Chapter 111: Duel of the Swordsmen

After seeing those piercing hawk-like eyes, Garen felt a faint sense of familiarity.

It was not merely the black-bladed swordsman’s falcon eyes that seemed familiar. The scene before him also stirred a strange sense of déjà vu:

The “Overlord of the East Blue,” aboard the Dreadnought Battleship Sabre, had encountered a black-bladed swordsman on the open sea shortly after entering the Grand Line.

“This can’t be happening...”

A chill ran down Garen’s spine. He could not help muttering to himself:

“Did I inherit Admiral Krieg’s African luck as well?”

Then something even more familiar happened.

The black-bladed swordsman’s expression darkened slightly. The broad black sword in his hand slowly rose along with the murderous aura gathering around him.

When the pitch-black blade was aimed from afar at the Dreadnought Vanguard Sabre carrying Garen, the swordsman’s arm shifted ever so slightly. With a plain, utterly unadorned motion, he gently swung the black sword.

His movement was casual, almost dismissive, yet in an instant it set the heavens and earth into turmoil.

Powerful pressure gathered around the edge of the blade. The sword’s force spread outward, driving the surrounding air into visible shockwaves. In the blink of an eye, an explosive hurricane erupted across the tranquil sea.

Wind and waves roared together, and within that storm, a vast sword wave was born.

It took shape upon the black blade before rapidly expanding and distorting through the air ahead. As it swelled into a smooth aerial blade dozens of meters high, it tore apart everything around it.

The air was ripped asunder. The waves were cleaved in two. At last, even the sea itself was split open by a broad fissure.

And at the far end of that fissure stood the Dreadnought Vanguard Sabre carrying Garen.

Before that sword wave, the majestic, formidable, and nigh-indestructible warship seemed as tiny and fragile as a toy.

Nami and Vivi, who had been lazily reclining on deck chairs only moments before, were instantly drained of color by the terrifying sword wave. They instinctively gripped their own arms, yet could do nothing in the face of this world-shattering crisis.

At that moment, as always, a towering figure rose to shield them from the storm.

Seeing that the sword wave was about to cleave both him and the ship in two, Garen leaped without hesitation onto the ram at the very front of the battleship. He held his sword across his chest and assumed a textbook guarding stance.

“Laurent’s Riposte!”

Yet those razor-sharp hawk eyes moved faster than the flying blade. The black-bladed swordsman clearly saw the opponent’s laughable, overconfident attempt.

His swordlike gaze wavered ever so slightly as he thought:

“He still has the courage to draw his sword before my slash?”

“That makes him a true swordsman, at least.”

But the black-bladed swordsman silently withdrew his gaze and added inwardly:

“Unfortunately, he is about to die.”

Just as he prepared to end the exchange with a graceful turn, bringing the encounter to a perfect close, something wholly unexpected occurred.

The terrifying sword wave he had unleashed vanished beneath Garen’s greatsword.

It disappeared without a trace, raising not even the slightest ripple. It could not even make the other man’s body tremble by so much as a fraction.

Not only that, the opponent had actually countered his strike and sent a sword wave of his own surging back.

That sword wave did not impress the black-bladed swordsman in the slightest, but his attack had undeniably been blocked.

“How is this possible?”

The black-bladed swordsman’s falcon-sharp pupils abruptly widened as he stared in disbelief at the armored knight standing aboard the colossal ship.

“He actually blocked my slash?”

Of course Garen could block it. The system’s guaranteed invincibility allowed him to halt a rampaging island whale head-on. Naturally, it could also enable him to withstand a single halfhearted slash from Hawkeye.

After stopping the attack, Garen immediately cursed inwardly:

“It really is that lunatic!”

Garen recognized this world-famous number-one swordsman, and his impression of him plummeted at once.

All he had done was glance at the man out on the sea, and he had nearly been wiped out along with his entire crew.

The bastard was practically a lawless thug from some criminal underworld organization. If he were on Earth, he would be executed by firing squad on the spot!

Naturally, Garen neither said nor dared to say any of that aloud.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, Hawkeye raised the blade of his black sword once more, assuming he was about to strike again.

Garen immediately panicked.

Laurent’s Riposte had a full sixteen-second cooldown.

Since his opponent clearly had no intention of waiting for it, Garen could only buy time himself. Thus, despite already knowing the answer, he called across the distance:

“Who are you?”

