The Unforgiven Yasuo walked through the arena amid the cheers of countless spectators, neither hurried nor slow, his expression as calm as still water. He carried an aloof air, as though detached from the world.
His gaze was cool and indifferent, as if the battle that had just sent the five monarchs and ministers home had been nothing more than a trivial matter.
His entire body exuded an air of mystery. His clothes fluttered without wind, and the wind seemed to follow in his wake.
However, before he could return from the arena to the rest area,
the wind stopped.
Because Hawkeye Mihawk stood before the Unforgiven, gripping the broad black blade that reflected a dark gleam.
"Hmm?"
Garen vaguely sensed that something was wrong, but his superb acting left no trace of panic on his face.
"You have blocked my path, sir. What business do you have with me?"
"I want to cross swords with you."
Mihawk answered evenly.
"Cross swords?"
Garen felt that something was increasingly amiss, but he could only force himself to remain calm.
"We will meet in the martial arts tournament eventually. Why the rush?"
"Enough."
Mihawk raised the gleaming black blade in his hand, its five feet of cold light reflected across Garen's face.
"Though I don't know what exactly you are trying to do, I have no interest in playing this boring game with you any longer."
"Draw your weapon!"
As soon as his words fell, the black blade tore through the air.
The killing intent on the blade was heavy, and streaks of black light stretched endlessly like dense storm clouds.
Yet when the blade descended toward him, those dark clouds suddenly scattered. Bright sword light shone forth, like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
This opening strike was a killing blow.
"What?"