Across the churning sea, countless wrecked ships had been reduced to floating debris in the aftermath of the fierce duel between Cavendish and Hawkeye. Massive sword slashes continued to fly through the air at irregular intervals, filling the entire battlefield with deadly hazards that made even watching the contest a dangerous proposition.
This elevated the viewing threshold for witnessing a battle between true swordsmen to an extraordinarily high level.
Ting!
Jerry, standing at the bow with his friends, casually swung his fishing rod to deflect another stray sword energy that came whistling toward their ship. The motion was so smooth and practiced it barely interrupted his observation of the ongoing duel.
"Cavendish is very strong," Brook said solemnly, his hollow eye sockets fixed on the two figures locked in combat, "but his opponent is even stronger."
The others couldn't help but nod in reluctant agreement. Even if they didn't want to admit it, the evidence was undeniable. Cavendish was now covered in wounds of varying severity, each one a testament to the overwhelming skill gap between him and the World's Greatest Swordsman.
After watching for several more minutes, Deuce finally voiced what everyone was thinking. "Jerry, given Cavendish's current condition, does he have any chance of winning?"
Jerry shook his head with certainty. "He can't win. Even if they were competing purely in swordsmanship and technique—and Cavendish hasn't even used his Rumble-Rumble Fruit powers—Hawkeye still isn't using his full strength either."
He paused, considering his words carefully. "Even if Cavendish combined his Devil Fruit abilities and both fighters played all their cards, I don't think the current situation would change much. He'd still be at a disadvantage."
Jerry's analytical mind continued working through the problem. "If Cavendish's swordsmanship and Haki could be improved further, then perhaps he'd truly have the strength to compete with Hawkeye on equal terms. But that's still speculation—actual combat involves too many variables to predict with complete certainty."
The sound of clashing steel suddenly stopped, and amid the resulting quiet, Cavendish and Hawkeye separated from each other with a final exchange.
Cavendish landed heavily on a wooden plank floating among the waves, his entire body marked with sword wounds of varying depths. Each cut seemed to tell its own story of the battle's intensity, and several were bleeding freely despite his best efforts to staunch the flow.
"Ha... ha... You're truly worthy of being the world's number one swordsman," he gasped, breathing deeply as his physical strength reached its absolute limit. Despite his exhaustion, a fierce gleam of determination still burned in his eyes—the look of someone who had given everything and felt no regret.
Hawkeye brushed away a few pieces of torn cloth from his coat and glanced down at the barely perceptible scratches on his skin. His expression remained unchanged as he spoke with serious respect. "You're not bad yourself, kid. Tell me your name."
"Black Star Pirates—Cavendish!"
Despite his injuries, powerful fighting spirit rose around him once more as he responded with solemn pride. Even in defeat, he would not disgrace his crew's name.
"Good. I'll remember it," Hawkeye nodded with genuine approval.
In the strong ocean wind, he stood motionless on the ship wreckage, his straight posture unshakeable. He gripped the black blade Yoru—hailed as the strongest sword in the world—and its edge flashed with lethal light as the breeze caught it.
The next moment, a sharp aura that seemed capable of cutting through anything began to rise around the legendary swordsman.
Hawkeye took a single step forward and spoke slowly, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Next, in the name of all swordsmen, receive this strike."
"Come!" Cavendish roared with the last of his strength, pushing off from the wooden plank and rushing toward his opponent one final time.
The corner of Hawkeye's mouth lifted in the faintest smile before his expression returned to perfect composure. Without another word, he launched himself forward to meet Cavendish's charge.
Just as their figures were about to intersect, two brilliant sword lights erupted almost simultaneously, each radiating shocking power that made the very air tremble.
For a brief, impossible moment, it seemed like they might be evenly matched.
Then reality crashed down.
Hawkeye's sword light surged forward with overwhelming force, completely shattering the attack Cavendish had poured every ounce of his remaining strength into. The green slash continued its devastating path with unstoppable momentum, ignoring all obstacles as it flew toward the distant horizon like a meteor streaking across the night sky.
In its wake, the seawater had been carved into a deep groove that stretched for hundreds of meters, the displaced ocean surging and foaming in the wind.
Whether intentional or not, that brilliant sword light passed directly through the remaining ships of the fleeing Krieg Pirates.
