The night breeze swept across the deserted docks. Moonlight shimmered on the sea and fell over the two men, casting long shadows.
"Let's begin." Mihawk drew Yoru from his back again, its blade gleaming coldly in the moonlight. His movements were clean and precise, without a hint of wasted motion.
Gern slowly drew Black Blade: Eight Desolations, leaving the fluttering white cloth wrapped around its blade.
He did not even rush to attack, instead standing where he was and waiting for Mihawk to make his move.
Mihawk did not hesitate. His figure flashed forward, his blade slicing through the air straight for Gern's throat.
The slash was fast.
Yet Gern merely shifted slightly to the side and raised Black Blade: Eight Desolations for a light parry.
Clang! The clear ring of clashing blades echoed across the docks.
Mihawk's blade was held firmly in place, unable to advance an inch.
"Decent speed, but still slow," Gern remarked, a hint of teasing in his voice.
Mihawk's gaze sharpened. He swiftly changed his attack, turning his blade to sweep toward Gern's waist.
Gern pushed off with his toes and sprang lightly backward, avoiding the strike.
"Your swordsmanship is pure, but it lacks the tempering of real combat. No wonder you go around challenging people," Gern said as he dodged.
"A true master swordsman needs more than speed. He also needs to know how to control the rhythm of a fight."
After all, having fought and defeated a Great Swordsman like Kozuki Oden, he had earned the right to offer a few comments.
Meanwhile, Mihawk offered no reply, but his attacks grew increasingly fierce.
For a moment, blades flashed like falling rain, every strike aimed at a vital point.
Yet no matter how he changed his attacks, Gern countered them effortlessly, as though he