Just as Darren effortlessly subdued the stubborn Gecko Moria, an uninvited guest arrived at the Marine base.
"How about I be your next opponent?"
A voice brimming with battlelust carried over the sea—young, yet sharp and raspy, etched with a timbre one would never forget.
Momonga's expression darkened as he turned toward the sound. What he saw made his pupils tighten.
"What… is that?"
A small, jet-black boat drifted silently across the waves. Its hull was etched with strange, twisting designs, and eerie blue candles burned along its edges. The rectangular silhouette, paired with those ghostly flames, gave it the appearance of a floating coffin gliding over the sea.
And atop that coffin sat a lone, gaunt youth.
He looked no older than fifteen or sixteen, his short black hair slicked neatly back, long sideburns shadowing his face. A bright Hawaiian shirt hung loosely on his wiry frame, contrasted by tight black leather pants.
He sat cross-legged, a massive, pale-black sword slung across his back—the hilt a perfect crucifix.
The black coffin, the flickering blue flames, the cross-shaped blade—it all wove together into a grim tableau. The boy looked like a young god of death, sailing across the sea to claim souls.
But what truly unsettled Momonga were his eyes.
Dark amber irises, rimmed with black, seemed to twist with unseen depth—piercing, unreadable. His gaze held an uncanny sharpness, as though it could cut through pretense, through truth, through the human heart itself.
"This kid's eyes… they're not normal. As sharp as a hawk's," Momonga murmured, his brow furrowing. Beneath his sleeves, faint blue arcs of electricity began to crackle, coiling around his clenched fists. Instinctively, he prepared to strike.
He could feel it—a real, tangible threat radiating from this sixteen-year-old boy.
How is that possible?!
Darren, the man known for wielding the might of the Rumble-Rumble Fruit—one of the most powerful Logia abilities—and a master of Haki, was a name that commanded fear across the North Blue and even the first half of the Grand Line. In his domain, there was no equal.
And yet this boy's presence exuded a pressure that made even a seasoned Vice Admiral's pulse quicken.
"My North Blue's been lively lately," Darren remarked lightly, turning toward the approaching youth with an amused smile. "Are you certain you want to challenge me, Dracule Mihawk?"
Momonga's eyes widened.
That name—he'd seen it on Darren's personal hit list.
Just like Gecko Moria, this boy had come of his own accord.
He glanced at Moria, lying nearby under Marine care. The pirate's body was battered and bloodied, his severed arm crudely bandaged, face pale as death.
"You know me?" Mihawk asked, his tone low, gaze unwavering.
"I've heard a little," Darren said with a small chuckle. "But tell me, you saw what I did to Moria, didn't you? You should have some idea of what you're walking into."
"You're talking bullshit! I wasn't even using my full strength!" Moria roared hoarsely, his face flushing with humiliation and anger.
"Save your breath," Momonga snapped, appearing beside him with cold efficiency.
Moria gritted his teeth, refusing to yield. "If I had fused with those hundreds of shadows—"
"Even if you devoured a thousand, you'd still lose," Momonga cut him off, voice icy. "That kind of power would crush you before you could wield it."
He pressed a finger into the pirate's open wound. Moria convulsed, a strangled howl escaping him.
"Sure, if you absorbed the shadows of hundreds of Marines, you might gain the strength to destroy a town—or an island," Momonga said calmly. "But Darren could do that without breaking a sweat."
Moria froze, words caught in his throat.
Momonga sighed. "Don't take it too hard. Few men on this sea could stand against him—you could count them on one hand. Losing to him isn't shameful."
He knelt, inspecting the wound. "Stay still. If I don't cauterize this, you'll bleed out in minutes."
"Don't you dare!" Moria hissed, his eyes wild. "What right does a mere Captain have to lecture me?! I might not beat that monster, but I can crush you—"
BOOM!!
A bolt of lightning tore down from the clouds, slamming into the shattered Marine base. The explosion sent a pillar of fire roaring skyward.
"What was that?" Momonga asked mildly, lowering his crackling hand as arcs faded from his fingertips. He looked back down at the trembling Moria. "You were saying?"
"...N-nothing," Moria stammered, beads of cold sweat rolling down his temples. He swallowed hard, eyes darting between Momonga's calm expression and the fading lightning scorch on the ground.
This guy… he's a monster too!
Then he noticed the faint glow of plasma still dancing around Momonga's palm.
"W-what are you doing?!" Moria shouted in panic as the Marines held him fast.
"Stopping the bleeding," Momonga replied.
He pressed the crackling hand directly against the mangled stump.
"Aaaaaaaaaaah!!!"
The scream ripped through the air, echoing across the coastline. The acrid scent of scorched flesh filled the base as Moria's body spasmed violently. Then—silence. He had passed out cold.
---
Mihawk barely glanced toward the scene. His focus never wavered from Darren.
The Coffin Boat drifted closer—less than a hundred meters from shore. The boy rose slowly, his voice low but resonant.
"Your power… it's beyond anything I've seen," he said. "You're unlike any opponent I've faced before."
Then, a faint smile curved his lips—a smile that shimmered with youthful arrogance and unrestrained hunger for battle.
"But that's precisely why I came. Because only the strongest are worth crossing swords with."
He reached over his shoulder, gripping the cross-shaped hilt.
Klang!
The blade slid free in one smooth motion. A sonorous hum rippled through the air—like a dragon stirring from slumber. Wind erupted, whipping the waves into turmoil, as if the very sea bowed before the sword's presence.
The colossal black blade, taller than Mihawk himself, gleamed with deadly grace. The sunlight scattered along its edge, dazzling yet cold.
"The blade's pattern—Midareba Jūka Chōji," Mihawk said, his tone solemn. "Its name is Yoru."
He raised it high, his hawk-like eyes locking on the man before him.
"I am Dracule Mihawk," he declared, his voice carrying over the crashing surf. "And with this sword, I challenge you—Rogers Darren, King of the North Blue!"
He leveled Yoru's edge toward the shore.
"Show me your true strength… and that peculiar swordsmanship of yours."
To be continued...