White Sea, Heaven’s Gate.
The moment his feet touched solid ground, Dracule Mihawk drew the black blade Yoru from his back and spoke in a steady tone, “Beelzebub, draw your blade.”
At nineteen, Mihawk had yet to claim the title of the world’s greatest swordsman.
Because of that, Sven Beelzebub was spared the insult of being tested with a mere dagger.
Clang, clang, clang.
Their blades met three times in an instant, a brief exchange to test each other’s rhythm.
As Sven’s strength continued to rise, Mihawk gave a quiet remark, “A sword that relies only on power lacks depth.”
During their short clash, Mihawk’s curiosity grew.
The unrefined blade in Sven’s hand emitted a faint purple glow, yet its durability rivaled Yoru, one of the Supreme Grade swords.
A Supreme Grade weapon that had never been recorded before?
Then Mihawk saw it.
Black and red lightning coiled around Sven’s blade, crackling with violent force.
It was unmistakable.
Conqueror’s Haki, and not just the basic form, but advanced usage.
Mihawk’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly.
“Advanced Conqueror’s Haki… what an anomaly.”
In all his years chasing the path of the sword, he had crossed blades with countless masters.
Yet never had he seen someone wield such power without the balance of other Haki.
No Armament Haki.
No Observation Haki.
And yet, his Conqueror’s Haki had already reached such a level.
Calling it unbalanced was an understatement.
What kind of will could shape someone like this?
No wonder he had sailed with Gol D.
Roger.
No wonder that crew reached the final island.
Both men swung their blades at the same time, releasing flying slashes into the sky.
One cut through the air in green, the other surged forward in crackling purple.
Mihawk’s slash split the sea of clouds with overwhelming force.
Sven’s, though smaller, carried a sharp and concentrated power.
The difference in scale was clear, but not the danger.
Sven’s attack was reinforced by advanced Conqueror’s Haki and amplified by the Musou no Hitotachi he had begun to integrate.
Even without Armament or Observation Haki, his offensive power had already stepped into the realm of top-tier fighters.
His defense, however, was another matter entirely.
Without Armament Haki, he could only rely on instinct and his control over lightning.
By sensing electrical disturbances in the air, he barely managed to predict Mihawk’s movements.
It was a fragile method, but it kept him in the fight.
Boom.
Sven was sent flying dozens of meters before crashing onto the ground.
He wiped the blood from his mouth and grinned faintly.
“As expected, real combat is the fastest way to improve.”
This battle did more than test him.
It fused the swordsmanship engraved in his mind with his growing mastery of lightning.
His abilities were beginning to evolve together.
When he unleashed a flying slash, arcs of lightning followed behind it like a dragon in pursuit.
When their blades collided, he stimulated his body with electricity, forcing his adrenaline to surge and pushing his strength and reaction speed to new heights.
Clang, clang, clang.
Strangely, neither of them called out the names of their techniques.
For Mihawk, there was no need.
If he did not name it, it was simply a basic strike.
For Sven, the same logic applied.
In the end, it came down to foundation.
After eight hours of continuous battle, Sven collapsed first, breathing heavily as exhaustion finally caught up to him.
Mihawk had held back.
There was a four-year gap between them.
Sven’s physique had been weakened by a harsh childhood, and his time with the Roger Pirates had exposed him to many disciplines, but not deep specialization.
Reaching this level already bordered on extraordinary.
What he lacked was time.
Given enough of it, he could shake the entire world.
Mihawk sheathed Yoru and extended a hand.
“Not bad.
You’ve improved.”
Perhaps in two years, this man would become a true rival.
Sven grabbed his hand and stood up, ready to continue, but a voice interrupted them.
“Captain, someone is approaching.”
A group of warriors emerged from the jungle.
This land had once been part of Jaya before being blasted into the sky by a massive Knock Up Stream four hundred years ago.
Since then, conflict had raged between its inhabitants.
The winged warriors before them were the Shandians.
One of them stepped forward, staring at Sven with uncertainty.
“Sven?”
Sven paused, then recognition surfaced.
“Kalpa.
Long time no see.”
Kalpa was a descendant of the great warrior Kalgara.
Two years ago, when the Roger Pirates reached the sky island, they had met him while uncovering the poneglyph tied to the Ancient Weapon Poseidon.
They had also encountered Gan Fall, the former God of Skypiea.
After a brief embrace, Kalpa asked eagerly, “Did you find the great treasure?
Where is Captain Roger?
Why are you alone?”
Sven gave a short and selective explanation of everything that happened after they left.
Kalpa’s expression darkened slightly.
“I never thought a man like Captain Roger would choose to surrender himself.”
“We respect his decision,” Sven replied.
“What about you?
Still fighting with Gan Fall?”
Kalpa shook his head.
“Things have been quiet lately.
Come, we’re holding a banquet.”
Sven’s eyes lit up faintly.
“That works.
In this world, a banquet solved everything.
Good news, bad news, it did not matter.
With the Roger Pirates, Sven had built a reputation not only as a fighter, but as a chef.
His cooking had left a lasting impression on both allies and strangers.
As they passed a familiar location, Sven suddenly widened his eyes.
“Where’s the golden pillar?”
Kalpa’s face fell.
“Don’t even mention it.
It was stolen last night.”
Sven reacted with exaggerated shock.
“That huge pillar?
How could anyone move it?”
Kalpa sighed.
“We kept losing consciousness for no reason.
It must have happened then.”
Mihawk glanced at Sven silently.
The timing was too convenient.
Sven arrived last night, and the pillar disappeared the same night.
The truth was not hard to guess.
Still, the size of the pillar raised a question.
How did he move it?
And where did he hide it?
Mihawk’s interest in Sven deepened.
They soon arrived at the Shandian village, built atop island clouds after their homeland had been taken centuries ago.
The place retained a primitive atmosphere, filled with tents and tribal markings.
At the banquet, Sven naturally took over the cooking.
Once again, he impressed everyone.
“Sven, I finally get to taste your cooking again!”
After the Roger Pirates left, the Shandians who had attended that feast never stopped comparing their own chefs to him.
The difference was obvious.
One created unforgettable meals.
The others wasted ingredients.
As the celebration continued, someone asked, “Sven, why did you come this time?”
Sven set down his drink and spoke plainly.
“I want to talk to Gan Fall about ending the war between your people.
You are all descendants of the Moon People.
This conflict has no meaning.”
A Shandian warrior immediately stepped forward, anger flashing across his face.
“Impossible!
We will never acknowledge him as God.”
Sven smiled slightly, unbothered.
“I expected that.”
He paused for a moment before continuing.
“Then how about this…”
“I become your God instead?”
◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 100