Creak... creak...
Several ships that had been desperately fleeing in the distance suddenly made ominous groaning sounds, as if the wood itself was crying out in protest.
The next second came a series of thunderous crashes as the ships split cleanly in two, each half sliding apart with geometric precision before gradually sinking beneath the waves.
"Help! Man overboard!"
Pirates by the dozens tumbled helplessly into the churning sea, their cries swallowed by the merciless tide that showed no interest in their survival.
"What... what just happened? That slash came from behind us!"
"This is insane! How is this even possible?"
On the relatively intact flagship, the surviving pirates erupted into chaos and panicked discussion, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of fear and disbelief.
"Shut up! Keep moving!" Don Krieg roared hysterically, his voice cracking with rage and humiliation.
Looking around at the handful of lonely ships that remained of his once-mighty armada, his heart filled with bitter fury. They had finally reached the Grand Line after years of preparation, only to be reduced to a ragtag group of survivors in a matter of days.
The pirate fleet he had worked so hard to build, the reputation he had cultivated throughout East Blue—all of it was gone. Now he could only flee with his tail between his legs like a beaten dog. The thought made Krieg's teeth grind together audibly.
Meanwhile, Deuce and the others witnessed everything with a mixture of awe and shock.
Even though they had seen Jerry create many spectacular scenes during their journey, the pure, devastating elegance of that sword slash brought them a completely different kind of wonder. This wasn't raw power or Devil Fruit abilities—this was technique refined to its absolute pinnacle.
"Cavendish!" Carrot's worried shout snapped everyone back to attention, drawing their focus to where Cavendish knelt on his floating plank.
Jerry had already appeared beside the wounded swordsman, having moved with such speed that none of them had seen him go. He nodded respectfully to Hawkeye, noting that the legendary swordsman had sheathed his black blade and allowed his intimidating aura to dissipate—clear signs that he had no intention of continuing the fight.
Kneeling down, Jerry placed a gentle hand on Cavendish's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Cough! I'm... I'm fine," Cavendish spat out a mouthful of blood but managed to use his sword as support to keep from collapsing entirely. "But I lost. There's no denying that."
Apart from the blood at the corner of his mouth, the most striking injury was a long, vicious sword mark that ran diagonally across his abdomen—a wound that would have been fatal if not for his last-second decision to transform into lightning and attempt to dodge.
"Well, since you know you lost, just keep working hard until you can surpass him," Jerry said pragmatically, already controlling the ocean current to gently lift Cavendish and send him floating back toward their ship. "But first, let's get you treated before you bleed out."
As Jerry's gaze turned toward him, Hawkeye had been preparing to depart but suddenly stopped, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "What's this? Do you want to fight as well?"
Jerry shook his head calmly. "No battle today. I'm just a fisherman, not a swordsman. Besides, I have no intention of taking advantage of the situation to start some kind of round-robin tournament."
The truth was more complex than Jerry let on. While those reasons were valid, there was a deeper principle at work. The battle between swordsmen was sacred and solemn—injuries were inevitable, victory and defeat determined by pure skill, and life and death left to fate itself. Since Cavendish wasn't missing any limbs or suffering life-threatening injuries, Jerry saw no reason to interfere with the natural conclusion of their duel.
He chose to respect the result and wouldn't be so dishonorable as to demand satisfaction from Hawkeye after a fair fight.
"I see." Hawkeye released his weapon and walked calmly toward his small coffin-shaped boat. "Then this is farewell."
"Until we meet again," Jerry replied, then flashed back to his ship with the same impossible speed he'd used to reach Cavendish.
Back on deck, Jerry found everyone clustered around their injured crewmate. "How is he?"
Deuce was busy bandaging Cavendish's wounds with practiced efficiency, his hands steady despite the severity of some of the cuts. He didn't look up as he responded, "Fortunately, none of the wounds are too serious. Painful and dramatic, yes, but nothing that won't heal with proper care."
Jerry felt a wave of relief wash over him. "That's good to hear. So the injuries look worse than they actually are?"
"Exactly," Deuce confirmed, tying off another bandage. "Our prince here is going to be sore for a while, but his pretty face will remain unmarked and his fighting ability will recover fully."
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