A/N: Bonus chapter! Patreon bro @Vonhjin renewed and we welcomed a new patreon bro @Nikolai. Welcome to the gang! I'm fired up!!!
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SWISH!
CRAAAACK!
A horizontal sweep from Light, parried by Mihawk, sent a flying slash screaming into the Marine lines, effortlessly cutting down two Vice Admirals and cleaving a massive fissure into the frozen bay that threatened to swallow the entire vanguard.
"WATCH OUT! MIHAWK!"
"STOP! NOW!"
And...
Neither man cared.
The collateral damage was utterly irrelevant. The Marines could burn, the pirates could drown; there was nothing in the universe except the man standing in front.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
'World's Strongest Swordsman.'
Light was forced to acknowledge the terrifying reality of the New World. His Level 5 Weapon Arts dictated that his movements were flawless—perfect kinetic transfers, absolute balance, and zero wasted energy. But perfection was a framework, and Mihawk was a monster who filled that framework with decades of brutal, unyielding experience and raw, island-shattering power.
WHOOSH. WHOOSH. SWOOSH. SLICKK!
BOOM!
Light threw blindingly fast jabs and short, brutal hooks with his saber, exploiting the massive size of Mihawk's sword to attack from the inside. But Mihawk's defense was an iron fortress.
"That's it! Hahaha!"
"That's it!"
The Warlord utilized the heavy weight of Yoru not just as a bludgeon, but as a sweeping shield, parrying Light's lethal thrusts by mere millimeters.
CLANG!
For the first time, a bead of sweat rolled down Light's temple. His arms ached, vibrating with the sheer, concussive trauma of blocking blows meant to split mountains.
Mihawk, too, was feeling the strain, though he couldn't care right now. His elegant gothic coat was torn at the shoulder, and a thin line of blood trickled down his cheek where the air pressure of Light's near-miss had grazed him. He couldn't find a single opening in the False Deity's stance.
And that excited him.
With a mutual realization that they were locked in an absolute physical stalemate- that they wished to tear apart! Both men simultaneously swung their blades in a massive, repelling clash.
BOOM!
SKRRRRRRRT!
The force of the mutual strike sent both men skidding violently backward. They tore deep, smoking trenches into the ice, coming to a halt fifty yards apart, separated by a newly formed chasm that completely split the plaza in two.
The deafening clash of steel ceased. The hurricane-force winds slowly died down, leaving the air heavy with the scent of ozone and vaporized water.
"HA.... HA...."
Mihawk stood tall, his chest heaving slightly. His golden eyes were fixed on the False Deity.
"I see it now..." Mihawk's deep voice echoed across the chasm, breaking the ice between them for the first time. He held Yoru at his side, the black steel humming with residual energy.
"Your swordsmanship... you have perfected it."
Mihawk narrowed his eyes, a profound sense of philosophical disappointment lacing his tone.
"And yet... your sword is entirely empty," Mihawk stated, his voice ringing with the authority of the world's greatest artisan judging a forgery.
"You... you lack the soul of a swordsman. "
"You do not live by the blade. You do not revere the cut."
"But you're at the peak!"
"It doesn't make sense."
'Yeah, go fuck yourself.' Light thought.
This cosplayer suddenly attacked him and now he was passing comments?
What the hell was this? Did he ask?
Light Yagami's cold, unhinged smile slowly returned to his face. He wiped a drop of sweat from his brow, his dark eyes locking onto the Warlord with a chilling, absolute certainty.
'He doesn't look like he'll leave.'
"Ha..."
"You have it entirely backward, Hawk-Eye," Light replied, his voice carrying effortlessly over the battlefield, smooth and devoid of any romanticism.
Light raised his pitch-black saber, looking at the dark steel as if it were nothing more than a piece of scrap metal.
That's right.
He didn't love it.
"I do not pursue perfection," Light declared, his tone dripping with disdain for Mihawk's philosophy.
"Perfection is a concept for artisans. For men who want to paint beautiful pictures or forge beautiful weapons. It is a constraint. A set of rules you bind yourself to so you can call yourself a 'swordsman'."
Light lowered the blade, pointing it directly at Mihawk's chest.
Vrrrrrrm.
The air around the False Deity began to warp, growing heavy and suffocating as his Force Authority subtly bled into the atmosphere.
"A sword is a tool. Nothing more," Light stated coldly.
"It has no soul. It has no honor. The only thing that matters... the only thing that shapes this world... is the Will of the man holding it. You worship the blade, swordsman."
"I merely use it to enforce my Will upon the rot of this era."
'...'
Mihawk stared at Light. The words were blasphemy to everything the Warlord stood for. And yet, looking at the sheer, terrifying conviction burning in Light's dark eyes, Mihawk felt a thrill that he hadn't experienced since his duels with Shanks.
He couldn't say the man's path was wrong.
After all, he had reached the peak. Just like himself.
This wasn't just a clash of steel. It was a clash of fundamental dogmas. The Pursuit of Perfection versus the Imposition of Will.
"Your arrogance is as boundless as the sea, False Deity," Mihawk murmured, a dark, fierce smile finally breaking across his stoic face.
"Let me test the weight of this 'Will' you speak of."
Mihawk raised the colossal Black Blade, gripping the hilt with both hands. He planted his boots firmly into the ice.
Light's swordsmanship had kept up.
Even when he gave his swordsmanship his all.
The Warlord realized that in a contest of pure, physical technique and standard Armament Haki, or swordsmanship, from the looks of it, they were entirely deadlocked.
Could his swordsmanship be even stronger?
He didn't know.
He wanted to see.
So.
He would force it out!
To break the False Deity, Mihawk had to elevate the battle beyond the physical realm.
Mihawk closed his eyes, drawing a slow, deep breath.
The ambient temperature around the Warlord suddenly plummeted. The air itself began to vibrate, emitting a low, suffocating hum that made the ice beneath his boots instantly crack and spider-web outward for hundreds of yards.
"If a sword is merely a tool for your Will..." Mihawk's voice resonated, echoing with a dark, terrifying power that sent shivers down the spines of Vice Admirals and Pirate Commanders alike.
"...Then observe the Will of the World's Strongest."
Crackle.
BOOOOOOM!
Suddenly, a terrifying, suffocating density of energy erupted from Mihawk's body.
The Black Blade, Yoru, already forged of the darkest steel in the world, seemed to absorb the very light around it. But it was not just Armament Haki.
CRACKLE-CRACKLE.
A jagged, violent surge of thick crimson and black lightning violently exploded from the massive blade. The lightning whipped wildly through the air, tearing deep gashes into the ice without the sword even moving.
Conqueror's Haki.
Mihawk was coating his blade in the Supreme King's Haki.
The atmospheric pressure in the plaza became physically crushing. Weaker men on both sides of the chasm instantly foamed at the mouth, their eyes rolling back into their skulls as they collapsed into the snow, completely overwhelmed by the sheer, unadulterated spiritual gravity of the coated blade.
Mihawk opened his golden eyes. They glowed with an absolute, terrifying predatory light. The crimson lightning crackled furiously around Yoru, tearing at the fabric of reality itself.
He looked across the chasm at the False Deity. The Warlord's smile was pure, unadulterated excitement—the joy of a man who could finally swing his sword without holding a single ounce of his spirit back.
"Come, Yagami," Mihawk challenged, his voice cutting through the roaring of the black lightning.
"Show me the edge of your Will."
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A/N: Uh-oh. Didn't Light prioritize Observation Haki earlier? F.
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