized Emperors: Edward Newgate, known as Whitebeard, 'The Heavenly Demon' Donquixote Doflamingo, and 'Hundred Beasts' Kaido. Yet amidst this volatile balance, a new force had emerged—one that even the Emperors were starting to take notice of.
A faction of fifty elite giants had reformed the Giant Pirates, and they were wreaking havoc across the New World. Their power was immense, and their actions bold. They had begun systematically destroying one Marine base after another, as well as hidden World Government research facilities, further weakening the already tenuous control that the Marines held over the New World.
Their most audacious move had been a direct assault on Enies Lobby, one of the World Government's three strongholds, sending shockwaves through the entire world.
The World Times reported on the true motivation behind the Giant Pirates' resurgence. They claimed it had something to do with an ancient grudge, a vendetta against the World Government.
This new faction was making waves that couldn't be ignored. Even the Marines were struggling to contain them. What was most shocking was how the World Times, a relatively new newspaper, had now surpassed Morgans' Big News in terms of circulation and influence. It had become the go-to source for information, and its reporting was uncannily accurate.
Despite the World Government's best efforts to ban the paper, it continued to circulate, seemingly unstoppable.
The World Government was visibly uneasy. The looming threat of a second Ancient Weapon had them on edge, and they were hesitant to make any drastic moves. Even their attempts to infiltrate Dressrosa and uncover Doflamingo's secrets had proven futile.
The Government had no idea of the power at our disposal, nor did they realize the true extent of Shyarly's abilities. Her foresight allowed us to stay one step ahead of any potential threat, and her vigilant watch over Dressrosa meant that anyone who entered our territory with ill intent was essentially walking into their own demise.
I knew that sooner or later, our time would come. The chaos in the New World was only a prelude to what was coming next. The World Government was scrambling, the Marines were weakening, and new forces were rising.
In the midst of all this, we were growing stronger, ready to claim our place in the world. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: when the dust settled, we would be among the last ones standing.
*******
Unnamed Island , East Blue
"You really were trying to kill me, weren't you?" Mihawk huffed, battered and bruised, his chest heaving from the intensity of the spar. Blood oozed from a deep slash running across his torso, the wound exposing his ribs. Yet, despite the near-fatal injury, there was no anger in his golden eyes—only the unmistakable glint of thrill.
His shirt hung in shreds, revealing a muscular, scar-riddled torso, each scar a testament to the brutal training sessions we'd undergone in the past few months. Sweat dripped from his face, mixing with blood, but the man before me didn't falter. This was the world's greatest swordsman, and each scar was a badge of honor.
The months we had spent training together had pushed Mihawk far beyond what anyone thought possible. Every battle between us had brought him to the brink of death, but with each encounter, Mihawk grew stronger, sharper.
The gash now bleeding profusely across his chest was a reminder of how relentless I had been today. Still, Mihawk stood tall, ignoring the pain, his eyes locked onto Yoru—the mighty black blade now glistening in the aftermath of our clash.
Yoru had finally transformed into a full-fledged black blade, something few swordsmen ever accomplished. It was a mark of Mihawk's dedication and the depths of his mastery, but even so, today he had failed to defeat me. It was clear to me now that Mihawk had already surpassed the level of the Admirals.
His strength, precision, and willpower had all reached new heights. But still, when it came to facing me, he couldn't yet match me blow for blow. Our battles were fierce, and each one revealed more about the depths of swordsmanship that even we had yet to fully grasp.
Despite my own power, Mihawk's skill had driven me to new limits, forcing me to evolve just as much.
"Well, you did ask me not to hold back," I teased, sheathing Shusui back into its scabbard. The air was still heavy from our battle, the echoes of our blades ringing across the landscape.
The last attack had torn through the entire chain of islands we were fighting on, leaving massive scars on the earth. If Mihawk hadn't taken the brunt of the damage, the islands would have been obliterated entirely.
A wry smirk crossed Mihawk's face, though he said nothing in response. The usual stoic expression he wore betrayed the slightest flicker of disappointment, not at the pain or the wounds, but at not having forced me to use my other blade—Akatsuki.
His eyes, sharp as ever, darted to my hip, where the blade rested, still sheathed. Akatsuki hummed with latent energy, a sword with an insatiable thirst that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Mihawk's curiosity toward it had only grown in recent months, and his desire to face it was clear.
