The rain fell with an unreasonable intensity.
The cobblestone roads of Loguetown were washed slick, the air thick with the mingled scents of cheap tobacco, sweat, and the fetid odor of impending death.
This was not good weather. At least not for a grand ceremony that was to be broadcast live to the entire world. It was downright terrible.
But no one complained at this moment.
Tens of thousands of eyes were nailed to the tall execution platform standing in the center of the square.
Raindrops hammered against countless raincoats and umbrellas, merging into a disquieting, pervasive rustle.
Thirty minutes until the execution.
Click.
A crisp sound of a footstep splashing through water pierced through the curtain of rain, drilling precisely into everyone's eardrums.
The noisy crowd's clamor instantly cut off.
Everyone held their breath, their gazes following the source of the footsteps.
The ranks of Marines parted to either side like Moses dividing the sea.
That man had arrived.
Kane wore that absurdly oversized Justice coat, without an umbrella.
Bizarrely, the raindrops falling from the sky were gently pushed aside by an invisible current of air three inches above his head, sliding off to either side.
Not a single drop from the myriad rain threads could dampen the hem of his coat.
So that's... that Calamity?
Someone in the crowd gulped, their voice dry.
The monster who beat the Pirate King into the ground... I thought he'd be some three-headed, six-armed demon, but he looks so...
Shh! Do you want to die? That's a Marine Admiral!
Kane paid no heed to the surrounding gazes of awe, hatred, or morbid curiosity.
He stepped slowly, one deliberate pace at a time, onto the wooden stairs of the execution platform.
His leisurely, unhurried gait made it seem less like he was here to oversee the execution of the Pirate King, and more like he was attending a dull afternoon tea party.
Finally, he stood at the highest point.
There, a wide chair upholstered in red velvet overlooked the entire square.
Kane didn't even bother to adjust his coat before plopping down into it.
Then, under the scrutiny of tens of thousands of eyes and the close-up lenses of dozens of image den den mushis, he pulled a cigar from his breast pocket.
Snap.
He lit it, took a deep drag, and blew out a perfect smoke ring.
The entire sequence was fluid and natural.
He crossed his legs, propping his chin on one hand. That lazy posture made the Marine officers standing ramrod straight below, letting the rain drench them, look like a bunch of schoolchildren waiting for a lecture.
...
Below the platform, in the most densely packed area of the crowd.
Several figures stood out, scattered in different spots. They were still young, but the scent named ambition could no longer be concealed.
Fufufu...
A blond youth wrapped in a pink feather coat and wearing flashy sunglasses, huddled in a lane entrance, let out his signature strange laugh as he watched the overbearing figure on the platform.
Doflamingo's gaze seemed to be appraising a piece of prime meat, or perhaps scrutinizing a ferocious beast.
The bearing of an Admiral... huh? To sit in that position and still be so relaxed. It seems Roger was truly beaten to a pulp by this monster.
He was displeased. Extremely displeased.
This feeling of being utterly looked down upon made the destructive urges in his veins surge wildly.
But at the same time, an even stronger desire made him tremble all over.
That position, that perspective of being able to tread the world underfoot, was far too alluring.
Not far away.
A sullen youth with slicked-back hair, his left hand not yet replaced by a golden hook, stared intently at the rainwater being repelled by an invisible force around Kane.
Crocodile exhaled a puff of smoke, his eyes gloomy and fierce.
The Storm-Storm Fruit... So this is the power that even Whitebeard is wary of.
He detested water, and rainy days like this even more.
But the man on that platform made him feel a suppression from a higher level of existence.
And in another corner.
Moriah, not yet grown fat, grinned widely, his eyes filled with greed as they darted between Kane and the passage from which Roger would soon be escorted.
Hehihihihi! If I could cut that guy's shadow... No, if I could get Roger's corpse...
These future great pirates, schemers, and ambitious men were like a pack of immature wolf cubs, hiding in the shadows, watching the new lion king of the plains.
They were in awe, they feared, but more than anything—they desired to take his place.
...
However.
Amidst all these calculating and fearful gazes, there was one line of sight that was so pure it felt piercing.
It belonged to a young man carrying an iron cross as tall as a person on his back.
Even in the crowded sea of people, there was a three-meter vacuum around him.
