>>280134687
The wind stilled over a quiet, sunlit islet in the New World. Two figures faced each other across a grassy clearing—Dracule Mihawk, the world's greatest swordsman, and "Red-Haired" Shanks, Emperor of the Sea. No crews, no noise. Just the weight of history and unfinished rivalry.

Mihawk’s yellow eyes studied Shanks with surgical precision. “No more excuses, Yonko. Today, we settle what you ran from when you lost your arm.”

Shanks chuckled, raising his battered saber with one hand. “Still as cold as ever, Hawk-Eyes. You sure you’re ready for a real fight?”

The clash came swift and violent. Blades screamed. Trees split. The earth shook under their footwork, sparks dancing with each strike. Shanks grinned through it, one-handed but undaunted.

Yet Mihawk’s blade told a colder story. Precise. Relentless. He exploited every opening, countered every feint. It wasn’t just strength—it was mastery honed in solitude.

A final clash rang out like thunder. Shanks' saber spun through the air, landing far from his reach. Mihawk’s blade hovered an inch from his throat.

Panting, bruised, but smiling, Shanks sat back. “Heh… guess I’ve gotten rusty.”

Mihawk sheathed Yoru with disdain. “You relied on charm and faith in others. I relied on the blade. That’s the difference.”

As Mihawk turned to leave, Shanks called after him, still smiling despite the blood on his lip. “You may’ve won, but I still bet everything on the next generation. What about you, Hawk-Eyes? Got anyone worth believing in?”

Mihawk paused, the silence dragging. Then, without turning back:

“I have no need for belief… only certainty.”

And with that, he vanished into the forest, leaving the defeated Yonko beneath a broken sky.