"You still think I'm not ready to face your other blade?" Mihawk's voice was hoarse, filled with exhaustion but laced with determination. His upper body was bare, covered in cuts and bruises, but none as grievous as the fresh wound from our last exchange.
Still, his posture remained proud. Despite the blood dripping from him, despite the hundreds of scars he'd earned during these past months of training, Mihawk was never one to show weakness. Even now, with his clothes in tatters and blood staining the earth beneath him, he stood tall.
I chuckled, brushing off some of the dust from my own battle-worn attire. Mihawk was relentless, but Akatsuki was not just any ordinary blade. The sword was unlike anything else I had ever wielded, possessing a will of its own.
I had come to realize that as much as I controlled the sword, it also controlled me. And until I could fully master it, there was no telling what havoc it could unleash in a spar—especially with someone I considered a friend and a brother.
"Not yet, Mihawk. Maybe once you surpass your current level, we'll consider it. But for now, Akatsuki stays sheathed."
Mihawk, clearly disappointed but not deterred, slumped to the ground, utterly spent. He exhaled sharply, his body finally allowing itself a moment of respite after the grueling exchange. His fingers gingerly pressed against the gash in his chest, the blood seeping through his fingertips.
The wound was deep, but Mihawk had suffered worse, and he treated it like an afterthought, more concerned with the progress he had made—or hadn't.
As he sat on the ground, Mihawk glanced at me, his usually sharp gaze slightly dulled by fatigue.
"So," he said slowly, his breath labored. "Have you thought any more about what I told you earlier?"
I knew what he was referring to. For weeks now, Mihawk had been hinting at his growing desire to take on even greater challenges, to push the boundaries of his swordsmanship even further. He wanted to know if I was considering the same—to go beyond even the legends we were already becoming.
"I have," I replied, walking over to where he sat, offering a hand to help him up. He hesitated for a moment, then accepted it. "But that doesn't mean I'm in a rush. There's still so much more we can learn. The limits we've seen in swordsmanship—they're not real. We've already surpassed what most believe possible, but I think there's more. A lot more."
Mihawk nodded, his breathing still heavy as he glanced once again at the black blade in his hand. Yoru, now fully awakened, seemed to pulse with power in response to his touch. But even with that immense strength, Mihawk had yet to fully overcome me, and that burned at him.
"You've come far, Mihawk," I said, my tone serious. "Farther than most could ever dream. But we're not done yet. And when the time is right, you'll face Akatsuki. But trust me when I say—when that happens, it won't be like anything you've ever experienced."
Mihawk wiped some of the blood from his chest and gave me a sideways glance. "I look forward to it," he muttered, his lips curling into a small, almost imperceptible grin. The thrill of the fight still hadn't left his eyes.
"So, have you thought about what I told you?" I asked, watching Mihawk wince. I couldn't tell if it was from the pain of the wound still oozing blood on his chest or from the weight of the question I had posed to him earlier.
Mihawk frowned, his face a mask of contemplation. "You mean... taking a disciple of my own?" His voice held an edge of uncertainty. The idea clearly unsettled him, not because of the responsibility, but because Mihawk—Dracule Mihawk, the greatest swordsman genius in the world—didn't consider himself ready for such a task.
To him, perfection in the way of the sword was a constant pursuit, an endless horizon, and the idea of teaching someone while still on that journey seemed like a distraction. The irony wasn't lost on me, though. The man revered as a sword god was hesitant to pass on his knowledge, fearing his own imperfections.
"And the disciple you're suggesting isn't even born yet," Mihawk added, his tone sharp as ever.
"Tell me, Ross, why are you so adamant that I take on a child who hasn't even entered this world? And what makes you so sure that the child will follow the path of the sword?"
His skepticism was understandable. Mihawk had always been a solitary figure, a lone maverick who carved his way through the world on his own terms. The idea of taking on a disciple seemed contrary to his very nature, especially when that disciple was still just a hope, an unborn possibility. But perhaps that's why it intrigued me even more. I smiled, knowing Mihawk well enough to push him in directions he wouldn't otherwise explore.
"Well," I said with a chuckle, "let's be honest, Mihawk. The way things are going, you're never going to beat me. Not today, not tomorrow, and not even in the distant future. So I figured I should at least give you a chance—a real one—by asking you to train a disciple who might stand a chance at surpassing my own. As your friend, I owe you that, don't I?"
