West Blue — Lilikaya Island
This gambling metropolis of the West Blue blazed with light beneath the night sky. Neon signs flickered endlessly, bathing the entire city in a gaudy, golden sheen.
The streets surged with crowds—the cheers of gamblers drunk on fortune,the hoarse cries of slave traders hawking their "goods,"and the raucous music spilling from taverns all tangled together, forming a chaotic, deafening symphony.
Gern walked unhurriedly through it all, dressed in a black uniform and a formal top hat. At his waist hung the black blade Bahuang, its scabbard wrapped in white cloth. His eyes calmly swept across the shops lining both sides of the street.
Inside the display windows of slave markets, people bound in iron chains stared out with hollow eyes, as if hope itself had long since been drained from them.
"What a nauseating place…"Gern muttered under his breath, his fingers unconsciously tapping against the sword's hilt.
He had come here with a purpose—to find Tesoro, the man who would one day become the Golden Emperor.
According to intelligence, Tesoro should currently be scraping together every last coin in this city, desperately trying to earn enough money to buy the freedom of his beloved Stella.
And the two of them were said to sing to one another through the bars of a cage.
Yet just as Gern searched without a clear direction—
A cool, detached voice suddenly spoke from behind him.
"Are you a swordsman?"
"Hm?"Gern halted mid-step and slowly turned around.
Standing there was a tall, slender youth, around fifteen or sixteen years old. He wore a wine-red, patterned open jacket, his presence sharp and restrained. His eyes were keen as a hawk's, and strapped to his back was a long, uniquely shaped greatsword.
(Roger was executed in 1498. Mihawk, nineteen at the time, witnessed it.It is now 1494—so by that reckoning, Mihawk would be fifteen.)
"Mihawk?"Gern raised an eyebrow slightly, genuine surprise flickering through his eyes.
He hadn't expected to encounter the future World's Greatest Swordsman here—and at such a young age.
Am I really stepping into the vanguard of a new era now?First Crocodile. Then Bellemere. And now… Mihawk.
As Gern briefly lost himself in thought, Mihawk's gaze locked onto the black blade at Gern's waist—Bahuang.
His tone was calm, yet unwavering."You're a swordsman too, aren't you?Do you want to fight me?"
Hearing that, Gern couldn't help but smile, his interest piqued as he examined the boy before him.
At this point, Mihawk had yet to gain fame. He was merely a young swordsman wandering the Four Seas in search of worthy opponents.
His blade had not yet been forged into the black sword Yoru, but his eyes already carried a sharpness far beyond his years.
When Gern didn't immediately answer, Mihawk frowned slightly and continued,"Don't try to fool me. You're hiding it well, but I can still sense it…"
"Are you sure I'm hiding anything?"Before the words fully left his mouth, Gern's gaze turned ice-cold.
BOOM—
In an instant, an invisible pressure—focused solely on Mihawk—crashed down like a collapsing mountain!
Mihawk's pupils shrank violently. Every muscle in his body tensed as if seized by an unseen hand!
His breath caught. His heart nearly stopped. Cold sweat streamed down his spine.
What… is this…?!
Mihawk's vision blurred. The only sound left in his ears was the thunderous pounding of his own heartbeat.
His legs trembled uncontrollably, nearly buckling beneath him.
He had never experienced such overwhelming pressure—it felt as though what stood before him was not a human being, but a ferocious beast poised to devour him whole.
Gern remained where he was, his posture unchanged, yet his eyes now gazed at Mihawk like an endless abyss.
"Do you still want to fight?"Gern's voice was soft—but it struck Mihawk's heart like a sledgehammer.
Mihawk clenched his teeth and forced himself upright.
His pride would not allow him to bow his head—yet every instinct screamed at him.
This man… must never be provoked.
"Just who… are you?"Mihawk managed to ask, his voice hoarse.
Gern smiled faintly and withdrew his aura.
The air immediately seemed to flow again. Mihawk sucked in a sharp breath, sweat dripping from his brow onto the ground.
"Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral.Gern Reginald Sigmar."
"Heavenquake…"Mihawk's eyes darkened with conflicted emotion—resentment, awe, and unmistakable shock intertwined.
The information he knew about Gern boiled down to only two moments:
One—cutting down Golden Lion Shiki with a single blade.Two—defeating the legendary samurai Kozuki Oden alone.
And both of those men were peerless, dual-wielding great swordsmen.
In other words—Gern was someone uniquely qualified to be challenged, and an inevitable wall on Mihawk's path toward becoming the world's strongest.
Seeing Mihawk's expression, Gern chuckled."What, disappointed?"
"No."After a brief silence, Mihawk spoke coldly."I've only confirmed one thing.Right now… I am not your opponent."
His tone was steady, yet the fingers gripping his sword had turned pale.
For someone as proud as Mihawk, admitting defeat was more painful than death—but he knew better than anyone that the crushing pressure he had felt just now was no illusion.
"Not bad."Gern nodded in approval."At least you're better than those idiots who refuse to accept reality."
"But—"
Before Gern could finish, Mihawk slowly raised his head.
The dormant battle intent in those hawk-like eyes suddenly erupted.
"If I flee without even daring to draw my blade today," Mihawk said slowly,"then I will never reach my goal."
As he spoke, he tightened his grip on his sword. Moonlight flowed along the blade's edge, gleaming with icy brilliance.
"And precisely because of that—"
"Even if what lies ahead is a bottomless abyss,"Mihawk declared in a low, unwavering voice,"I will leap without hesitation!"
"Let me see it with my own eyes—"
The sword tip leveled at Gern as he spoke each word clearly:"—the true gap that exists between us!"
"You really want to fight?"Gern looked at him and smiled faintly."If you lose to me, you'll have to join the Marines."
"The Marines?!"Mihawk snapped his head up, surprise flashing through his eyes.
Gern shrugged casually."What, not interested?"
Mihawk fell silent for a moment before replying coldly,"I have no interest in the Marines.But if you defeat me… I'll consider it."
"Consider it?"Gern laughed softly."That works too."
With Gern's agreement, Mihawk's gaze sharpened completely."Then let strength decide."
At once, passersby on the street sensed the razor-sharp tension between the two and hurriedly cleared away.
Gern glanced around, then pointed toward an open stretch of dockland in the distance."No one will bother us there. Perfect for a spar."
Mihawk raised no objection.
The two of them turned and walked toward the pier—one ahead, one behind—their silhouettes cutting through the neon-lit night.