Ice fragnts scattered like falling snowflakes, glittering under the sky. Vane focused his spiritual pressure into his blade, swinging it down in a single, decisive motion. A blinding white slash erupted, tearing through the ice as it shattered in its wake.
"What a powerful strike… what kind of force is this?"
Dracule Mihawk, the man known as Hawkeye, felt a strange and unfamiliar power radiating from the slash. He couldn't understand it—after all, this was spiritual pressure—but comprehension didn't matter now. What mattered was the sheer speed of the strike. The flash was so dazzling it nearly blinded him, and the speed rivaled a thunderbolt.
There was no room to evade. A swordsman of his caliber would never allow himself to dodge. To dodge ant retreat, and retreat was sha.
Raising his black blade, Yoru, Mihawk t Vane's strike head-on. The clash resounded across the frozen battlefield, sending shards of ice flying into the air. The imnse pressure of Vane's attack forced Mihawk's arms to tremble violently as he struggled to keep his sword steady. For the first ti, the world's greatest swordsman felt his grip falter.
A true swordsman required not only skill but also a body strong enough to endure the burden of his blade. Just like the users of Devil Fruits, power without endurance was aningless.
Mihawk's boots skidded across the ice as he was forced back several steps before finally redirecting the blow, allowing the slash to roar past him. The strike carved across the frozen sea, and in re seconds a massive trench stretched for hundreds of ters. The sea itself seed torn apart, leaving behind a scar that refused to close.
"Unbelievable… if he's not a great swordsman, then what is he?"
Mihawk's eyes narrowed. That one slash alone had convinced him that Rhett Vane was a true master of the sword. And worse, he had the chilling realization that Vane hadn't even infused the strike with his true will—it had been nothing more than an ordinary blow.
Vane's gaze sharpened. "A great swordsman? If that's what you want to call it, so be it. But don't mistake … I rarely use a blade, and when I do, this isn't how I fight."
He leapt into the air and brought his sword down in another devastating arc. Mihawk countered imdiately, his black blade raised high. Their swords clashed again, but this ti Vane's weapon glead with an ominous dark light as another slash erupted outward.
"Kendo: Two Breaks!"
The force exploded, crushing down on Mihawk with terrifying intensity. The very air shuddered under the weight of the strike.
"You've released your sword will… terrifying!"
For the first ti in years, Mihawk felt sothing he thought long buried—fear. His body resisted, but his spirit faltered.
The ground beneath him gave way as the ice shattered completely, leaving him without footing. Vane's sword pressed relentlessly against Yoru, forcing Mihawk backward. His defenses buckled under the overwhelming pressure, and the crushing weight of the strike slamd into the frozen sea.
The ice fractured, and with a deafening crack, the ocean itself seed to split apart. Seawater surged violently, waves roaring upward as the slash carved deep into the horizon.
When the dust and mist cleared, a gaping ravine twenty ters wide and thirty ters deep stretched endlessly across the ocean. Sword intent lingered within the walls of the chasm, holding back the seawater as if the sea itself refused to heal the scar.
The ocean… had been cleaved in two.
No one else witnessed this terrifying battle. No one but Mihawk and Rhett Vane.
But Mihawk was no longer standing. The strike had obliterated the ice beneath his feet, and the world's strongest swordsman had been dragged beneath the waves. For an instant, he struggled against the crushing water, his sword still clutched in his hand. Then, twenty seconds later, he erged, soaked and disheveled, his trademark hat tilted awkwardly as he gasped for air.
From above, Vane extended his hand toward the sea, condensing energy into a glowing shard. A sharp ice bullet struck the water beside Mihawk, instantly freezing into a thick disk of ice, giving him a place to stand.
Mihawk climbed onto it, breathing heavily.
"Do you still wish to continue?" Vane asked calmly.
Mihawk lowered his blade. "No… I am not your equal. Your swordsmanship surpasses mine."
He spoke with honesty, his voice tinged with sothing rare—admiration. The strike Vane had unleashed monts ago still haunted his heart. It had shaken him, not rely in strength, but in spirit. And that, for Mihawk, was a greater defeat than being struck down.
His body had endured, but his will had faltered. And for a swordsman, that was the harshest loss of all.
____
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