"Thank you for your guidance, Mr. Darren. I’ll be on my way now."
After receiving quick first aid and a tight bandage around the stump of his arm, Mihawk stepped aboard his unique, coffin-shaped boat. Standing tall on the deck, he turned and bowed deeply toward Darren.
"What a polite little brat..." Darren chuckled, waving lazily at the young swordsman.
The dical treatnt had been routine—identical, in fact, to the one he’d given Gecko Moria earlier. With Momonga’s Rumble-Rumble Fruit at his disposal, healing wounds through cauterization was a simple matter.
Unlike the trembling, shrieking Moria, however, Mihawk had endured the procedure in complete silence. Sweat had poured down his face, his jaw clamped shut as the lightning seared flesh and sealed the wound. Not a single sound escaped him.
Darren exhaled softly. Mihawk’s composure didn’t surprise him anymore. This was, after all, the sa lunatic who had sliced off his own arm without hesitation.
He could only sigh inwardly. The boy was ruthless—to others and to himself.
Still, he couldn’t help but be startled by Mihawk’s sheer audacity.
"He’s got guts, I’ll give him that," Darren muttered under his breath.
Then, an image flashed through his mind—Shanks, that red-haired brat, losing his arm to the Lord of the Coast to "bet on the new era." Darren’s lips curved into an amused grin.
When those two finally et... what a sight that’ll be.
"Keep pushing forward, Mihawk!" Darren called after him, smiling faintly. All earlier doubts about the boy’s future strength had long since vanished, replaced by an eager, almost paternal anticipation.
Despite losing his right arm, Mihawk had awakened Conqueror’s Haki right under Darren’s pressure—a feat beyond extraordinary.
Now, ard with that overwhelming spirit, an unshakable will, and an unmatched gift for swordsmanship, the young swordsman’s path stretched endlessly before him.
He wouldn’t just reach the sa height as the "World’s Strongest Swordsman" of the original tiline.
He would surpass it.
No—he would surpass everything.
Darren was sure of it.
After all, Conqueror’s Haki in its infancy was little more than a psychological weapon—a way to scatter the weak. But in the hands of soone like Mihawk, it would eventually evolve into sothing terrifying: a true king’s weapon, capable of splitting the very heavens.
With the soul of a conqueror and the discipline of a swordsman, "Hawk-Eyes" Mihawk would one day eclipse even his own legend.
But sothing about it all gnawed at Darren.
Three strikes.
That was all it had taken.
In just three sword clashes, Mihawk had gone from a promising youth to a monster who had discovered his path, forged his resolve, and awakened Conqueror’s Haki.
One strike to find his limit.
One strike to glimpse enlightennt.
One strike to awaken as a king.
Darren’s lips twitched violently. A headache pulsed at his temples.
What kind of ridiculous teaching record is this?!
He wasn’t just a ntor anymore—he was a walking legend in the making!
"Kaido-sensei..." Darren muttered, rubbing his temples. "I think I finally understand how you felt when Luffy started spouting enlightennt every ten minutes..."
A strange, begrudging camaraderie stirred in his chest.
"Gotta hand it to the kid, he’s got his own kind of style," Momonga remarked, stepping up beside him. He watched Mihawk standing proudly atop his small vessel, the sea breeze catching his coat, and let out a low whistle.
No one knew better than Momonga how much agony that lightning treatnt caused. Yet Mihawk had borne it silently, eyes unblinking, as if pain itself had no power over him.
In contrast, Gecko Moria—nearly ten years older—had scread like a dying boar.
Momonga’s gaze flicked toward him, his lip curling faintly in disdain.
Moria said nothing, his shoulders trembling.
"I wonder how that coffin-thing even sails," Momonga mused aloud, scratching his chin. "There’s no real propulsion—just a single little mast. How’d he even reach the North Blue with that thing?"
"Good question," Darren said, equally perplexed.
Both leaned forward curiously as Mihawk prepared to set off.
The young swordsman struck a match, calmly relighting the green candles fixed to the deck’s corners. Their eerie glow flickered against the black lacquer of the coffin-shaped hull.
The sight was hauntingly beautiful.
The black-haired youth stood tall, his lone arm resting on the hilt of the massive cross-shaped blade strapped to his back. His silhouette—somber, solitary, and unwavering—looked like sothing pulled straight from legend.
And then—
Mihawk planted Yoru, his enormous cruciform sword, into the water beside the boat.
And began to row.
Crack!
The majestic image shattered like glass.
Darren: ...
Momonga: ...
Gecko Moria: ...
The Marines: ...
Momonga’s eyelid twitched uncontrollably. "...Well, I’ll give him this—he’s got incredible arm strength," he muttered stiffly. "I guess that’s how he swings that monstrous sword around."
Darren just stared in silence, too stunned to speak. The sudden collapse of atmosphere was whiplash-inducing.
Pfft—!!
Moria couldn’t hold it in. His shrill, nasal laugh broke through the silence. "Kishishishishishi!"
Instantly, the air turned to ice.
A killing intent sharper than Enma’s edge slamd into him.
"Laugh again," Mihawk said coldly, turning his hawk-like eyes toward Moria, "and I’ll kill you."
The nace in his voice was palpable.
Moria froze, a bead of cold sweat trailing down his cheek. He slapped his remaining hand over his mouth and said nothing more.
Darren: ...
Momonga: ...
Darren rubbed his chin, a sudden realization dawning.
Wait a second... Could it be that Krieg—the so-called Overlord of the East Blue—was chased across half the ocean by Mihawk just because he laughed at this rowing thod?
The thought made too much sense.
The waves whispered quietly as Mihawk’s Coffin Boat receded into the mist, the rhythmic dip and pull of his blade slicing through the sea.
The silhouette grew smaller, darker, until it vanished completely beyond the horizon—like a phantom swallowed by the endless blue.
Darren stretched and yawned. "Well, that’s that. Ti to head back. I’m exhausted."
Momonga gave him a flat look. "Exhausted? You didn’t even do anything! Against Moria you didn’t use Haki, and with Mihawk you just stood there and gave him life lessons!"
"Wait!" a ragged voice suddenly called out.
Both n froze and turned.
Gecko Moria was staggering to his feet, eyes wild, mouth twisted in defiance.
"Rogers Darren!" he bellowed, pointing his remaining arm forward. "That doesn’t count! I challenge you again, right here, right now!"
Darren’s brows rose slightly.
Moria’s body trembled, but his voice was steady. Yes... this is it! he thought, blood surging with reckless excitent. If that brat Mihawk can reach enlightennt, so can I! I’ll take a few hits, endure the pain, and when I get the chance, I’ll shout, ’I understand!’
He straightened, striking a dramatic pose worthy of a third-rate protagonist in a cheap manga.
"Got a problem with that, King of the North Blue?"
Darren: ...
Momonga groaned, dragging his hand down his face.
Here we go again.
To be continued...
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