On a nameless desert island, Kaelen Tsukishiro and Dracule Mihawk stood several meters apart, each holding their sword at the ready.
Above them, heavy clouds gathered, casting a gloomy shadow over the land. The air was tense and silent.
Not far away, Robin, Hancock, Fujitora, and others watched quietly from a distance.
The wind rustled the trees, scattering dry leaves across the ground.
In the blink of an eye, both swordsmen moved.
Shiiing!
Twin flashes of steel streaked through the air as their swords collided with a burst of sparks.
Kaelen and Mihawk passed by each other, then instinctively turned and struck again in perfect unison.
Clang!
Kaelen's dark purple blade clashed against Mihawk's iconic black sword, Yoru. The force of the impact sent shockwaves rippling through the surroundings, carving grooves into the earth.
Their duel was silent—no words, no shouts—only the relentless clash of steel and the forceful wind generated by their strikes.
Both men held their ground, neither willing to yield.
Moments later, they lunged once more, their blades dancing through the air at lightning speed.
To an onlooker, their movements were nearly impossible to follow. The flurry of slashes, counters, and parries looked like a blur of silver and black, accompanied by the sharp ring of metal.
Each strike was calculated. Every block was intentional.
Mihawk's swordsmanship was broad and forceful, striking with power but not lacking in precision. His movements held the weight of experience, yet the sharpness of intent.
He was indeed worthy of the title "World's Strongest Swordsman."
Kaelen, however, was no ordinary opponent. His style combined the sheer might of Whitebeard, the graceful unpredictability of the Golden Lion, and the refined technique of Vista.
Together, these influences had forged a style that was aggressive, swift, and intricate.
He didn't just match Mihawk—he rivaled him.
---
Farther back, Hancock watched anxiously, her fingers gripping her cloak.
"If that man with hawk eyes dares hurt Kaelen, the moment this duel ends, I'll make him pay," she muttered with fiery determination.
Robin, standing beside her, gave a small smile. "Don't worry. Kaelen's strength is far beyond what most people think."
Hancock blinked, then turned sharply to Robin. The realization hit—Robin had arrived together with Kaelen. Her expression instantly shifted to one of hostility, her eyes narrowed with a woman's instinctive jealousy.
Robin noticed, her eye twitching slightly, but she chose to ignore it, focusing her attention back on the duel.
Fujitora stood silently, his grip firm on his cane-sword as he observed through his Haki.
"Amazing…" he whispered. "Both of them have reached an extraordinary level. Their strikes are calm, their movements precise. This isn't a contest of brute strength—it's the essence of true swordsmanship."
"For either to be surpassed in this generation, decades might not be enough."
---
On the battlefield, another heavy strike forced Mihawk to retreat a few steps. Kaelen immediately followed with a downward slash, the blade glowing with faint violet energy.
The blade moved like an extension of Kaelen's body—fluid, sharp, and absolute.
But Mihawk wasn't fazed. Gripping Yoru with both hands, he met Kaelen's attack head-on and retaliated with a strike toward Kaelen's wrist.
Flash!
Yoru gleamed ominously, cutting through the air like a bolt of lightning.
Kaelen didn't retreat. Instead, he stepped into the attack and aimed a piercing thrust directly at Mihawk's throat.
The moment before either blow could land, both men twisted their bodies in a synchronized dodge.
Mihawk swung his blade in a sweeping arc, targeting Kaelen from the side.
"Nice angle," Kaelen muttered with a grin.
With a flick of his wrist, Kaelen flipped his sword to his left hand and blocked the incoming strike.
Clang!
Yoru met Kaelen's sword again in a thunderous clash.
Kaelen rotated the hilt, reversing his grip, and with a tight maneuver, slashed at Mihawk's face.
The attack was fast and clean—but not fast enough.
Mihawk countered just in time, Yoru catching the edge of Kaelen's blade before it could connect.
Neither had used any form of Haki or other powers yet. It was a pure test of swordsmanship.
And Kaelen was enjoying every moment of it.
His heart pounded, but not from fear. This was the thrill of a fair, equal fight. A rare feeling for someone who had often overpowered others easily.
Likewise, Mihawk—who had grown tired of cutting down lesser opponents—felt a long-lost excitement rising in his chest.
The last time he'd experienced this was with Shanks—before Shanks lost his arm.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
Neither seemed to notice the time. Their movements remained sharp, precise, focused.
But eventually, Kaelen exhaled, ever so slightly.
He was growing tired of it.
Their swordsmanship was equal. Neither was making a mistake. If they kept going like this, it would just become a test of stamina—not skill.
Kaelen respected Mihawk's blade. It had reached its peak. The only person who might surpass it was the legendary Ryuma, the Sword God of Wano.
Well, that and Kaelen's own future self.
Breaking past this level would require something more—an epiphany, a revelation—not just technique or strength.
Without that spark, this clash would remain deadlocked forever.
---
Send Stones.