After hearing Roya's evaluation, Squard visibly relaxed, hefted his massive cleaver onto his shoulder, and backed away.
Dracule Mihawk, too, sheathed the famed Black Blade Yoru and stepped forward—right past Boa Hancock, without sparing her a glance—his eyes locked solely on Roya.
"This deck is far too fragile," Mihawk said coldly. "Shall we find a nearby island for a proper duel?"
Roya nodded calmly.
"Three nautical miles to the southwest, there's an uninhabited island. Let's go there."
With that, he tapped the tip of his foot lightly—and floated off the deck, like a feather caught in the breeze.
Everyone stared in disbelief as he landed effortlessly atop the water.
Then—another tap—and his figure drifted forward, skimming the waves like mist.
His movements were so graceful, so impossibly elegant, that it almost seemed unreal.
Yet despite how effortless it looked, he moved with astonishing speed—covering nearly a full nautical mile before most could even blink.
"Wait… Isn't a Devil Fruit user supposed to be hated by the sea?"
"Then how the hell is he walking—no, gliding—on water?!"
> "Idiot! That's because Vice-Captain Roya doesn't have a Devil Fruit ability!"
"Then how does he float like that?!"
"You ever seen a feather float that fast, genius?"
"So what ability is it then?!"
"How would I know?! Just shut up and get moving! I'm not missing the Vice-Captain beating the crap out of the world's greatest swordsman!"
Even Mihawk, usually unmoved by chatter, had a storm brewing in his expression as he listened to the Whitebeard Pirates squabble with fanatical enthusiasm.
Over fifty pirate ships swarmed toward the small island like a tidal wave.
When they arrived, over ten thousand pirates leapt onto the shore like dumplings tossed into boiling water, rushing to take position behind Roya—naturally forming a fan-shaped wall of support.
Mihawk stepped forward, stopping exactly ten meters across from Roya, expression dark.
"Roya," he said in a low tone, "order these pirates to retreat. My blade, at full power, won't spare anyone in its path."
He unstrapped the world-renowned Black Blade Yoru from his back, plunging it into the sand in front of him.
Roya simply smiled.
"No need for all that. Let them stand wherever they want. They trust me."
"The only reason I agreed to fight here on land was to avoid you making excuses later—that you couldn't fight freely on a ship."
"Let me make something clear: Even if you go all out, as long as I'm here, you won't so much as scratch the deck, the sails, or even the flag."
Mihawk finally snapped.
"Enough!"
Since he had mastered the blade, he had never once lost his composure.
But now—his heart raged like a storm. For the first time in years, he was truly angry.
"Let's see how you block this—and protect that bunch of fools standing behind you!"
Mihawk unleashed his signature sword aura—an intense, deep blue-green wave of sword energy surged forth like a tsunami!
It was no longer a slash—it was a wall of sword energy.
A towering blade storm that looked ready to devour the world.
Every strand of aura within that wave pulsed like a vengeful spirit—every edge a murderous blade.
Even looking at it made people's eyes sting. The wind alone cut like blades across the faces of the pirates behind Roya.
"So this is the strength… of the World's Greatest Swordsman!"
Everyone present felt that same awed thought rising in their minds.
But not a single person took a step back.
No one ran.
Every single pirate behind Roya stood firm on the sand, their feet rooted like iron.
Because they believed.
As long as that figure stood in front of them—calm, unmoved—they knew they would come to no harm.
The sword wall descended—impossibly fast—aimed straight for Roya's head.
People held their breath, wondering what kind of attack Roya would unleash to counter it.
Then… a slender beam of energy—no thicker than two fingers—burst from Roa's fingertip.
It was a sword aura.
And it tore through Mihawk's massive slash like a hot knife through butter.
The wall that had seconds ago seemed poised to swallow Roya—and all behind him—was split clean in two.
All that overwhelming aura, all that lethal pressure—it vanished.
And the fierce blade-wind that had been cutting at the spectators' faces was suddenly replaced by… a gentle sea breeze.
A moment later, the entire beach erupted into deafening cheers.
"Hey, World's Strongest Swordsman—was that a fan breeze you sent just now?"
"Right? That weak little slash wouldn't hurt a seagull! And you dared call us trash?"
Nearby, Vista rubbed his chin.
"Strange… Roya's strike didn't seem nearly as powerful as Mihawk's. Not even ten percent."
"So why couldn't Mihawk resist it at all?"
Squard gave a lazy grin.
"Because our Master's understanding of sword aura and intent is beyond anything we can grasp."
Unlike Squard's blind devotion, Marco offered a more grounded analysis:
"It's a matter of control. That fingertip strike from Roya wasn't just precise—it was perfectly calibrated."
"He destroyed Mihawk's massive slash not with power, but with surgical precision."
"Still… there's something strange about his aura. It doesn't quite feel like normal sword energy."
Standing far off on the Moby Dick, Whitebeard continued Marco's thought aloud.
"That's because it isn't sword aura."
"Roya's using Observation Haki in a way even I couldn't imagine."
"He's wielding it like Armament or even Conqueror's Haki—making it tangible."
Whitebeard chuckled and gave Hancock a mischievous glance.
"I thought I'd already overestimated the kid."
"Turns out, I vastly underestimated him instead."
Hancock raised an eyebrow.
"Why are you saying this to me, old man?"
Whitebeard laughed.
"Oh, he calls me 'old man' too!"
Just as Hancock was about to snap at his antics, a sudden movement on the shore drew her attention.
Mihawk—his slash effortlessly dismantled—moved again.
He chose close quarters.
Dragging the Black Blade Yoru behind him, he stepped lightly across the sand—his feet tapping rapidly, building momentum.
In a flash, the crimson-eyed swordsman became a blur of burgundy and black, streaking toward Roya at breakneck speed.
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