Chapter 23: The Clash of Blades

The air felt heavier as Mihawk and I stood face to face, our swords drawn. His yellow eyes, sharp as a hawk's, assessed me in silence. My grip on the hilt of Oden was firm, my breath steady, but inside, a part of me still couldn't believe this was happening. I was standing toe-to-toe with the World's Strongest Swordsman, and I was about to fight him.

The crowd surrounding us had gone completely silent. No one dared to whisper or shift. All eyes were locked on us, waiting for the first move.

The Opening Strike

Mihawk moved first, a sudden flash of black as Yoru arced toward me. The speed and precision were staggering, but I was ready. I raised my blade and met his strike head-on, the clash ringing out like a thunderclap. The force of the impact sent a gust of wind through the onlookers, rustling cloaks and scattering loose papers.

I pushed back, matching the strength behind his swing, and we separated again. He didn't speak, but his faint smile told me he was intrigued.

Evenly Matched

What followed was a whirlwind of strikes. Mihawk's technique was flawless—each move calculated, each swing a lesson in precision. But I wasn't the same swordsman I had been years ago. My own blade moved with confidence, my training and Haki sharpening every strike. Our swords clashed again and again, creating shockwaves that shook the ground beneath us.

At first, Mihawk seemed relaxed, his movements smooth and almost effortless. But as our exchange continued, I noticed a shift. His strikes grew faster, his angles sharper. He was taking me seriously now.

I matched him blow for blow. Each time he increased the intensity, I rose to meet it. The crowd, once awestruck, began to murmur in disbelief. "Who is he?" someone whispered. "How can he keep up with Mihawk?"

I could feel my own shock building. With every swing, every parry, I realized I was standing on equal ground with the greatest swordsman alive.

The Power of Haki

Our duel wasn't just about skill—it was a clash of wills. Mihawk's blade glowed faintly as his Haki enveloped it, and I answered in kind. My Conqueror's Haki surged forward, coating my sword in a vivid aura. When our blades met, the collision of Haki created bursts of light and sound that left the onlookers speechless.

At one point, Mihawk pulled back, his gaze narrowing as if seeing me clearly for the first time. "Interesting," he muttered, almost to himself. "You have the will of a king."

The exchange of blows continued, each strike a testament to how far I had come. Mihawk was no longer holding back, and yet I stood my ground. Every swing of his sword pushed me to my limits, but I met him with everything I had.

The Turning Point

Minutes passed—or perhaps it was hours. Time seemed to blur as our swords clashed again and again. I began to notice something: my breathing remained steady, my movements fluid, my reactions as sharp as his. The realization struck me like a lightning bolt—I was on his level.

The thought gave me a surge of confidence. I shifted from defense to offense, pressing Mihawk back with a series of quick, precise strikes. He countered each one, but I saw it in his eyes—a flicker of surprise.

"Not bad," he said at last, his voice calm but edged with respect. "I didn't expect this."

Onlookers in Shock

The crowd had grown restless, their whispers louder now. They couldn't believe what they were seeing. To them, Mihawk was an untouchable figure, a living legend. But here I was—someone they didn't even recognize—facing him without flinching.

"Who is he?" one voice demanded.

"Is he a new Warlord?" another guessed.

"Impossible. He's too young."

Their voices faded into the background as my focus remained on Mihawk.

A Fight That Wouldn't End

The duel continued, each of us testing the other, pushing limits neither of us had expected to reach. Blades clashed, Haki crackled, and the ground beneath us bore the scars of our fight. Neither of us showed signs of yielding.

And then, for the first time in a long time, I smiled. Not out of arrogance, but out of pride. Pride that I had come this far. Pride that I could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with one of the world's greatest warriors.

This was where I belonged.

As we locked blades again, Mihawk's expression shifted. It wasn't frustration—it was admiration. In that moment, I knew he recognized me as an equal.

The fight wasn't over, but it was clear to both of us that this was no ordinary duel. It was a meeting of equals, a clash of wills that neither of us would forget.