When the narrow, coffin-shaped boat slipped silently into Bernia's territorial waters, Dracule Mihawk saw not the bustling port he had expected, but an endless expanse of silver-white.
The sea had vanished.
In its place lay a metal platform stretching before him. Its mirror-smooth surface reflected the gray sky; the entire stretch of sea had been transformed into an arena for swordsmen.
"Lord Hawk-Eye."
A voice reached his ears through vibrations in the air.
"Your blade is too sharp. This little place of mine cannot withstand the two of you fighting without restraint."
A metal mooring post carved with spiral grooves rose from the platform's edge, locking onto the coffin boat's bow with a clang.
"Since you have come alone-"
At the other end of the platform, a tall figure in an old-fashioned, dark blue swordsman's robe already stood solemnly.
"Please enjoy a 'dance' here... with my swordsmanship adviser."
Hawk-Eye stepped out of the cabin, expressionless. His black leather boots landed on the silver-white metal with a crisp tap, especially piercing in the deathly silence. He neither looked at the chain nor surveyed this artificial wonder-such external things had never caught his eye.
Thirty paces away, the man stood like a mountain.
"Divine Mind One Sword Style, full transmission."
His voice was deep as an ancient bell, carrying a weathered quality honed by the years.
"Hokushin Ichiteru."
Hawk-Eye adjusted his hat brim with one hand. On his back, the Black Blade Yoru hummed low in its sheath-a Famous Sword's instinctive response upon encountering something worth cutting.
"Dracule Mihawk."
He did not even name a school. He had none, nor did he need one. The sword was him, and he was the sword. What need was there for a name to adorn it?
The instant their gazes collided-
Humm!!
Invisible pressure exploded