Gern did not respond immediately to Hawk-Eye's decisive declaration.
Instead, he lifted his teacup, took a slow, unhurried sip, and a knowing smile appeared on his face.
"Fulfilling a promise…" he murmured, repeating the words softly. His gaze seemed to pass straight through Mihawk, reaching somewhere far beyond."Come to think of it, some of the things I did back then… some of the things I said… really did alter the course of quite a few destinies."
There was a trace of reflection in Gern's voice.
After all, according to the hazy trajectory of the original world, Dracule Mihawk should, by now, have been broken by a certain catastrophic betrayal—a man who trusted no one, hunted Marines relentlessly, and earned the infamous title of Marine Hunter.
He would have become a solitary, gray-zone monster of the seas—sailing alone in a small boat, pursuing the absolute pinnacle of swordsmanship in isolation, rather than standing here as he was now…
Gern's eyes refocused on Mihawk.
"Logically speaking," he said lightly, "you should probably be known as the 'Marine Hunter' at this point—a lone pirate who gives the Navy endless headaches."
"But instead…" Gern smiled faintly."You've been following my footsteps all this time. You even went and challenged the very opponents I once challenged myself, didn't you?"
Gern had not been completely ignorant of Mihawk's growth over the past decade.
At the mention of becoming a "Marine Hunter," a flicker of confusion passed through Mihawk's eyes—but he did not dwell on it. Instead, he spoke on calmly:
"I challenged them because…""Only by doing so could I most clearly measure the distance between you and me."
"And because that," he continued, "is the most efficient path to the summit."
As he spoke, Mihawk's gaze was drawn—almost involuntarily—to the black blade at Gern's waist.
The one wrapped in aged, gray-white bandages.
Black Blade · Bahuang.
A fiercely stubborn light flashed in his eyes—the unshaken obsession he had carried for ten full years.
"What is its name?"
"Bahuang."
"Bahuang…" Mihawk repeated softly.
Then his voice sank, heavy with ironclad resolve.
"Ten years ago, in the West Blue… I fought with everything I had.""And even so, I couldn't make this black blade of yours… fully leave its sheath."
That memory was a thorn buried deep in Mihawk's heart.
A crushing defeat—one so complete that he hadn't even been worthy of seeing his opponent's weapon revealed in full.
What greater humiliation could there be?
"Now…" Mihawk's eyes locked onto the bandages, unblinking."The 'Yoru' in my hands has already reached the summit."
"I came here today to see whether, ten years later…""I have finally earned the right to make your 'Bahuang'—"
"—shed its restraints completely and be drawn at full power!!!"
His words struck like steel on stone, brimming with absolute confidence and the weight of a blade honed for ten years.
To Mihawk, the outcome of this duel mattered—but what mattered more was this:
Using the strongest sword he had forged after reaching the summit, he would prove whether he had finally reached the level capable of forcing Gern to fight at full power.
This unyielding stubbornness.This near-pure devotion to the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
They were the very reasons Dracule Mihawk had been able to stand where he did today.
Gern looked at Mihawk's intensely serious—almost obsessive—expression.
The smile on his face slowly faded, replaced by a quiet, indescribably complex emotion.
He gently reached down and brushed his fingers across the rough bandages wrapped around Bahuang.
In the garden, only the sound of the wind remained.
After a brief silence, Gern did not answer that blazing battle intent directly.Instead, he spoke a sentence that made Mihawk pause.
"Mihawk… I'm sorry. This is something I should have told you ten years ago."
Gern's voice was calm, clear.
"I… can't really be called a 'great swordsman.'"
He raised his eyes and met Mihawk's gaze honestly.
"Back then, in the West Blue, when we fought—I defeated you entirely by relying on combat experience and an overwhelming advantage in Observation Haki."
Mihawk's expression shifted slightly.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean it literally," Gern said, shaking his head. A faint trace of reflection colored his tone."My path has long since diverged."
"To me, swordsmanship has always been just one component of my power system—a combat technique forged from the fusion of my vibration ability, Haki, and physical prowess."
"It is no longer pure.""It exists solely in pursuit of maximum destruction and efficiency."
Just as Gern had once said to himself long ago (Chapter 26):
[Supreme Haki.A supreme weapon.A powerful Devil Fruit.
When the three become one—even if you are not a swordsman—you can still cut down everything on the seas!!]
With that thought, Gern looked at the man before him—the man who had devoted his entire life to the sword and climbed to the very peak of that path.
"And you, Dracule Mihawk—you reached that summit."
"You defeated every renowned great swordsman and were acknowledged by the world as the 'World's Greatest Swordsman.'"
"In the realm of pure swordsmanship…"Gern's tone held neither false modesty nor pretense—only an objective assessment of fact.
"Right now, there is no doubt—you are stronger than me."
Those words fell like stones into a still lake, sending ripples through Mihawk's heart.
Before coming here, he had imagined many possible reactions from Gern:burning battle intent, cold refusal, even ridicule.
But never—never had he imagined Gern would so calmly and frankly admit inferiority in pure swordsmanship.
It was an undeniable fact:In terms of swordsmanship alone, Dracule Mihawk was absolutely stronger than Gern.
This was not weakness—but a perspective that transcended simple victory, defeat, and hollow titles.
Gern had clearly defined his own path, and without hesitation, he gave the highest recognition to the path Mihawk had chosen—and conquered.
A flicker passed through Mihawk's sharp eyes.
Yet the hand gripping Black Blade · Yoru did not loosen, and his battle intent did not fade.
"There is more than one form of strength," Mihawk said, unconsciously clenching his teeth.
The promise he had guarded for ten years was not for the sake of hearing such words.
After several seconds of silence, he spoke again, his gaze still blazing.
"Reaching the summit of swordsmanship is the path I chose."
"But that does not mean I cannot measure other forms of 'power.'"
His eyes returned to Bahuang at Gern's waist, his voice growing even firmer.
"I did not come today merely to contend for the hollow title of 'strongest swordsman.'"
"I came to fulfill a promise ten years in the making—to bring things to an end with you, Gern."
"Regardless of what you call yourself—swordsman or not—you are the opponent I acknowledged ten years ago. The obstacle I must cross."
"So—"
Mihawk slowly stood.
Black Blade · Yoru let out a low, resonant hum as he shouted—his voice raw, almost unfitting for his usual persona:
"Draw your blade, Gern!!!"
"For ten years, I have cleaved through raging storms and shattered countless so-called peerless swordsmen."
"But only in the end did I understand—the highest swordsmanship is the act of cutting through obsession itself."
"Today's strike is not for victory or defeat—it is to bear witness to the paths we have each walked."
"Let me see what level your 'killing art,' forged from vibration and Haki, has truly reached!"
"Let this 'World's Greatest Sword' measure the depth of your 'Natural Disaster'!!!"