Under the glaring symbol of “Justice” displayed above his head, Sengoku’s expression gradually hardened with firm resolve.

He reached for the Den Den Mushi on his desk and dialed a number.

After about ten seconds, the call connected.

“Hello? This is Vice Admiral Nagor. Sengoku here,” he said in a composed tone, eyes still on the Den Den Mushi.

“Fleet Admiral Sengoku! Good day, sir. What are your orders?” Nagor’s voice came through, deep and energetic as ever.

“Glad to hear you’re well, Nagor. Where are you and Cancer stationed right now?”

A brief pause followed before Nagor responded, “We’re still patrolling the waters around Kent Island—roughly 150 nautical miles east of the island, sir.”

“Understood. Return to Marine HQ immediately. I have a more pressing mission for you two.”

There was no protest from Nagor—only a faint sigh of relief.

To be honest, this mission had him working alongside CP9 members… who weren’t exactly the friendliest bunch. Not to mention, their attitude was even more unpleasant than their mediocre strength.

And frankly, Nagor didn’t care much about chasing that Fish-Man, Fisher Tiger.

If CP9 wanted to catch him so badly, then let them.

— — —

Meanwhile – In the New World, near Malt Island…

The calm ocean suddenly churned violently. Towering waves rolled in all directions…

A massive fish head, as large as the Blue Dragon warship, rose from the sea. Its lifeless eyes stared blankly into the void.

As more of the head breached the surface, its cleanly severed neck shimmered under the sunlight.

And just beneath it, Kyūjō emerged—holding a chunk of giant scale in one hand and a massive fin in the other.

He strode across the water as if walking on solid ground, pushing the fish head toward Malt Island at surprising speed.

While training underwater earlier, he’d run into this Sea King. It was far too large to carry whole, so he sliced off its head instead.

And even just the head alone… was enough to feed every single Marine at G-11 for days. Especially since the previous Sea King still hadn’t been fully eaten.

Once he reached the shore, Kyūjō drew his trusted “kitchen knife”: Rairyūken.

Because the head was just too big—it needed a proper butchering first.

With a deep breath, Kyūjō swung the Rairyūken with surgical precision, slashing cleanly through the massive mountain of flesh.

His elegant sword strokes danced through the air, carving meat with effortless grace.

Within minutes, slice after perfect slice of meat rained down along the shoreline.

Ten minutes later, all that remained was the Sea King’s skeleton, standing like a miniature mountain. Its meat now stretched along the beach for hundreds of meters.

Kyūjō exhaled and sheathed his blade.

Soon after, Hina arrived with over a hundred Marines.

Like disciplined ants, they hauled chunks of meat back to G-11’s kitchens—smiles and laughter bubbling with every trip.

— — —

Hina took off her sunglasses, revealing her gentle, charming face. Approaching Kyūjō with a soft smile, she said,

“You ran into another Sea King today?”

“Seriously… Sea Kings are really unlucky to meet you.”

“At this rate, the mess hall’s going to drown in Sea King meat. I think I’m starting to get sick of it…”

Her tone had a hint of complaint.

Kyūjō scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Ahaha… Really?”

“But I mean… Sea King meat tastes great, doesn’t it?”

“I actually love it.”

Hina puffed her cheeks and rolled her eyes in mock frustration.

“Tastes good, yeah—but not every single day! It gets old!”

“Ahh… I see,” Kyūjō murmured. After a moment of thought, he reached out and gently took Hina’s hand.

“Let’s take a walk into town.”

Hina blushed slightly, then composed herself. It wasn’t the first time he’d held her hand. But… that was all he ever did.

Was Kyūjō just emotionally dense? Did she always have to make the first move?

— — —

Soon after, they arrived at Sweet Street—a district packed with dessert shops and bakeries.

“I heard this place is famous for its traditional Malt Island sweets. Ever tried any?” Kyūjō asked.

Hina shook her head. As a Marine in the New World, her schedule was packed. No time for sightseeing.

Not that someone, who was always with her, ever invited her anywhere either…

Her mood darkened slightly.

Kyūjō, oblivious to her inner thoughts, tilted his head.

“Huh? Hina doesn’t like sweets?”

“But when there were cakes in the mess hall, she looked so happy…”

“Women are hard to read sometimes…”

Still holding her hand, he pushed open the door and stepped inside the shop.

— — —

He ordered tiramisu, Black Forest cake, and the island’s signature malt cake for Hina, along with orange juice for himself and tea for her.

Kyūjō wasn’t a fan of sweets.

But watching Hina smile? That was enough for him.

All the items he chose came highly recommended by the locals.

— — —

They say sweets can make people happy.

Kyūjō never believed that…

Until now.

