The sword... broke?
Momonga's pupils contracted sharply. As a swordsman, he understood better than anyone the bond between a fighter and their blade. Mihawk's long, imposing sword was clearly no ordinary weapon—it was a trusted companion that had surely seen him through countless battles across the seas.
And now, in the wake of Darren's third strike, that blade lay fractured, a third of its length gone.
The sight left Momonga uneasy. His gaze flicked between the ruined sword and the bloodied youth holding it. Would this loss crush the boy's spirit?
The wind grew cold, and silence fell—heavy, suffocating.
Then, the young swordsman stirred.
Mihawk blinked once, then twice. Slowly, clarity returned to his golden eyes. He looked down at the broken blade in his hand... and smiled faintly.
"So that's it," he murmured. "I understand now."
Momonga: ???
You understand now?
Momonga gaped, completely at a loss. The boy's eyes were burning with fresh determination.
"How could you possibly understand anything?!" he muttered under his breath, half-crazed. "Your sword's in pieces! What could you have possibly learned from that?!"
Was this kid trying to transcend logic itself?
Even Darren looked baffled. His brow furrowed slightly, clearly wondering the same thing. Beside him, Moria was nearly pulling out his own hair. "He's realized something again?! What the hell did he realize this time?!"
The silence stretched until Darren cleared his throat, adopting a deliberately calm, cryptic tone. "You… understood something?"
Mihawk raised his head. His expression was grave, solemn. "Now I understand," he said, gripping the broken hilt with renewed purpose. "The true essence of swordsmanship lies not in mere technique—but in Haki!"
"Only with overwhelming Haki can a swordsman truly unleash his strength!" His voice grew stronger, ringing through the silent battlefield. "Without it, you can't even protect your own blade, much less wield its full potential!"
Darren: …
Is that so? Because I definitely didn't know that.
Momonga dragged a hand down his face, groaning inwardly. Unbelievable. That bastard Darren didn't even mean to teach him anything!
In truth, Enma's violent outburst of magnetic energy had simply been a result of too much Haki surging through the blade. Its uncontrollable ferocity could tear through almost anything—including, apparently, Mihawk's logic.
"So... this is the taste of defeat," Mihawk whispered, gazing down at the jagged remnant of his sword. Blood dripped from his mangled hands, but his voice held no regret—only awe. "You truly are strong, King of the North Blue."
Darren exhaled slowly, meeting his gaze. "For someone your age to endure that strike, you have every right to be proud."
"Pride?" Mihawk gave a faint, wry smile. "That's not enough."
He lifted his head, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth, and his voice sharpened with conviction. "My goal... is to become the World's Strongest Swordsman!"
For the first time, genuine admiration flickered across Darren's eyes. "So?" he asked evenly.
"So—" Mihawk's eyes flared crimson with fury as he roared, "Why didn't you use your full strength earlier?! You could have severed my arm, couldn't you?!"
Moria froze mid-breath, disbelief twisting his features. That earth-shattering attack hadn't even been Darren's full power?
Momonga simply sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. I knew it. I just knew it.
Darren tilted his head slightly before answering. "If I'd taken your arm, you wouldn't be able to fulfill that dream of yours. I'll leave it with you for now."
His tone was matter-of-fact, but his words cut deep.
"When you've grown strong enough to challenge me again," Darren continued, his voice steady, "I'll take it back. Not just your arm—your life as well."
A heavy silence followed.
Moria stared at his own missing arm, face twisting in bitter envy.
Darren turned his gaze back to Mihawk. "And if you're willing, you should aim to join the Shichibukai."
Mihawk blinked, momentarily stunned. "The Shichibukai?"
He glanced down at the broken sword still clutched in his hand, his expression hardening into something fierce and resolute.
"I see," he said quietly.
Then, without hesitation, he lifted the blade—
—and brought it down on his own arm.
Thwack!
Blood sprayed.
A severed arm fell to the ground with a dull thud.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Momonga's jaw dropped.
Moria's eyes bulged.
Every Marine present was stunned.
Even Darren froze, his mind momentarily blank.
He... actually did it?!
Mihawk swayed but did not fall. He jammed the broken sword into the earth, ripped a strip from his shirt, and bound the bleeding stump with one hand, tightening it with trembling fingers.
Blood pooled at his feet. His breathing came in ragged bursts, but his eyes—those burning eyes—never dimmed.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Darren snapped, his composure fracturing at last.
He needed Mihawk alive, strong—useful. Losing an arm now would cripple the very future he'd just promised him.
Mihawk's lips twisted into a grin, blood streaking his teeth. "Dishonoring a vow is a swordsman's greatest shame," he rasped.
Darren: …
Wait... that line sounds familiar.
"Besides," Mihawk continued, his voice trembling but fierce, "even without an arm, I'll become the World's Strongest Swordsman!"
He seized the broken hilt again, raising it toward Darren, his one good arm shaking under the weight of his vow. "And I'll reforge this blade into the World's Strongest Black Blade!"
His breath hitched, tears cutting clean lines through the grime on his face. Summoning the last of his strength, he shouted to the heavens—
"One day, I will challenge you again!"
"Do you have any objections, King of the North Blue?!"
The words echoed across the shattered island, reverberating through sky and sea alike.
For a moment, even the waves seemed to pause.
Momonga's throat tightened as he whispered, "Truly remarkable..."
The boy stood there, blood-soaked and one-armed, but unbroken.
Then, Darren threw his head back and laughed.
It wasn't mockery—it was raw, exhilarated pride.
"Excellent!" he roared, his voice booming across the horizon. "Then train harder, Mihawk!"
"This sea is vast—filled with countless warriors who chase their dreams across the waves. Remember this name: Rogers Darren. And remember my words."
The three swords behind him—Oto, Kogarashi, and Enma—rose into the air, spinning in a storm of glinting steel.
"I will wield these blades and stand at the pinnacle of strength, waiting for you!" he shouted.
"Surpass them with your will... surpass me!"
He unleashed his Conqueror's Haki in full—a crimson tempest that warped the air itself, lightning crackling across the sky.
The shockwave slammed into Mihawk like a hurricane.
He staggered backward, nearly crushed under the pressure. Every inch of his body screamed in protest—but the arm gripping his sword did not falter.
"I will achieve it!" he roared back, voice shaking the heavens.
And then—
BOOM!
A surge of emerald light erupted from his frail body, splitting the sea of crimson Haki around him.
It shimmered, brilliant and proud.
For a single, breathtaking moment, the storm itself bowed before him.
That was the moment Hawk-Eyes Mihawk awakened his own Conqueror's Haki.
To be continued...