Chapter 4: A Bitter Taste of Power
The lesson was as swift as it was absolute. The Baboon King, a creature of immense power that Roy could scarcely withstand for a minute, was being toyed with. Dracule Mihawk moved with an economy of motion that was almost insulting, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot as he deflected the king's furious, lightning-fast assaults with the flat of his colossal black blade. The air rang with the sharp, discordant chime of steel, a symphony of the king's failure.
Not a single baboon moved to intervene. This was their law, carved not in stone but in instinct. A challenge to the king was a sacred, solitary affair. The troop could only watch, their red eyes wide, as their mightiest warrior was utterly dismantled. The rules of the jungle were simple and brutal: only the victor deserved allegiance.
With a final, almost casual flick of his wrist, Mihawk used the broad side of Yoru not as a blade, but as a bludgeon. The impact sent the Baboon King flying through the air to land in a groaning heap amidst its subjects. The fight was over.
Shiiing.
The sound of Yoru sliding back into its scabbard was unnaturally loud in the stunned silence. Then, Mihawk's golden eyes shifted, pinning Roy where he stood.
"Uh," Roy managed, a flush of heat rising to his cheeks. There was no anger in that gaze, only a deep, unnerving perception. The man had seen right through his little scheme. "Look, I didn't have any… ulterior motives. I just… wanted to see how strong you really are," Roy offered, his smile awkward and transparent.
"The strength of these creatures is considerable. They are a veritable army," Mihawk stated, his voice devoid of praise or condemnation, merely fact. "Your swordsmanship is unrefined, but the foundation is there. To unleash a flying slash at your age is notable. And you cultivated that Observation Haki on your own?"
Roy nodded, the excuse now woven into the fabric of his truth. "I've been fighting here since I could hold a sword. The battles don't stop when the sun goes down. You can't rely on your eyes in the dark. You start to… feel the attacks coming. I didn't know it had a name."
"I see." Mihawk's gaze dropped to the massive sword in Roy's hand. The blade was a testament to his harsh life, marred by countless nicks and gaps, its edge long since beaten into a state of near-bluntness. It was a tool of survival, not a swordsman's instrument. "Do you wish to become stronger?"
The question hung in the air, simple and profound.
"Yes." Roy's answer was immediate, his eyes igniting with a fire that had nothing to do with the jungle's gloom.
"Then I will teach you," Mihawk said. "I will be residing here for the foreseeable future. In that time, I will instruct you in the use of one of the Haki."
Roy's heart hammered against his ribs. Armament Haki. It had to be. The one power that would allow him to make the leap from a skilled survivor to a true combatant. With it, he could finally challenge the Baboon King on equal footing. His first goal was within reach. His second—to claim the king's mysterious, magnificent sword—suddenly felt less like a fantasy and more like a future prize.
That night, the atmosphere in the clearing had shifted. The baboons, creatures who worshipped strength above all else, had accepted Mihawk's dominance. They brought forth a bounty of roasted meat and fruit, and their most treasured offering: gourds of their fiercely potent, homemade monkey wine.
Mihawk, a connoisseur of fine vintages who usually preferred a deep red to his evening coffee, found himself intrigued by the wild, fermented brew. He accepted a gourd, his interest palpable.
He took a long, appreciative swallow of the fruity, pungent alcohol. As he lowered the gourd, his sharp eyes caught something unusual nestled within the pile of common jungle fruits. He let out a soft, intrigued grunt.
Roy, tearing into a haunch of meat beside him, looked up at the sound.
"What's that?" Roy followed Mihawk's gaze. Then he saw it. Nestled among the bright, familiar shapes was a fruit that was anything but ordinary. It was an off-white, almost ivory color, covered in a intricate, swirling spiral pattern. A small, segmented stem protruded from its top like a bizarre crown. It looked… unnatural.
"Familiar," Roy muttered, his blood running cold and hot at once. He stood and retrieved the strange fruit, its texture oddly dry against his palm.
"A Devil Fruit," Mihawk stated, his voice calm, as if he'd just identified a rare type of grape.
Roy's jaw went slack. He stared at the fruit in his hand, his mind racing. "Wait, let me think… the spiral pattern… Logia? No, the shape… it's like a pineapple. That means it's a Paramecia." He was talking more to himself than to Mihawk, the knowledge from his past life surfacing in a frantic rush.
"Indeed, a Devil Fruit," Mihawk confirmed. "Its specific nature, however, is a mystery. Do you intend to eat it?"
Roy's mind was a whirlwind. A Devil Fruit. A real one. "If I eat it, I'll be cursed. I'll never swim again…" he trailed off, then let out a short, sharp laugh. "But I never learned how to swim in the first place, so I suppose that's not much of a loss." He weighed the fruit in his hand. "This is the essence of this world. To come here and not taste its strangeness… it feels like a coward's choice. But I've heard… I've heard it tastes like… well, shit."
He looked at Mihawk, a spark of hope in his eyes. "Do you know what this one is, Mr. Mihawk?"
"I do not. But the World Government maintains a catalog." Mihawk was a man of action. He retrieved his Den Den Mushi and placed a call. Roy watched, stunned, as the snail's face morphed, not into the features of some low-level bureaucrat, but into the stern, bespectacled visage of Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. Of course, a Warlord wouldn't deal with underlings.
After a brief, terse exchange, Mihawk hung up. "The catalog will be delivered via visual Den Den Mushi shortly."
Back in the castle, Mihawk set up a small, projection-enabled snail. Soon, images of countless Devil Fruits flickered across the wall. They compared the spiral-patterned pineapple to hundreds of entries, but found no match.
"It appears to be an unrecorded fruit," Mihawk concluded. "Its power remains a secret until consumed."
"Then I guess there's only one way to find out," Roy said, his decision made. He wasn't going to be like those fools who ate the whole thing. He knew a single bite was all it took. He raised the fruit to his mouth, took a deep breath, and bit down.
A moment later, he was on his knees, both hands clawing at his throat, his face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated agony.
Mihawk watched, his eyebrow raised slightly. "What is it?"
Roy gasped, tears welling in his eyes from the sheer, overwhelming vileness assaulting his senses. He looked up at the stoic swordsman, his voice a strangled whisper.
"It's… so… disgusting."
###############
If you could bring one devil fruit in real life. What would it be?
Boost the story up with Stones.