Fleet Admiral's Office
Sengoku wasn't alone in his shock.
Garp and Tsuru wore matching expressions of complete bewilderment.
The power system in this world wasn't complicated. Two categories covered everything:
Devil Fruits: Logia, Paramecia, Zoan—including Mythical and Ancient variants.
Haki: Armament, Observation, Conqueror's—even the legendary Imperial Haki that Rayleigh claimed could break the boundary between human and divine.
Some might argue that swordsmen like Hawkeye, Zoro, or the blade-wielding Elder among the Five Elders represented a third system. But that was wrong. No matter how incredible their swordsmanship, it was technique—refined skill, not a fundamental power source. Even at its absolute peak, it couldn't be called a true power system.
Maybe in other worlds, swordsmanship had evolved into something more—a "Way" that transcended mere technique. But in this world? Swordsmanship was still far from that kind of fundamental transformation.
So even with the wildest imagination, Sengoku and Garp couldn't conceive the truth:
Kai was using power that didn't belong to this world at all.
They had no frame of reference for it.
In their minds, there was only one explanation: Kai had eaten a Devil Fruit that had never appeared on the seas before.
Haki? They didn't even consider it. One glance overwhelming a fighter approaching Four Emperors level—even the strongest Conqueror's Haki couldn't do that. And Doflamingo had Conqueror's Haki himself, which should have given him resistance.
Training Ground
The remaining Warlords stared at Doflamingo's collapsed form.
No resistance in his eyes. No defiance. Just raw, primal terror.
If anyone thought Doflamingo was weak, they were insane.
Awakened String-String Fruit user.
Conqueror's Haki.
Bounty in the hundreds of millions.
Each fact screamed power. Even in the New World—where monsters walked freely—Doflamingo ranked just below the Four Emperors. Among the Seven Warlords, he easily placed top three, trailing only Mihawk and Kuma.
And Kai had broken him with one look.
What kind of monster are we facing?
Crocodile's jaw clenched. Jinbe's expression went carefully neutral. Moria's eyes darted toward the exit.
The urge to retreat was universal. None of them wanted to be next.
But Hawkeye Mihawk was different.
The World's Greatest Swordsman
"Haaah..."
Mihawk's exhale was long and controlled.
His hand moved to Yoru's hilt. The black blade sang as it left its sheath, the sound pure and crystalline. He raised it until the tip pointed directly at Kai.
Shock flickered in his golden eyes.
Then determination flooded in to drown it.
He knew the truth: if he didn't draw his sword now—while he still had the courage—then watching Kai display even more terrifying power would steal that courage forever.
And a swordsman who lost the will to draw his blade?
That swordsman was already dead.
Mihawk knew this better than anyone.
So even though victory was impossible—even though he'd probably lose in seconds—he raised Yoru anyway.
"Admiral White Dragon." His voice was steady. Respectful. "Please enlighten me."
Kai's eyebrow rose.
A smile ghosted across his lips.
"Since you're a swordsman..." His right hand rose, fingers spreading wide. "...let's settle this with swords."
His fist clenched.
FWOOOM
Ryūjin Jakka materialized in his grip—an ancient katana with a presence that made the air feel heavier. The blade's design was deceptively simple, but something about it screamed danger on an instinctual level.
Mihawk's eyes widened fractionally.
Then his expression grew heated.
A swordsman stronger than me.
The implications crashed through his mind like a tidal wave.
Superior technique. Deeper understanding of the blade. But most importantly—proof that there was still higher ground to climb.
A swordsman never feared stronger opponents. They feared the moment when their blade remained sharp but no worthy challengers existed. When skill stagnated because there was no one left to push them higher.
That's why Mihawk treasured his friendship with Shanks—another top-tier swordsman who could match him blow for blow. Their spars kept both of them sharp.
But Shanks wasn't a pure swordsman. His focus was divided. At best, Mihawk could maintain his current level through their duels, not surpass it.
That's why he'd eventually spend two years training Zoro in the original timeline. Hoping to cultivate someone who could one day stand as his equal—or surpass him entirely.
He'd never heard of Kai practicing swordsmanship.
But his instincts screamed the truth: if he survived this fight, his understanding of the blade would undergo fundamental transformation.
As the weaker party, he knew his role.
Mihawk spoke first.
"Swordsman Dracule Mihawk." His voice carried across the training ground. "From the West Blue. My blade is Yoru—one of the twelve Supreme Grade Swords."
He finished and met Kai's gaze directly.
Kai's smile widened.
"Marine Admiral Kai Mitarashi. From the East Blue." He raised Ryūjin Jakka until the tip aligned with Mihawk's heart. "My blade is Ryūjin Jakka—a Zanpakutō that surpasses the twelve Supreme Grade Swords."
The blade pointed forward like an executioner's finger.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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