Chapter 22: The Path to Sabaody

The sound of voices and footsteps filled the air as I walked through the bustling streets of Sabaody Archipelago. Towering mangrove trees loomed above me, their massive roots forming natural pathways that twisted and turned like a living maze. The scent of saltwater mixed with the aroma of fried foods and fresh fish, reminding me that this place was as much a port as it was a hub of commerce and intrigue.

Sabaody was unlike any island I had ever set foot on.

Each grove served a different purpose. Some were markets where merchants shouted over each other to sell their wares. Others were havens for pirates and bounty hunters, exchanging information in shadowy corners. The entire archipelago pulsed with energy, as if it were alive. The colors were vibrant, yet the undercurrent of tension was palpable. Here, wealth and danger walked hand in hand.

The Atmosphere of Sabaody

The Mangroves:

Enormous trees with roots so massive they formed natural bridges and caverns.Each grove was numbered, with certain numbers known to house particular groups—shipwrights, craftsmen, and even criminal underworld figures.The trees themselves emitted bubbles from their roots, which floated lazily into the sky. I could see children chasing them, laughing as the sunlight reflected off their surfaces.

The People:

Merchants haggled loudly, their stalls overflowing with rare items from every corner of the Grand Line.Pirates wearing ragged clothing moved in small groups, their eyes darting suspiciously at every passerby.Marines patrolled certain groves, though their presence seemed thin compared to the pirates. This was neutral ground, after all—a place where the laws of the world government were more like loose guidelines.

The Noise:

The constant hum of conversations and laughter filled the air, punctuated by the occasional shout of a pirate crew calling for drinks or a merchant advertising a treasure map.Somewhere in the distance, a musician played a jaunty tune, their notes drifting through the bustling marketplace.

Hearing the Call of Swordsmanship

As I wandered through the groves, taking in the sights and sounds, I heard a commotion in the distance. A group of men rushed past me, their faces filled with excitement.

"Did you hear?" one said. "There's a swordsmanship duel in Grove 42!"

"Who's fighting?" another asked.

"Some no-name swordsman challenging the legend himself—Dracule Mihawk!"

Mihawk. The name sent a shiver down my spine. I had heard of him. Who hadn't? The World's Strongest Swordsman. A man whose very title carried the weight of countless battles, of unmatched skill, of blades sharpened by the blood of legends.

Without a second thought, I turned toward Grove 42. The prospect of seeing Mihawk in action was too tempting to pass up.

The Duel Unfolds

When I arrived, a small crowd had already gathered. They formed a rough circle around a clearing, their murmurs barely containing their anticipation. In the center of that circle stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing yellow eyes and a black, flowing coat. Mihawk.

Facing him was another swordsman—an older man, his face scarred, his stance firm. He carried himself with confidence, but there was a nervous twitch in his fingers. I couldn't blame him. Standing before Mihawk, anyone would feel the weight of their own mortality.

The two men exchanged no words. Mihawk simply drew his blade—Yoru, a sword so massive it looked more like a cross than a weapon. Its black blade gleamed ominously in the sunlight, radiating a power that seemed to silence even the most boisterous pirates in the crowd.

The fight began.

The challenger lunged first, his blade flashing as he tried to close the distance. Mihawk didn't move. Not at first. He stood perfectly still, his eyes following every motion. Then, with a single step, he was gone.

Or at least, that's how it seemed. In an instant, Mihawk's sword struck, the sheer force of his swing creating a gust of wind that rippled through the crowd. The challenger's blade shattered. The man staggered, his sword reduced to fragments, and then he fell.

The duel had ended in one stroke.

My Challenge to Mihawk

As the crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and murmurs, I stepped forward, my hand resting on the hilt of my own sword. The supreme-grade blade at my side felt heavier than usual. My heart raced, but I kept my expression calm. This was no time for hesitation.

"Mihawk," I called out, my voice steady. The crowd quieted, and all eyes turned to me.

He glanced at me, his yellow eyes sharp and calculating. "What do you want, boy?"

"I challenge you," I said simply.

Mihawk's eyes drifted to the sword at my side. For a moment, a faint look of surprise crossed his face. "A supreme grade blade," he said softly, almost to himself. "And you wield it. Interesting."

He raised Yoru, pointing it toward me. "Very well. Show me what you're capable of."

I nodded, drawing my sword in one fluid motion. The crowd stepped back, giving us room. The atmosphere grew tense, the air heavy with anticipation. Mihawk's stance shifted slightly, and I could see the beginnings of a small, confident smile on his lips.

The duel was about to begin.