I grinned teasingly, watching the tension rise in Mihawk's shoulders. His golden eyes narrowed in response. Before I could blink, he threw a punch at me—forgetting momentarily that his chest was still a bloody mess from our earlier fight.
I dodged easily, stepping aside just in time to avoid his fist. The force of his movement tore open his wound even more, and Mihawk winced, clutching his chest as blood seeped through his fingers.
"Damn it!" Mihawk growled, gritting his teeth against the pain. "I swear, I'm going to beat you one day. You can mark my words."
I couldn't help but laugh. "In your dreams, Mihawk. In your dreams."
He sat back down, clearly frustrated, but the edge of a smirk played at his lips. Despite his bravado, Mihawk was as disciplined as ever. His pride, though enormous, was grounded in his love for the sword, not in reckless boasts. And as much as he wanted to surpass me, I knew he respected our bond enough to listen when I spoke seriously about the future.
"As for the kid," I continued, my tone softening, "trust me. This child is special. Please don't ask me how or why, but I have a feeling this kid will be no less talented than you when it comes to the way of the sword. You've spent your whole life chasing perfection, Mihawk. You will only grow dull if you believe you've already achieved it. Training a disciple might not just push them—it might push you to new heights."
Mihawk's eyes shifted toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden light over the devastated landscape from our earlier battle. He wasn't one to accept things on faith alone, but he trusted me enough to at least consider the idea.
"You want me to teach this child… to surpass you?" Mihawk asked, the sharpness in his tone softened by the curiosity lurking beneath.
I nodded. "Think of it as a different type of training. We've pushed each other to the brink, but this is something new. You might find that this kid teaches you something in return. You never know—these children, the next generation, might be the ones who finally show us the true way of the sword."
Mihawk remained silent for a moment, clearly weighing the idea. The thought of a disciple—a child, no less—was foreign to him. But there was something in his eyes that hinted at intrigue, a flicker of interest he couldn't quite suppress. The challenge was new, and if there was one thing Mihawk couldn't resist, it was a challenge.
"Who knows," I added with a grin. "Maybe in a few years, this kid will even surpass you."
Mihawk shot me a withering glare, though I could tell he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," he said, his voice laced with that familiar arrogance. "But… perhaps there's some merit in your suggestion. If this child truly has the potential you speak of, I may consider it."
"That's all I ask, Mihawk. Consider it."
He stood slowly, wincing again as his body protested. The deep cut across his chest was still raw, and his bloodstained shirt or what was left of it clung to his skin. He turned toward me, his eyes gleaming with renewed focus despite his injuries.
"If I do this," Mihawk said, "if I take this child as my disciple… you better be ready. Because I'll make sure they surpass not just me, but you as well."
I smiled at his resolve. "Good. I wouldn't expect anything less."
As Mihawk turned to leave, still clutching his chest yet maintaining that same quiet, unshakable confidence, I realized this was more than just a spar—it was a small but deliberate defiance against fate itself. I've never been an avid believer in fate.
In fact, my very presence in this world was an act of rebellion against it. More than a decade had passed since I first set foot in this world, and in that time, I had come to fully embrace it—its chaos, its beauty, and its potential for change.
I had already altered the course of fate for several people, those whose destinies were supposedly etched in stone. Mihawk was no exception, and having him take on Zoro as a disciple was a decision I made after deep contemplation.
Zoro, the swordsman I had seen in my memories of another life, had the potential to become someone truly remarkable. But potential alone wasn't enough. I knew that if Luffy truly was the child of destiny, the one who would challenge the very structure of the world, then he couldn't afford to have anyone weak standing by his side. Not in this world. Not in the world I had come to know.
The Zoro I had seen in the future—strong, resilient, loyal—couldn't be left to fate. His growth couldn't be left to chance. And Mihawk, though he would never admit it outright, was the perfect teacher to forge that future. Mihawk would push Zoro beyond the limits of human strength, sharpening him into the warrior he was destined to be.
I couldn't say with certainty that fate would guide them together. Maybe Luffy and Zoro wouldn't meet the same way they once had. Maybe their paths wouldn't align as seamlessly as before.
But I wasn't about to leave that to destiny. I had plans, not just for Zoro, but for many others as well. This world was filled with talent, potential, and unshaped legends. If I had a say in it—and I most certainly did—then those legends would be crafted under my watch.
This was just the beginning.
*****
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