Anyone who tried to get close would feel a stinging pain on their skin, as if scraped by a blade, and would instinctively retreat.
Dracule Mihawk.
At this time, he hadn't yet grown his signature thin mustache, and his golden, hawk-like pupils lacked the later world-weary loneliness.
All they held was a blazing fighting spirit.
He wasn't looking at the execution platform, nor at the so-called great pirate seedlings around him.
His eyes were fixed solely on the cigar-smoking Marine Admiral lounging with crossed legs.
More precisely, he was looking at the sword at Kane's waist.
Although Zangetsu remained sheathed, it didn't stop Mihawk's mind from repeatedly replaying the scene of it tearing through the sea and severing a King's Haki.
A jet-black blade.
A divine weapon tempered and saturated by Armament Haki countless times until it underwent a qualitative change.
In this era, those who could forge a black blade were few and far between. And that Marine on the platform had achieved it at such a young age.
For a swordsman determined to stand at the pinnacle of the sword path, this was more tempting than any treasure in the world.
A black blade...
Mihawk murmured to himself, his hand unconsciously moving to the hilt of the Yoru on his back.
The cold touch cooled his boiling blood slightly, but the next second, it ignited again with even more ferocity.
I want to try it.
Mihawk said quietly, as if to himself, or perhaps to the sword on his back.
The surrounding noise, the Marines' authority, the impending execution... everything faded into a meaningless background in his eyes.
A swordsman's train of thought is always frustratingly straightforward.
See a strong opponent, must challenge. See a high mountain, must climb.
As for the occasion? What's that?
...
On the execution platform.
Kane yawned and was just about to take another puff of his cigar when his Listen to All Things Observation Haki suddenly twitched.
Hmm?
Kane paused the finger holding his cigarette. His gaze pierced through the layers of rain, precisely locking onto a specific point in the crowd.
Interesting.
The next instant.
Mihawk moved.
Shiiing—!
A clear, resonant ring of a blade echoed throughout the square.
The massive Yoru was drawn and, with a casual swing—
BOOM!
A brilliant emerald-green slash erupted from the ground, forcibly cleaving a path through the crowded masses, its edge aimed directly at the high platform!
Marine Admiral!
The young Hawkeye's voice wasn't loud, but accompanied by that sharp Sword Intent, it clearly reached every corner of the deathly silent square.
The entire square fell silent for a second, then exploded into chaos!
Who was this kid? Was he insane?!
Drawing a blade before a Marine Admiral? Challenging the execution supervisor on the eve of the Pirate King's execution?
Reporters' flashbulbs went off like crazy. The big newsman Morgans was so excited his feathers puffed up: Big news! Absolutely huge news! On the eve of the execution, an unknown swordsman challenges the Calamity Admiral?!
Countless Marine soldiers instantly raised their rifles, the black muzzles uniformly aiming at Mihawk.
How dare you! You dare disrupt the execution!
Apprehend him!
But Mihawk ignored them. He gripped his sword with both hands, its tip pointing distantly at the figure on the high platform, his eyes overflowing with fighting spirit.
I, Dracule Mihawk.
Have come in pursuit of the world's strongest sword path.
Though this is an execution ground, and you are an Admiral...
I request a duel!
The moment his words fell, a torrential Sword Intent surged skyward, even dispersing a small patch of dark clouds above his head!
Everyone was stunned.
Doflamingo's sunglasses slid down his nose. Crocodile's cigar was crushed in his hand.
Where the hell did this reckless brat come from?
Did he have a death wish?!
On the high platform, Kane looked at the sharp, unyielding young man. His expression didn't change at all, not even his posture.
My, my. Young people these days really have no manners.
Kane slowly uncrossed his legs and stood up.
He extended a finger and gave a slight, dismissive shake towards the Marines below who were preparing to fire.
Stand down.
Two simple words, yet carrying an indisputable authority.
The soldiers instinctively lowered their guns.
Kane stood up, cigar in his mouth, and walked to the edge of the execution platform.
He looked down from his lofty position at the stubborn-eyed youth below, like a dragon gazing down at an ant brandishing a toothpick.
He wasn't angry. Instead, he grinned, revealing a row of stark white teeth, smiling with unparalleled arrogance and an equally intense greed.
Kid, you've got guts.
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