The turmoil surrounding the Mother Flame had temporarily come to an end, and Vegapunk threw himself back into Seraphim research.
Rock, who had returned from Fish-Man Island, suddenly spoke. "Let them see the prototype."
Vegapunk paused slightly and asked in confusion, "Why?"
Rock's gaze fell on the training grounds, where S-Hawk was practicing swordsmanship alone.
"Lineage Factor gives the Seraphim powerful abilities in every aspect."
"But some things can never be learned in a laboratory."
West Blue.
The waters off Gram Kingdom remained calm.
Ever since Mihawk arrived, the surrounding seas seemed to have gained an invisible prohibition.
Pirates and mercenaries had all vanished.
Even those hoping to profit from the chaos among the eight kingdoms quietly changed course upon hearing the words "Hawk-Eye."
No one wanted to risk their life to find out.
Whether the man aboard that coffin boat truly was the legendary World's Greatest Swordsman.
And at this moment.
On the coffin boat, Mihawk sat at the bow, Black Blade Yoru resting quietly beside him.
The sea breeze swept past, making his black cloak flutter gently.
Yet his expression was growing increasingly grim.
The reason was simple.
Bored. Far too bored.
Ever since Rock had told him,
"In the future, swordsmen more talented than you will appear in this world."
Mihawk had been waiting.
He had thought he would soon encounter someone worth giving a serious look.
But what happened?
Several days had passed. Forget a swordsman who could surpass him—there was not even anyone who could mildly pique his interest.
Mihawk lowered his head and looked at the wineglass in his hand.
"Did Rock just say that casually?"
The thought had barely surfaced before he dismissed it himself.
That man always seemed unreliable.
But whenever something truly important was involved, he never spoke without reason.