The rules of pirates were simple: whoever had the bigger fist was the boss.
Since the two of them could not come to an agreement, settling things with their swords was simple and direct.
Dracule Mihawk drew his sword again. His entire presence abruptly changed, and he himself seemed to become a razor-sharp blade. His sword intent completely enveloped Shanks.
From the moment he had seen him, Dracule Mihawk had intended to fight Shanks. As a swordsman, there was nothing more exciting than crossing blades with another master swordsman.
Especially for Dracule Mihawk, who had set his sights on becoming the world's greatest swordsman.
"Your sword presence isn't bad." Shanks showed a trace of surprise, yet he was not affected by his opponent's sword intent in the slightest. He did not even release his own sword intent to counter it.
"Judging by your age, you must have just turned twenty. With sword intent like this, you're the youngest great swordsman I've ever seen." Shanks smiled.
A bead of cold sweat rolled down Dracule Mihawk's forehead. In his perception, Shanks had begun to seem both present and absent. His sword intent could not lock onto this man at all.
This was the first time he had ever encountered such a situation.
Seeing Dracule Mihawk's expression, Shanks chuckled. "A few years ago, someone guided me in swordsmanship. He told me that sword intent was both the most important thing and the least important thing. When the heart followed one's thoughts, and thoughts moved the sword, that was the first step into sword intent. Of course, I still haven't fully understood those words even now."
As Shanks spoke, Dracule Mihawk's pupils contracted. He discovered that an aura had emerged from Shanks's body—the purest sword intent, more condensed and sharper than his own.
The