Chapter 3: The Lesson of the Blade
For a man known for his restless, predatory nature, Dracule Mihawk had proven to be a surprisingly sedentary housemate. For three days, he had scarcely moved from a high-backed chair in the castle's main hall, seeming more like a piece of ornate furniture than a person. Roy had almost begun to wonder if the man was growing roots, or worse, hemorrhoids, from his perpetual stillness. But the World's Greatest Swordsman had finally honored his word and ventured outside, and for that, Roy was immensely pleased. His secret hope was that the baboons, with their incredible mimicry, might steal a fragment of the master's technique simply by observing him.
Mihawk, the massive black blade Yoru secured across his back, followed Roy out of the castle gates. The moment his boot touched the soil of the jungle, a change swept through the surrounding foliage. A low, guttural chittering began, and from behind trees and within the deep shadows, pairs of glowing red eyes emerged. Dozens of baboons materialized, their intelligent gazes fixed on the new human with a mixture of hostility and deep-seated wariness. They had known of his presence, but the castle was a sacred, forbidden space. Now that he had stepped into their domain, the rules had changed.
"The baboons of this island are… remarkable," Mihawk remarked, his voice devoid of alarm but rich with appraisal. He wasn't looking at beasts; he was analyzing a troop of disciplined, well-armed soldiers.
"I'm going to start my training. Don't worry, they won't swarm you unless you give them a reason," Roy said with a confident grin. Then, he tilted his head back and let out a series of sharp, guttural barks and hoots. It was a language he had learned over fifteen years—the language of challenge and greeting. The aggressive posturing of the baboons lessened, though their watchful eyes never left Mihawk.
Roy led the way to a large, well-trodden clearing—his personal arena. It was a place of honor and combat, where the jungle itself seemed to hold its breath. Roy unslung his massive sword, the familiar weight a comfort in his hand as he took his stance in the center.
"Woohoo!"
The challenge was answered. More than fifty baboons emerged from the tree line, a formidable force clad in scavenged armor and wielding an arsenal of axes, broadswords, and spears. But then Roy did something that made Mihawk's eyes narrow with genuine interest. The young man produced a long strip of black cloth and tied it firmly over his eyes, blotting out all sight.
"A blindfold?" Mihawk murmured to himself, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. "So, you've awakened it… Observation Haki."
Roy had no teacher to name the ability. From the age of eight, forced to fight in the pitch-black of the jungle night, he had learned to rely on something deeper than sight. After countless beatings, a sixth sense had blossomed—a preternatural awareness that allowed him to feel the shift of air, the intent of an attack, and the trajectory of a blade before it was even swung. It was only upon realizing this was the world of One Piece that he understood the power's true name. Now, he trained it deliberately, forcing his other senses to sharpen in the darkness.
With his world plunged into black, Roy stilled his breathing. He could feel them—the fifty-plus presences surrounding him, a constellation of aggressive energy. He focused, pushing his awareness outward.
'I see you,' he thought.
"Raptor Slash!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the tension. He swung his great sword in a wide, horizontal arc. Instead of merely cutting air, a surge of purple energy erupted from the blade, condensing into the form of a roaring, serpentine dragon. The head-sized projectile of pure force tore across the clearing, gouging a deep fissure in the earth as it slammed into the front line of baboons.
BOOM!
The baboons, accustomed to imitating the styles of grounded soldiers, were stunned. A flying slash was beyond their usual repertoire. The purple dragon's impact sent a dozen of them tumbling backwards in a heap of tangled limbs and clattering armor.
Seeing their comrades defeated by this new technique, a fresh wave of five, larger baboons leaped into the fray. These were the elders, their strength nearing that of a skilled human swordsman. From the sidelines, the old strategist baboon barked orders, and more joined the fight, their eyes alight with a new, fierce excitement.
What followed was a spectacle of clashing energies. The elder baboons, now provoked, began unleashing their own crude, white slashes of energy. The clearing became a storm of intersecting blades of force—purple and white crashing against one another in bursts of visible power.
Mihawk observed it all with a calm, analytical eye. It was then that a new presence made itself known. A massive baboon, larger and more imposing than any other, emerged from the deepest shadows of the jungle. It carried a single, magnificent broadsword, its craftsmanship a stark contrast to the crude weapons of its kin. Roy would have gasped had he seen it; this was the Baboon King, and the sword it carried was one Roy had been searching for—a legendary blade, one of the twelve Supreme Grade Swords, a peer to the very Yoru on Mihawk's back.
The Baboon King ignored the main battle and strode directly toward Mihawk, its intent clear.
"You wish to challenge me?" Mihawk's voice was laced with a hint of bored amusement. "The ignorance of the animal mind knows no bounds."
The Baboon King answered with action, its broadsword whistling through the air in a devastating horizontal sweep. Mihawk didn't even shift his footing. With an almost lazy motion, he drew the colossal Yoru from his back and raised it, holding it vertically with one hand.
CLANG!
The King's powerful blow was halted with an ear-splitting ring of metal. The force of the impact didn't even cause Mihawk's arm to tremble. The baboon recoiled, shock evident in its eyes, before launching into a frenzied, blindingly fast assault. Its sword became a silver blur, striking from high and low, from the left and right.
Mihawk, expressionless, simply angled the black blade. Each devastating strike was met by Yoru's immovable edge, deflected with an economy of motion that was both beautiful and terrifying. He was a mountain weathering a storm of pebbles.
The commotion finally drew Roy's attention. He ripped the blindfold from his eyes, and as he did, the other baboons ceased their own attacks, all turning to watch the spectacle of their king.
What they saw was a humbling lesson. Their invincible monarch was being utterly and effortlessly dominated. The human in the black hat wasn't even fighting back; he was merely existing, his blade an impenetrable wall that rendered the king's supreme effort meaningless.
Roy watched, his heart pounding not with fear, but with a dawning understanding of the chasm that lay between raw power and true mastery. He felt a surge of grim gratitude for his own survival. How had he, a helpless child, been spared by these formidable creatures who had, according to the ruins, wiped out an entire kingdom of armed humans? The mystery of their mercy, and their strange reverence for the castle, was a secret the baboons had never shared. And in that moment, watching Mihawk, Roy understood that his real training was only just beginning.
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