15: Chapter 8: Hawkeye’s Challenge!
The Fallen Reincarnator Finally Appears!
(Part 1) 15: Chapter 8: Hawkeye’s Challenge!
The Fallen Reincarnator Finally Appears!
(Part 1) The low voice echoed like ice striking rock across the dead-silent frozen wasteland.
The crowd subconsciously parted to the sides, making a straight path.
A man’s figure emerged from the end of the path.
He wore a wide-brimmed felt hat pulled incredibly low, almost entirely obscuring his face.
It only revealed a jawline so pale it was almost transparent, its contours as cold and hard as a chiseled statue.
The giant cross-shaped sword slung over his shoulder was taller than he was.
The blade of the Black Sword was coated in a thin layer of frost, exuding a piercing, cold light that seemed capable of slicing through sunlight itself.
He walked toward Alex step by step, the ice cracking softly beneath his boots.
With every step, the surrounding air seemed to grow colder and stiffer.
Even the fluttering ice crystals swirled around him, as if fearing the formless sword intent he radiated.
Stopping three meters away from Alex, the man slowly raised his head.
The eyes hidden beneath the hat were finally exposed.
His irises were a bottomless, inky black, like two ancient wells that had been silent for a millennium.
Yet, the whites of his eyes were so pale they carried a bluish tint.
With the outer corners of his eyes naturally swept upward, he exuded an innate arrogance.
[Warlord of the Sea, the World’s Strongest Swordsman, Dracule Mihawk!] “I wish to challenge you.” Mihawk’s voice carried no ripples of emotion.
There was neither anger nor excitement; he spoke as casually as if he were remarking on the good weather.
Alex’s expression remained unchanged as he gave a slight nod.
“Hawkeye?
Commendable courage.
But if you challenge me, you must be prepared to pay with your life.” He glanced at the milling crowd in the distance.
Time was running out.
If he kept dragging this out, he wouldn’t finish scanning everyone before nightfall.
Mihawk didn’t reply.
He simply gripped the hilt of his giant cross-sword with both hands and slowly dragged the blade across the ice, producing a harsh, grating screech.
When the Black Blade, Yoru, was brought before his chest, a flicker of emotion finally stirred in his pupils.
It was the ultimate thirst for the absolute pinnacle of swordsmanship.
It had nothing to do with victory or defeat; it was purely for the perfection of the strike itself.
“Please don’t die!” The moment the words fell, Mihawk slowly raised the massive cross-sword above his head.
Yoru’s blade reflected the frigid light of the ice field, harmonizing with the drifting clouds above.
It was as if, in that moment, the entire world had faded away, leaving nothing but this single sword.
He was going to strike!
Everyone’s hearts leaped into their throats, their breathing practically stopping.
The Marines clenched their fists, the pirates’ eyes widened, and even the dying Whitebeard in the distance leaned heavily on his naginata to stand straight and watch.
Could the current World’s Strongest Swordsman shatter this mysterious man’s invincible myth?
Mihawk spread his feet slightly, planting them firmly on the cracked ice.
His pitch-black pupils beneath the felt hat locked dead onto Alex.
The surrounding air felt entirely frozen by his invisible sword intent; even the wind ceased to blow.
“Hah!” Accompanied by a low shout, the cross-sword carved a flawless arc through the air.
There was no earth-shattering momentum, no swirling dust or debris.
There was only absolute precision and lethal sharpness.
The trajectory of the blade was more perfect than a compass-drawn circle.
Even the falling ice crystals in its path were cleanly sliced into equal halves, refracting rainbow hues in the air.
Into this single strike, Mihawk had poured his entire life’s mastery of the sword, breaking through every known limit.
Facing Alex—an unprecedentedly terrifying foe—he unleashed a truly perfect slash.
A burst of sword aura, almost invisible to the naked eye, erupted forth, sweeping across the ice like the scythe of the Grim Reaper.
Wherever it passed, a trench several meters wide was silently cleaved into the ice.
The edges of the fissure were as smooth as a mirror, as if they had been polished with the finest sandpaper for a century, lacking even the slightest flaw.
It was the ultimate manifestation of absolute power control!
Sitting in his chair, Alex didn’t even bother to look up at the approaching sword aura.
It wasn’t until the slash was less than three meters away that he slowly raised his right hand.
Bringing his index and middle fingers together, he closed them gently, as if plucking a falling snowflake from the air.
Clang!
A faint, crisp ring echoed through the air.
That terrifying sword aura—capable of cleaving massive steel battleships in half—crashed into an invisible wall.
It instantly shattered into a flurry of wind and snow, drifting harmlessly onto Alex’s shoulders.
And Mihawk’s giant cross-sword?
It was currently caught firmly between Alex’s two fingers, clamped right in the center of the blade.
The cold gleam on Yoru’s edge trembled violently, emitting a rebellious hum, yet it could not advance even a fraction of an inch.
It was as if it had been welded to the very fabric of space.
Mihawk’s pupils shrank to pinpricks, veins bulging on the back of his gripping hands.
He could clearly feel a force transmitted from the other’s fingertips—seemingly gentle, yet more indestructible than a ten-thousand-year-old glacier.
“Not bad.” Alex gave a slight nod, a rare hint of approval in his eyes.
“In this world, your power is enough to leave people in awe.” ‘This world?’ A flash of realization crossed Mihawk’s eyes.
‘So, he wasn’t someone from this world?
Could he be a god?’ Alex released his fingers.
The Black Blade Yoru immediately rebounded, sending Mihawk stumbling back several steps before he could steady his footing.
“Stand down.” Alex withdrew his hand, refusing to attack.
Truthfully, he didn’t want to kill Mihawk.
This grandmaster swordsman rarely involved himself in the petty squabbles between Marines and pirates, dedicating his entire existence solely to the way of the sword.
A pure warrior pursuing the zenith of strength deserved a certain level of respect.
But Mihawk suddenly spun around.
Pressing his left hand on the hilt and sliding his right hand down the spine of the blade, he used the momentum of his spin to swing the giant sword upward.
Carrying a bone-chilling coldness, the blade struck from a treacherous angle—like a viper bearing its fangs—aiming straight for Alex’s throat.
It was his signature killing move, one that had claimed the lives of countless powerful foes.
“Black Blade: Flash!” Alex raised an eyebrow, a flicker of coldness flashing deep in his eyes.