Chapter 39 – The Strongest Swordsman in the World?
One week later.
On an uninhabited island not far from Marineford, the usually quiet air was filled with an unusual tension.
This lonely island—rarely visited by anyone—was brimming with activity today.
Out in the waters, about ten li from shore, two high-class warships had dropped anchor: the Blue Dragon and the Rabbit.
On the island itself, over a dozen high-ranking Marine officers stood in formation, white coats billowing behind them, the word Justice boldly printed on their backs.
At the center stood Fleet Admiral Sengoku, flanked by the legendary Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp, the sharp-eyed strategist Tsuru, and former admiral turned Marine instructor, Zephyr.
The rest were top brass—admiral candidates and vice admiral candidates like Chaton, Smoker, Onigumo, Dalmatian, Doberman, Momonga, and others.
These were some of the busiest, most influential figures in the Navy. Yet here they all were—for one reason:
To witness a duel between swordsmen at the peak of their craft.
The match pitted Admiral Candidate Momousagi Gion against Admiral Candidate Seiryu Tachibana Kyūjō.
Kyūjō's recent nomination to the admiral candidate list had already been made public by the World Government—a calculated move meant to shake the New World's pirate crews, especially the Yonko, while Whitebeard still reigned supreme.
The message was clear: the Navy had gained yet another power to rival the admirals.
— — —
Of the current three admirals, none were present.
Akainu and Aokiji were still in the New World, facing Kaido's rampage.
Kizaru was at headquarters, but true to his nature, had no interest in a swordsman's duel—no matter how strong Kyūjō or Gion were in their field.
For Borsalino, life was just clocking in and clocking out. This sort of thing didn't make the cut.
— — —
At the island's center, Kyūjō and Gion faced each other, ten meters apart.
They stood at equal height, their postures balanced, almost giving off the impression of harmony.
From a distance, Chaton watched, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Gion… don't you dare lose to this kid.
But then another thought crossed his mind.
Still… he's ridiculously handsome…
A strange unease stirred in him. No—that was impossible.
Gion, his goddess, wouldn't be swayed. She only liked his type—the big-hearted boar.
Why else would she always spar with him and not the countless other men who admired her?
Chaton let the thought fester quietly, lost in his own little world of imagined heartbreak.
— — —
Gion—tall, long-legged, cold yet captivating, her face nearly flawless—slowly drew the elegant, slender blade in her hand.
It was Kinpira, one of the twenty-one Ō Wazamono-grade swords.
Pointing the blade toward Kyūjō, she spoke in her usual calm, composed voice:
"Kinpira, an Ō Wazamono. I'll be in your care, Vice Admiral Seiryu."
Kyūjō smiled back, mirroring her gesture as he drew his own blade—the jet-black Rairyūken.
"Rairyūken. Once just a Ryō Wazamono… but I'd say by now, it's worthy of the Ō Wazamono list."
He tilted the sword slightly, confidence glinting in his eyes.
"One day, when I claim the title of the World's Strongest Swordsman, Rairyūken will be the number one black blade in the world."
In truth, Kyūjō already considered himself worthy of that title.
His fight with Shiki hadn't just awakened a fearsome Haoshoku Haki—it had cemented an unshakable conviction: he could face anyone.
As that conviction grew, so would his mastery of all three types of Haki.
That was Garp's core teaching to him—the way to push Haki beyond its limits was to maintain peak momentum and confidence.
Lose before reaching the top, and that loss of momentum would bury your chance to surpass human limits.
— — —
Even if Mihawk himself appeared here today in his prime, Kyūjō wouldn't flinch.
Sure, the world didn't yet recognize him as a top swordsman—he lacked the public duels against renowned masters that built Mihawk's legend.
But if he set sail to challenge the greatest bladesmen across the seas, that recognition would come quickly enough.
Or he could simply defeat Mihawk—the only real rival for the title.
— — —
His bold words left Gion, as a fellow swordswoman, no choice but to respond in kind.
Without a word, her brows drew together and her body flashed forward, Kinpira slicing toward him in a clean, lethal arc.
In an instant, she was right in front of him.
Kyūjō welcomed her with everything he had.
A true swordsman never held back in a duel, regardless of their opponent's gender. Restraining oneself was an insult—especially to a female swordsman.
Rairyūken met Kinpira, and Kyūjō's strength immediately drove her blade downward.
Gripping his sword in both hands, he pressed down hard, forcing the edge toward Gion's chest.
Fight with everything you have—that's the highest respect for an opponent.
Kyūjō poured Ryūō, the advanced form of Busoshoku Haki, into his black blade.
The impact lifted Gion off her feet and sent her airborne.
Midair, a faint blush touched her cheeks.
The odd sensation in her chest made her grit her teeth.
That damn Seiryu… does he know exactly where he just struck?
Was that on purpose…?
Pushing the thought aside, she looked down sharply. Kyūjō remained where he stood, not chasing her, almost as if giving her time to recover.
The blow hadn't truly hurt her—her Busoshoku Haki, honed over years, wasn't so easily broken.
She steadied her breath, clearing her mind.
With a swift Geppō, she rose higher into the air, directly above Kyūjō.
If she was losing in close-range speed and power, then the best choice was to fight from a distance.
For a swordsman, raw physical strength was only part of the secret behind a deadly flying slash.
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