Momonga grew more and more surprised.
This kid could actually block his slash. Although it was a casual strike, it came from a swordsman who had reached the level of Cutting-Iron. Ordinary swordsmen at the Intent Realm would never be able to handle it so effortlessly.
Moreover… he had awakened Observation Haki!
Wasn't he only 11 years old?
Momonga pushed aside his shock.
"Moon Breathing: Sixth Form - Perpetual Night, Lonely Moon - Incessant!"
Ron gripped Raikiri with both hands, unleashing a rapid series of intersecting slashes at Momonga.
In an instant, a dozen razor-sharp blade winds accompanied by countless crescent-moon-shaped slashes rushed towards Momonga.
Momonga squinted his eyes, held his sword with both hands, and swung forward.
A fierce and domineering slash tore through the winds and crescent-moon-shaped slashes, forcing its way toward Ron.
Ron's eyes widened, quickly lifting his sword to block.
However, the fierce slash still pushed him back a dozen meters.
When Ron looked up again, Momonga had already sheathed his sword.
"Your aura and killing intent are impressive, and that sneaky sword style is among the best I've seen. You've mastered it well, but…"
Momonga glanced at Ron. "Relying solely on such moves, you'll never reach the level of cutting Iron."
Ron's eyes widened slightly.
Momonga turned his back on him and lit a cigarette.
"Has anyone ever told you that to reach the realm of cutting steel, your heart must be strong enough, so strong that even with a wooden stick, you could slash through steel with poise and confidence?"
"And to possess that confidence and poise, relying solely on sword techniques won't cut it. Those moves will only make you blind."
With his back still turned, Momonga blew out a ring of smoke.
Ron seemed to understand, to some degree.
"So, what should I do?"
The mohawked Momonga turned and glanced at him.
"Starting tomorrow, abandon those sword techniques."
He left after saying only, "Tomorrow night at nine, be here."
The following evening, Ron arrived early.
When Momonga showed up, neither of them wasted words—they began fighting immediately.
Ron held back his urge to use sword techniques, simply slashing with raw power.
This time, Momonga made sure to give him a thorough lesson.
After the battle, Momonga asked the barely moving Ron, who lay in a large crater, how he felt.
"When I master this, I'll make sure you feel it too…" , Ron gritted his teeth, glaring up at Momonga standing at the edge of the crater.
Momonga calmly exhaled a ring of smoke.
"That's right, keep that feeling inside. We'll continue tomorrow."
This continued for an entire month.
Under the condition of not using any sword techniques or other means against a swordsman at the level of cutting steel, Ron found himself on the receiving end.
Fortunately, he could quickly recover his stamina and heal his wounds using Sun Breathing techniques; otherwise, it was uncertain whether he could endure.
After every session, Ron's chest would be filled with unresolved anger, which only intensified each time it went unvented.
During his next bout with Momonga, he aimed to release this pent-up fury with each strike, yet each time he came close, Momonga would suddenly stop, leaving him to stifle it once again.
This constant repression felt like an inflating balloon in his chest, expanding with each unspent rage.
Under the weight of this negative emotion, Ron grew obsessed, swinging Raikiri day and night.
Each swing brought forth the image of Momonga's infuriating face and that mohawk hairstyle.
He longed to slice him to pieces!
"Even without techniques, I will cut down that guy!"
As he recalled Momonga's taunts, a faint red glint appeared in Ron's eyes.
He hadn't noticed that during this month of relentless practice, his Sword Intent had unknowingly advanced from the Initial Stage of Will to the Small Accomplishment Stage, with his permanent buff activated for most of the time.
During this month, news of Momonga guiding Ron's swordsmanship reached the upper ranks of the Marines.
In the Fleet Admiral's office, only Fleet Admiral Sengoku and Vice Admiral Tsuru were present as they discussed the matter.
"Tsuru, do you think this should be stopped?"
"If it were up to me alone, I would stop it."
The white-haired Vice Admiral Tsuru sat calmly in her chair. "Momonga knowingly violated orders to teach that boy swordsmanship and deserves punishment, but…"
"If we consider Zephyr, we could turn a blind eye to this, Sengoku."
"Think of it as a small consolation for him."
Sengoku was silent for a moment before nodding.
Soon, another month passed.
Admiral Gion, known as Pink Rabbit, returned from a two-year undercover mission.
Several officers who graduated from the Marine School of Justice, at the suggestion of Chaton, organized a small gathering to welcome her.
Momonga's friend, Yamakaji, dragged him over.
"I heard you've been training that intern kid in swordsmanship every night?"
Chaton, drunk, leaned toward Momonga.
Gion, curious, looked at Momonga.
Seeing Gion's flushed, pretty face, Momonga averted his gaze, nodding.
"Hmm… that intern's name is Ron, right? On my way back, I ran into Hina, who said he's an interesting kid."
Gion looked at Momonga with interest. "Are you training him tonight? Can I come watch?"
"What's the big deal? I just want to see," Chaton, swaying, wrapped an arm around Momonga's shoulder. "If you refuse Gion, I'll, I'll… ugh."
Momonga's eye twitched.
"Hey, you idiot, don't throw up!"
"Haha, Chaton's tolerance is still as bad as ever."
"Quit standing there and help pull him off me!"
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