บท 99: The Meeting of Legends: Mihawk's Trial-1

After leaving the Baratie, Dracule Mihawk found himself drifting on his coffin-shaped boat, his mind lingering on the last words of the swordsman he had just bested—Roronoa Zoro. There was something in that young man's voice, a relentless drive, an unwavering spirit. Mihawk hadn't felt such raw will in a long time. It stirred something within him, a memory of the ambition that had once pushed him to claim his title.

Suddenly, a powerful wave of Conqueror's Haki jolted Mihawk out of his thoughts. The sheer force of it seemed to come from a distant island, rippling through the sea like a thunderous heartbeat. Mihawk's eyes narrowed, instinctively reaching for his sword, Yoru. He recognized the intensity of this Haki—it was as formidable as that of his rival, Red-Haired Shanks. But this Haki was different. It was sharper, more ancient. And if Mihawk's instincts were right, it came from a sword.

A thrill shot through him. Whoever wielded this kind of Haki was no ordinary swordsman. Mihawk grinned, his grip on Yoru tightening. He wanted to meet this stranger, to measure himself against this unknown force. Taking his oar, he began rowing toward the island, but before he could take another stroke, a gust of wind seemed to push his boat forward as if fate itself were hastening his approach.

As Mihawk drew closer to the island, the Haki's intensity grew, pressing down on him like a tidal wave. The sensation was exhilarating, and Mihawk felt his heart racing with excitement. Could this person be stronger than Shanks? Or even...me? He leapt from his boat, landing lightly on the shore of the island, and began moving toward the source of the Haki. The air crackled with energy, thick and charged.

At the center of the island, Mihawk finally saw him—a solitary figure, an old man seated on a throne of stone, his face obscured in shadow. Next to him floated a katana, unsheathed, its blade glinting with an otherworldly sharpness. Mihawk could sense it immediately: this sword was far deadlier than his own Yoru.

The old man's eyes opened slowly, and Mihawk felt the weight of an ancient gaze pierce him. The man did not rise or move; he simply observed Mihawk with a look of mild amusement.

"Senior," Mihawk said, lifting Yoru with respect and reverence. "Let's fight."

The old man raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips. "And what, boy, do I gain from battling you?"

Mihawk's pride flared. "The title of the World's Strongest Swordsman."

The old man chuckled, his laugh deep and resonant. "Do I look like I care about titles?" He gestured toward Mihawk with one finger. "As you can see, I'm already stronger than you. Why would I need to fight you to prove it?"

Mihawk bristled, the man's words gnawing at his pride. He had heard these words before, spoken with similar arrogance. His voice dropped to a low growl. "If you don't fight willingly, I will attack. You'll have no choice but to defend yourself."

The old man's gaze softened. "I am an old man, boy. Attack if you must, but I won't unsheathe my sword. If you wish to kill me, I'll remain seated. I won't move a muscle."

Mihawk's grip tightened on Yoru, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. He could sense the truth in the man's words, a certainty that ran deep. The man's Haki did not waver; it stood like an immovable mountain. But Mihawk's desire to test his strength, to face someone who could push him to his limits, was too powerful to ignore.

After a moment's silence, Mihawk took a steadying breath. "Then what must I do to make you fight me?"

The old man studied Mihawk, his gaze thoughtful. "Two favors," he said finally, lifting two finger. "two favours from the Title holder of World's Strongest Swordsman."

Mihawk weighed the request carefully. His gaze fell on the floating katana, its power clear and fearsome. "I agree," he said, "provided those favors do not involve harming the innocent."

The old man's smile widened. "Of course."

With a snap of the old man's fingers, a transparent barrier enveloped the entire island. From the outside, it would seem as if the island had vanished. Mihawk blinked, caught off guard. The man had covered the entire area with ease.

Before Mihawk could fully process his astonishment, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew thick and heavy, as if the very island itself had bowed to the old man's will. Mihawk's instincts screamed at him, a primal warning that he had not felt in years. He felt Yoru vibrating in his grip, as if it, too, recognized the threat before them.

The old man stood slowly, and his aura exploded outward. A wave of Conqueror's Haki flooded the area, raw and intense, sending tremors through the ground. Mihawk braced himself, his own Haki flaring in response, but his Haki was quickly swallowed by the sheer force of the old man's presence. This was Haki refined over countless years, honed to a razor's edge.

"Are you ready, boy?" The old man's voice was low, dripping with anticipation.

Mihawk's lips twisted into a fierce smile. This was it—the battle he had craved. He raised Yoru, positioning himself in a defensive stance, and unleashed a powerful flying slash, testing his opponent's defenses.

The old man merely waved his hand. With the simplest of movements, he sliced through Mihawk's attack, dispersing it as if it were nothing more than a gentle breeze. Mihawk's eyes widened, but his excitement only grew.

The old man chuckled. "Testing me, are you?" With a flick of his wrist, he sent a blindingly fast slash toward Mihawk.

Mihawk barely managed to bring Yoru up in time to block the attack, but the sheer force sent him skidding backward across the ground. He slid for nearly a hundred meters before managing to stop himself, panting as he gazed at the old man.

A bead of sweat trickled down Mihawk's face. "This… is on a different level."

The old man simply smiled, standing still with his katana hovering at his side. "Is that all, boy? Or shall we continue?"