On the empty dock, the night wind blew, the sea shimmered, and the Moonlight shone on the two figures, casting long shadows.
"Let's begin." Mihawk once again drew his Night Blade from his back; the blade gleamed with a cold light under the Moonlight, his movements clean and precise, without any superfluous action.
Gern slowly drew out his black blade eight desolations, the white cloth on the blade still wrapped around it.
He didn't even rush to attack, but stood in place, waiting for Mihawk to make his move.
Seeing this, Mihawk didn't hesitate; his figure flashed, his blade cutting through the air, heading straight for Gern's throat.
This strike was fast.
However, Gern merely shifted his body slightly, and black blade eight desolations gently blocked it.
"Clang!" The crisp sound of the collision echoed throughout the dock.
Mihawk's blade was firmly parried, unable to advance an inch.
"Your speed is good, but it's slow," Gern commented, a hint of mockery in his tone.
Mihawk's eyes narrowed, and he quickly changed his move, his blade turning to sweep horizontally towards Gern's waist.
Gern tapped his toes, lightly leaping backward, avoiding the attack.
"Your swordsmanship is pure, but it lacks the tempering of real combat. No wonder you seek out challenges," Gern said while dodging.
"A true Swordsman must not only be fast but also know how to control the rhythm of the battle."
After all, having fought and defeated a great Swordsman like Kozuki Oden, he was certainly qualified to comment.
At the same time, Mihawk did not respond, but his offensive grew even more ferocious.
For a moment, blade light rained down, every strike aimed at a vital point.
However, no matter how he changed his moves, Gern could always easily defuse them, as if he had already seen through all of his actions.
Finally, after one exchange, Gern suddenly exerted force, and black blade eight desolations vibrated violently, knocking Mihawk's blade away.
Immediately after, he stepped forward, his blade stopping at Mihawk's neck; just one more inch would have taken his life.
Mihawk's breathing was slightly ragged, but he did not retreat a single step.
"You lost," Gern said, sheathing his blade with a slight smile.
"I will join the Marine..." Mihawk lowered his eyes, his words cut short by Gern's cold interruption.
"No need."
"???"
Mihawk stood in place, his hawk-like eyes fixed on Gern, the blade in his hand trembling slightly.
"What do you mean by that?" His voice was low and suppressed, as if squeezed through clenched teeth.
Gern stopped, turned his head, and a faint smile played on the corners of his lips: "Literally."
"So..." Mihawk's brows furrowed, his fingers gripping the blade turning white from the force: "Are you humiliating me?"
"No." Gern turned around, his gaze calmly fixed on him, "I just think this battle was unfair to you."
"Unfair?" Mihawk sneered, "Losing is losing. I accept my defeat and don't need your pity."
"It's not pity." Gern shook his head, his eyes becoming serious.
"As you are now, you don't even qualify for me to be a little serious, so this doesn't count as a battle."
"My full power doesn't even count as a battle in front of you...?" Mihawk fell silent.
"So..." Gern tilted his head slightly, looking at the distant horizon, his tone relaxed yet unyielding.
"Five years, I'll give you another chance in five years."
The night wind swept by, rustling the corners of their clothes.
Mihawk's gaze flickered slightly, seemingly weighing Gern's words.
"Five years..." he repeated softly, then suddenly looked up, a fervent fighting spirit igniting in his pupils.
"Good! In five years, I will challenge you again!"
"At that time, if you lose..." Gern smiled and held up a finger.
"Then you will truly, truly have to join the Marine."
Mihawk snorted: "I won't lose a second time."
"I hope so." Gern shrugged, turned, and walked away, his silhouette appearing particularly tall and slender under the Moonlight.
Mihawk stood in place, watching his receding figure, slowly clenching his fists.
In the battle just now, Gern hadn't even unwrapped the bandages on his blade, while he himself had used all his strength, yet couldn't even force him to be serious.
This disparity made him unwilling, but also excited him.
"Five years..." he murmured softly, his gaze gradually firming.
"In five years, I will show you what a true Swordsman is!"
Thinking of this, Mihawk suddenly raised the blade in his hand, the sharp edge gleaming with a cold light under the Moonlight, pointing at Gern.
"For the next five years, I absolutely will not fail a second time!!" His voice was as sharp as a blade, echoing on the silent dock.
"Until I defeat you and become a great Swordsman! I absolutely will not lose again!"
"So, do you have any objections?! Gern!!!"
Hearing 15-year-old Mihawk's shout, Gern stopped, frowning, "Strange, why does this sound so familiar?"
But to maintain his persona, Gern still turned around, the smile on his lips deepening, a hint of nostalgia flashing in his eyes.
"No objections." Then he waved his hand, his back to Mihawk, "In five years, I'll be waiting for you."
Mihawk slowly lowered his blade, watching Gern's silhouette disappear into the night, his fists clenched white.
He would not lose a second time.
In five years, he would definitely show Gern the true edge of the "World's Greatest Swordsman"!
The sea breeze howled, scattering his words, but it could not blow away the fighting spirit ignited in his heart.
The five-year promise was thus made.
(Zoro's strength improved so quickly in two years, so it's fine for me, Hawkeye, to be just a step away from the World's Greatest Swordsman in five years, right?)
.......
The night on Lilac Island was still noisy, the glow of neon lights flowed through the streets, and the cheers of gamblers intertwined with the shouts of drunkards, forming a cacophony.
Gern strolled through the crowd, his fingers lightly tapping the hilt of his blade, Mihawk's declaration of fighting spirit still echoing in his mind.
"Tsk, what a pity! I knew it sounded familiar..." he muttered to himself, then couldn't help but touch his chin.
"Should I have left a scar on Mihawk's chest? Missed it, missed it..."
Just as he was lost in thought, a clear singing voice suddenly pierced through the noisy street, drifting into his ears like a gentle ray of Moonlight.
Gern paused, following the sound.
Soon, in front of a slave shop at the street corner, a green-haired young man sat on the steps outside a cage, holding a worn-out guitar, his fingertips gently plucking the strings.
His voice was deep and gentle, with a hint of hoarseness, yet surprisingly pleasant to listen to.
Inside the cage, a blonde woman in a blue dress, with a slave collar around her neck, held onto the iron bars, a smile on her lips, softly harmonizing with him.
Their voices intertwined, as if even the cold iron cage could not block their tacit agreement and warmth.
"Tesoro... and Stella?" Gern narrowed his eyes, recognizing the green-haired young man.
It was his target for this trip, the future "Golden Emperor."
However, at this moment, Tesoro was still just a poor young man desperately saving money for his beloved, not the future emperor who would control the world's wealth.
There was no greed in his eyes, only tenderness and determination for the girl in the cage.
Gern did not immediately approach, but leaned against the wall, quietly watching the scene.
The singing gradually stopped, and Tesoro looked up at the night sky, saying softly: "Stella, just wait a little longer... I'll have enough money soon."
Stella smiled gently, her fingers lightly passing through the iron bars, touching his fingertips: "Mhm, I'll wait for you."
Gern watched this scene, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"What a touching love story..." he murmured softly, then his eyes sharpened.
"Unfortunately, this world won't be gentle with you two."
