“Sigh…
I never thought these old bones of mine would be called back into action again.” An old, steady voice slowly emerged from the shadows at the end of the street.
The footsteps were leisurely, as if someone were simply taking an afternoon stroll.
A figure emerged from the darkness.
He was an old man with completely white hair.
Though his frame was lean, it did not appear stooped.
He wore a simple shirt and shorts.
In his right hand, he held a slender sword.
In his left, he held a mask, casually covering the lower half of his face—as if he wished to keep his identity hidden.
But the moment Saint Dio saw him, his pupils slightly constricted.
That sword.
That figure.
Coupled with a will strong enough to directly confront his own Conqueror’s Haki across the entire Sabaody Archipelago…
In all the pirate world, only one person met these conditions.
Dark King Rayleigh.
The right hand of the Pirate King Roger.
A legendary figure, now a coating artisan living in seclusion on the Sabaody Archipelago.
The corner of Saint Dio’s mouth curved upward in a rare smile.
It was a smile of genuine excitement and battle-lust.
Ever since arriving in this world, he had never worn such an expression.
He completely ignored the Kuja Captain, who now knelt half-collapsed on the ground.
She had ceased to be his prey and had become an insignificant bystander.
Saint Dio turned to face the white-haired old man, gripping Jormungandr tightly as he advanced step by step.
Rayleigh watched the young, white-clad figure approach, his deep-set eyes—worn by time—flickering with a complex mix of emotions.
“The youth of today…
truly, monsters are born in abundance.” Though his words carried a hint of self-deprecation and a sigh of wonder, his movements remained unfaltering.
He held his slender sword horizontally before him, its tip angled toward the ground.
It was a casual-looking yet airtight starting stance.
He asked neither the youth’s name nor his origins.
For a swordsman, when another swordsman approaches with battle intent, the only appropriate response is to answer with the blade.
When Saint Dio was still over ten meters away, he violently stomped the ground.
Boom—!
The earth beneath his feet shattered and collapsed.
His figure became a white blur, instantly crossing the distance.
Jormungandr sliced a fierce arc through the air, its whistle-like wind-rending sound screaming as it aimed straight for Rayleigh’s neck.
Clang—!
The two swords collided, producing a clear, metallic ring as sparks erupted from the point of impact.
Saint Dio’s strike carried the weight of a mountain—a testament to the strength forged through years of gravity training with Jormungandr.
Yet, Rayleigh’s blade remained as steady as a rock.
His seemingly withered wrist did not budge an inch, firmly parrying the blow.
The two remained locked in a stalemate for a fleeting moment.
A flicker of approval crossed Rayleigh’s eyes.
With a deft flick of his wrist, he deflected the blade at an incredibly precise angle.
This subtle technique, using a fraction of the force to divert a thousand pounds, sent Saint Dio’s momentum veering off course and threw him sideways.
The instant he was deflected, Saint Dio twisted his body in mid-air, unleashing a fierce wave of sword qi.
The crescent-shaped slash tore away from his blade, hurtling along the ground.
It sliced through the earth with surgical precision, sending shards of stone flying in all directions.
Rayleigh remained rooted to the spot.
Without moving a single step, he simply turned his wrist and delivered a casual, effortless swing.
Thump—!
The sword qi, powerful enough to cleave through solid rock, was precisely shattered by Rayleigh’s strike, dissipating into the air as mere gusts of wind.
“Impressive swordplay,” Rayleigh remarked.
“But you’re still a bit raw.” As if to give the young challenger a demonstration, Rayleigh gave his wrist a light turn and swung his sword casually.
A wave of sword qi, condensed to its absolute limit, tore away from the blade.
It flew silently, yet carried a sharpness capable of cutting through anything, hurtling straight toward Saint Dio’s face.
Saint Dio’s pupils constricted.
Instead of retreating, he charged forward, gripping Jormungandr with both hands and channeling his entire strength into a single, downward slash.
Clang—!
The sword qi was forcibly shattered, splitting into two wisps of air that streaked past him and carved two bottomless, slender fissures into the ground behind him.
But the very instant he shattered the qi, Rayleigh’s figure closed in like a phantom.
“Good lad.” The old man’s voice rang out at close range, accompanied by the thin sword thrusting toward his throat like a viper.
Saint Dio twisted his body to evade the strike, then swung his sword in a reverse horizontal slash.
Rayleigh leaned back to dodge, the blade grazing the tip of his nose.
The distance between them closed to a mere arm’s length.
Their blades clashed in a blur of steel, the metallic rings exploding across the street like a rapid drumbeat.
Clang, clang, clang—!!
Their figures blurred as they traded blows in the center of the street, each collision erupting in a shower of blinding sparks.
The ground beneath them was ravaged by the overflowing sword qi, deep fissures spreading outward like a spiderweb as debris flew in the turbulent air.
After another violent clash, Saint Dio used the recoil to leap back, creating some distance.
He stared at the white-haired old man, who remained utterly composed.
Instead of fading, the fighting spirit in Dio’s eyes burned even more fiercely.
Not enough.
Still not enough.
Attacks like this can’t even scratch the legendary Dark King.
Saint Dio took a deep breath and shifted his grip on his sword.
He held Jormungandr horizontally at his side, the blade positioned behind his right shoulder, his entire body tensed like a drawn bowstring.
His right hand gripped the hilt tightly, the veins on his arm bulging like winding rivers.
Then, he began to channel Jormungandr’s power.
Heavier.
Heavier.
Heavier still.
Driven by Saint Dio’s will, the sword’s weight soared.
Ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times!
It was as if an invisible island were slowly descending upon the blade, its terrifying gravity transmitted through the hilt to his entire body.
Saint Dio’s legs sank slightly, the ground beneath his feet suddenly cracking.
His bones groaned under the strain, his muscles trembling violently at their absolute limit, and the veins on his forehead throbbed like earthworms.
But he did not lower his sword.
His teeth gritted so hard they creaked, sweat dripping from his jawline, yet his ice-blue eyes burned with an unprecedented, ecstatic light.
“Hah—!” He swung the sword with all his might!
An unimaginably colossal wave of sword qi tore free from Jormungandr’s blade, roaring forth like a strike that could cleave the heavens and earth.
The sheer scale of the attack was so immense that even a flicker of astonishment crossed Rayleigh’s eyes.
It no longer resembled a slash wielded by human strength.
It was like a meteor streaking across the sky, or a white ribbon of light spanning the horizon.
Its magnitude created the illusion that if it were aimed at the moon, it could slice it in two.
Wherever the sword qi passed, it plowed a massive trench several meters wide into the ground.
The shockwave sent the surrounding ruins of buildings flying, and even the air shrieked as it was torn asunder.
The onlookers, though far away and untouched by the direct impact, were pinned to the ground by the piercing sword wind, unable to even lift their heads.
This was the technique Saint Dio had developed through Jormungandr.
By altering the sword’s weight, he could control the power of his slash.
The heavier the sword, the more devastating the strike.
But at the same time, the wielder had to endure the same weight as the sword itself.
It was a double-edged sword.
If he exceeded his own limits, he would be crushed by the terrifying gravity before his enemy ever fell.
But in this moment, Saint Dio had swung that blade.
And he had endured.