In the vast sea, Hawkeye Dracule Mihawk sailed his coffin ship toward the waters where Red-Haired Shanks and his crew were known to linger. Earlier that morning, he had parted ways with Vane. Yet, the words Vane left him with echoed relentlessly in his mind.
"If you're interested, perhaps one day I can take you to the world of this sword. That world is the true realm of swordsmanship. There, great swordsmen are countless, and those stronger than me abound."
Another world? A world of swordsmen greater than even those of this sea? Mihawk's sharp golden eyes narrowed as he mulled it over.
Could such a place truly exist?
Vane claimed that the sword Ryūjin Jakka—the "Flowing Blade Like Fire"—was famed in that higher dimension. To think such a weapon existed beyond this world unsettled Mihawk. Was Vane speaking truth, or merely jest? But Vane was no ordinary pirate. A man of his caliber, an Emperor of the Sea, had no need to lie.
Hawkeye clenched the hilt of Yoru. At the very least, I am not a man worth deceiving.
For hours, he replayed those words in his mind, trying to peel back their meaning, yet the mystery only deepened. Before he realized it, his small coffin ship had entered the seas claimed by the Red-Haired Pirates.
The day waned, the horizon glowing with the last traces of sunlight. Night crept in, the stars faintly shimmering above.
"Oi, Mihawk!"
A bold, magnetic voice called out with excitement.
Mihawk looked up. A faint smile, rare as a lunar eclipse, touched his lips. Only one man could call to him like that.
Shanks.
On the nearby shore, the Red Force lay anchored, the crew of the Red-Haired Pirates gathered on the beach. At the front of them stood Shanks, his red hair catching the glow of the firelight.
"Shanks, it's been a long time." Mihawk's smile widened just slightly, the kind of expression reserved only for this man—the only one he truly called a friend.
Shanks grinned ear to ear. "Took you long enough! We've been waiting all day!"
Beckman and the rest of the crew laughed heartily behind their captain.
"I'll explain later," Mihawk replied evenly, stepping onto the shore. "Something delayed me on the way."
"Oh?" Shanks tilted his head. "If it was enough to hold you up, it must've been no small matter."
The others nodded in agreement, their curiosity piqued. Mihawk was not a man who wasted words.
"Let's sit and talk," Mihawk said. His tone softened ever so slightly. "I'll be staying with you for a few days, Shanks. It's been far too long since we last crossed blades."
At that, Shanks' eyes lit with mirth. "A duel, huh? Hah! I've missed our clashes too."
Mihawk hesitated for a moment, gaze lingering on Shanks' missing arm. Once, they had been equals in battle, their swords clashing endlessly. But after Shanks lost his arm in the East Blue, Mihawk had rarely agreed to spar.
"It's a pity," Mihawk finally muttered, his voice edged with regret. "Why did you have to lose your arm in the East Blue?"
Shanks chuckled, carefree as ever. "I wagered it on the new era. And it was worth the bet."
The two made their way with the crew into a vast seaside cave. Bonfires roared within, illuminating the cavern walls. The Red-Haired Pirates were as rowdy and unrestrained as always. Among the Yonko, they were perhaps the most infamous for their endless banquets. And tonight was no exception.
With Hawkeye's arrival, the night turned festive. Meat roasted over open flames, barrels of sake rolled out, and laughter filled the cave.
Shanks sat near the fire, tearing into a massive hunk of meat. Between bites, he turned to Mihawk, voice muffled but curious.
"By the way, Mihawk, what happened to you earlier? For you to even mention a delay—it must've been something serious."
The crew leaned in slightly. They knew Mihawk well enough; he was a man who lived alone, seldom sharing words, much less concerns.
Mihawk's golden eyes sharpened. The merriment faded slightly as his expression turned grave.
"I crossed paths with Vane today," he said at last.
The fire crackled. The weight of those words hung heavy in the cave.
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