“Why did you attack me?”

Hawkeye’s motion paused slightly. For a moment, he seemed to fall into a brief inner conflict.

Hawkeye always granted heartfelt respect to any swordsman capable of blocking one of his strikes, and exchanging names was one of the most basic courtesies between swordsmen.

But as for why he had attacked...

Hawkeye silently lowered his head, using the broad brim of his hat to conceal his expression. His tall, slender body stood perfectly steady upon the ship, forming a mysterious and striking pose.

Several breaths later, Hawkeye replied in a deep voice:

“Hawkeye. Dracule Mihawk.”

Garen secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

Since the other man was willing to exchange words, Garen had gained another chance at life.

He imitated Hawkeye’s manner of announcing himself and answered without backing down:

“Knight of the East Blue. Garen.”

“You are Garen?”

Hawkeye’s voice immediately gained a hint of unusual interest.

“The one-path swordsman from the newspapers?”

“Uh...”

Garen’s expression stiffened. He could not help murmuring:

“You even know that title...”

Hawkeye raised his head once again, his gaze becoming extraordinarily sharp.

“I had assumed your reputation as a swordsman was merely the result of rumor being repeated until it became legend. I did not expect you to possess genuine skill.”

“An opponent capable of receiving one of my slashes is a rare thing indeed.”

“In that case, receive another.”

“Wait!”

Garen sternly halted him.

“Wait for what?”

Hawkeye’s tone carried a trace of displeasure, yet his eyes blazed with soaring battle intent.

“Ahem...”

Garen coughed twice, his expression somewhat awkward.

He could hardly tell him that the cooldown still needed another two seconds.

But his expression soon sharpened, and his presence lost nothing to Hawkeye Mihawk’s.

“One strike to decide the victor. What do you say?”

“Oh? Very well.”

Mihawk answered curtly, and the interest in his eyes grew even more intense.

Garen, however, had not yet finished with his antics.

Imitating Mihawk’s stance, he struck an aloof, transcendent pose of incomparable distinction, pushing the swordsman’s dramatic presence to an even higher peak.

“This sword is called Storm.”

Garen held the blade across his chest, displaying the dazzling edge of his greatsword to Mihawk.

“The blade is three feet seven inches long, and it weighs one hundred and fifty pounds.”

Mihawk’s expression changed slightly.

He had fought countless duels between swordsmen, struck innumerable imposing poses, and unleashed countless magnificent slashes. Yet he had never imagined that swordsmanship duels could possess such unfathomable rituals.

Thus, Mihawk solemnly displayed the pitch-black blade in his own hand and declared in a ringing voice:

“The sword is named Night—the world’s strongest black blade.”

It was an incredibly imposing introduction, and the commanding presence of the world’s greatest swordsman surged forth.

“Since you said one strike will decide the victor...”

Mihawk’s entire presence changed. His standing figure radiated an intangible sharpness, like a blade fresh from its sheath, while a cold, piercing light burst from his falcon-like eyes.

“Then receive my strongest attack.”

“It will be my honor.”

Garen had already perfected the art of projecting an overwhelming aura. In the face of Hawkeye’s presence, he felt not the slightest hint of fear.

Hawkeye swung his sword.

The heavens and earth lost their color. Wind and sea screamed. Space itself seemed to split apart.

Yet in the end, that sword force once again vanished without a trace before Garen.

“H-How is this possible?”

Mihawk’s expression shifted. The aloof aura of the solitary swordsman was finally shattered completely by Garen’s thoroughly unscientific performance.

“No...”

Mihawk carefully studied Garen’s relaxed, almost effortless expression after receiving his strongest slash and immediately noticed that something was wrong.

“You cannot possibly be that strong!”

Mihawk had lost some of his composure. Unable to restrain himself, he pressed on:

“Was what you used truly swordsmanship? Or was it the power of a Devil Fruit?”

“Hahahaha...”

Garen threw back his head and laughed, his expression remaining profound and unruffled.

He had already figured out how to deal with men who cultivated such personas.

Displaying weakness would only earn their contempt. But revealing an overwhelming, domineering presence would instead win their favor.

Thus Garen stood with his sword in hand and declared proudly:

“Does it matter whether it was swordsmanship or the power of a Devil Fruit?”

Once again, he raised his greatsword toward Hawkeye.

“All you need to know is this.”

“There are still things in this world that you cannot cut.”