Seeing Hina’s face light up as she tasted the Black Forest cake—it reminded him of his own joy when devouring a delicious meal.

Something in his brain clicked.

With a soft smile, he said,

“Hina, if you ever want to eat here again, I’ll bring you. Anytime.”

“Mm…” she murmured, cheeks flushed, eyes not quite meeting his.

— — —

But just then—

A sudden tremor shook all of Malt Island!

A massive shockwave erupted from the distant shoreline!

Kyūjō’s expression sharpened. His Kenbunshoku Haki spread across the island instantly.

A massive fissure, over a thousand meters long, had split the earth—thankfully toward the sea, sparing most of the coast.

And at the very edge of that fissure stood a lone figure.

A man with a tall black hat trimmed with white feathers.

A massive, black crucifix-shaped sword rested in his hand.

And those eyes…

Piercing yellow irises sharp enough to cut steel.

There was no mistaking it—

Hawkeye. Dracule Mihawk.

The moment Kyūjō laid eyes on him, he knew.

Why was Mihawk here?

He didn’t even need to ask.

Mihawk—the sword fanatic—would only ever show up for one thing:

A duel with another swordsman.

Kyūjō sighed deeply.

But still… Why now?

After explaining briefly to Hina, he set off alone to meet the visitor.

— — —

As the towering man in Justice robes landed from the sky, Mihawk blinked in surprise.

Damn. He’s huge.

Tachibana Kyūjō now stood at 3.2 meters tall. For Mihawk, who was just under two meters, it felt like being stared down by a living fortress.

Physically, spiritually, and technically—Kyūjō stood above him in every way.

Truth be told, Mihawk hadn’t reached his prime yet. Challenging Kyūjō now would be like Zoro trying to challenge Mihawk in the future.

The gap wasn’t that wide, but wide enough that Mihawk didn’t stand a chance.

And Kyūjō had a bit of a… reputation for being ruthless to weaker opponents.

Still don’t believe it?

Just ask Katakuri, who got flattened in one punch.

According to Kyūjō’s Infinity System, Mihawk currently ranked on par with an Admiral Candidate or a Yonko Commander.

To reach the level of an actual Admiral or Yonko?

There was still one massive step left.

And that step—

Was a chasm that most would never cross.

— — —

Even so, the moment they stood facing each other, both swordsmen felt it—

An instant recognition. A mutual respect.

Especially Mihawk, who felt a strong connection.

After over a month of training with Shanks, and hearing tales of this swordsman from the Marines—the man who defeated the legendary Golden Lion—he had sailed all the way to HQ.

But by then, Kyūjō had already departed on the newly upgraded Blue Dragon warship toward the New World.

So Mihawk had no choice but to start his journey all over again—

From the first half of the Grand Line, through into the New World.

Fortunately, he was strong enough to survive the trip.

Even after getting lost a few times… he had finally found his opponent.

Tachibana Kyūjō, Admiral Candidate of the Marines.

And now, to decide who deserved the title of World’s Greatest Swordsman—

There could be only one solution:

A duel.

— — —

Kyūjō stared at Mihawk and said calmly,

“So you’re Hawkeye, huh? Let’s move somewhere else. Don’t want to destroy the island.”

Mihawk gave a silent nod and turned back to his ship—

A coffin-shaped boat bobbing in the waves.

Kyūjō blinked at it, then glanced at his own massive warship nearby.

“…Where does he sleep if it rains? Out in the open?”

He couldn’t help but stare at Mihawk’s weird little boat.

Good thing Mihawk couldn’t hear what was going through Kyūjō’s head. Otherwise, the duel would’ve started right there.

As Mihawk’s ship sailed off, Kyūjō boarded the Blue Dragon and followed.

— — —

After half a day at sea, they arrived at an uninhabited island near Malt.

There had been two closer islands… but those were destroyed in Kyūjō’s fight with Big Mom.

If this island got blown up too… things would get really inconvenient if more challengers came knocking.

— — —

On the island, the two swordsmen stood facing each other—ten meters apart.

Mihawk drew his black sword, Yoru, and pointed it forward.

(Note: At this point in the timeline, Yoru is not yet classified as a Supreme Grade Blade – Saijō Ō Wazamono)

Kyūjō followed suit, drawing Rairyūken—a blade even larger than Yoru.

“Mihawk. What are you after?” Kyūjō asked, breaking the silence.

“Since I chose the path of the sword… it’s only natural that I aim to be the strongest,” Mihawk answered firmly.

And before the last word even left his lips—

His black blade came slashing toward Kyūjō with blinding speed.

Kyūjō gave a small smirk, raised Rairyūken…

And with a single upward stroke, met the blow head-on.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep