What happened to Shirakawa was only a small episode before the tournament.
The only people who knew about it were the ones who had just witnessed it in the crowd, and among the thousands gathered here, that was not many. Even so, everyone who had seen what happened felt fear toward Shirakawa, because none of them had noticed how those people had suddenly fallen unconscious.
Although there were a few strong fighters in the crowd, they were only strong by the standards of the first half of the Grand Line. Someone like Shirakawa, who possessed enough power to survive even in the New World, was naturally on a completely different level from them.
Shirakawa followed the crowd into the arena.
Because today was the final day of the swordsmen's competition, everyone wanted to see who would ultimately claim the championship, so the place was packed.
He gave the rules a rough glance.
Ten people had made it into the finals, and they were split into five groups to fight simultaneously. Of the five winners, one would receive a bye in the next round, while the remaining four would be split into two groups and fight at the same time. The final three would proceed in the same fashion.
In the first round of five matches, Shirakawa only took a brief look before mentally eliminating all the relatively weak contestants. After a short break, the second round began, and one rather lucky middle-aged man got the bye.
But the one who left the deepest impression on Shirakawa was a kid who used Two-Sword Style.
Among the two opponents he faced, not one could last more than five moves against him.
Compared to One-Sword Style, Two-Sword Style was far harder to master. To truly bring out the essence of Two-Sword Style, what you needed was not just time, but talent as well. If your talent was lacking, then no matter how much effort you put in, it would all be for nothing.
And yet judging by that young man's face, he was no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, the youngest among all the contestants.
But he also seemed to be the strongest.
By this point, Shirakawa could already tell who would become the final champion.
Although the middle-aged man got another bye in the second round, and it had to be said his luck was truly excellent to make it all the way to the final match, his ranking could only end at second place.
As for first place, it would naturally go to that seventeen or eighteen-year-old youth whose name Shirakawa still did not know.
When the fight began, the young man did not even bother to rest and directly requested the final match to start, which was enough to show that he still had not used his true strength.
For a tournament like this, outsiders watched for excitement, insiders watched for skill, and someone at Shirakawa's level watched it like a joke.
For that young man, this competition probably felt no different from child's play.
Once the tournament ended, the organizers awarded the champion his trophy and prize money. Only when the prize money landed in his hands did the young man's expression finally change.
He had probably come here for the money.
The competition had taken about an hour.
After it ended, everyone went their separate ways and headed home. Although Shirakawa was quite interested in that young man, he did not go up to strike a conversation.
Being interested in someone did not necessarily mean liking them.
Maybe one day, Shirakawa would invite him onto his ship.
But while Shirakawa did not go looking for him, the young man quietly followed behind him instead.
Naturally, Shirakawa sensed that someone was tailing him.
He deliberately led the other party toward the coast, since there were fewer people there. If that person intended to make a move against him, it would also be a good place to kill someone and silence them.
"Come out. I know someone's following me."
Shirakawa turned around, only to find, somewhat unexpectedly, that the other person had been following him openly the whole time.
"So it's you."
Shirakawa realized that the one following him was the tournament champion, the highly skilled young swordsman.
"What do you want from me?"
"Fight me."
The young man drew one of the swords from his waist and pointed it at Shirakawa.
"You're not my opponent," Shirakawa said calmly.
"How will we know if we don't try?"
The other party frowned, clearly angered by Shirakawa's dismissal.
"Fine. Before we fight, we should introduce ourselves first."
"Ural Jora, swordsman of Two-Sword Style."
"Adolf K. Shirakawa, swordsman of One-Sword Style."
After Shirakawa finished speaking, Jora drew his second sword as well and assumed a Two-Sword Style stance. He kept staring at Shirakawa, yet did not make a move for a long while.
"What, you're not attacking? If you keep that up, you won't be able to defeat me."
Although Shirakawa was standing in what looked like a beginner's sword stance, in Jora's eyes, it held no openings at all.
No matter how he imagined his next move, it felt like Shirakawa would be able to break it with ease.
In his mind, he had already thought through several possible approaches, yet not a single one seemed workable.
"If you still won't attack, then I'll come to you."
Jora's sword talent was indeed very strong, but that also depended on who he was facing.
As soon as he finished speaking, Shirakawa rushed forward, using one of the simplest yet most difficult techniques in One-Sword Style.
"One-Sword Style, Draw Slash, Swallowtail Flash."
Any swordsman could perform a draw slash, but those who could truly master its essence were exceedingly rare.
Shirakawa just happened to be one of those rare few.
Different swordsmen used draw slash in different ways. Some sheathed their swords again instantly after using it, while others did not.
Shirakawa belonged to the second kind.
A draw slash was a draw slash. If you did not draw the sword out, then what kind of draw slash was that supposed to be?
"So fast!"
Jora could only catch a vague afterimage, but he could not block the attack at all. The speed Shirakawa displayed had already exceeded Jora's limits.
But Jora did not give up.
Instead, he did everything he could to resist the technique, while coating his abdomen with Armament Haki for protection.
"Armament Haki, huh? Being able to use Armament Haki at your age isn't bad at all."
By then, Shirakawa had already appeared behind Jora. He could also feel that his attack had been obstructed by a certain kind of force, a force he was very familiar with.
It was Armament Haki.
Although it was rare for someone as young as seventeen or eighteen to have mastered Armament Haki, that did not mean it was impossible. Had Sabo not already mastered Armament Haki at seventeen?
"But your Haki is still too weak."
Although Shirakawa's attack just now had not been imbued with any Haki, it had still cut through Jora's defense.
It was just that the wound had not gone too deep.
Blood was already seeping out from Jora's abdomen, staining his clothes red.
"I'm not your opponent."
Jora looked dejected.
Shirakawa looked about the same age as him, yet the pride Jora had built up over all these years had been completely shattered. He could not even block a single move from the other party.
At that moment, a noisy burst of footsteps suddenly reached both of their ears.
If Shirakawa's guess was correct, those footsteps belonged to the Marines.
After all, the Marine colonel's son should have woken up by now, and the colonel had likely already learned that his son had become an idiot.
He was probably here for revenge.
/-\
Enjoying the story? Want to read ahead?
Support the novel and unlock early access to unreleased chapters!
~ +20 Advanced Chapters Available on Patreon! (+1 Chapter daily)
https://p-atreon.com/Its_Zack
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access Patreon normally)