"Clang—!"
The crisp sound of clashing blades exploded across the battlefield as Bahr and Mihawk each retreated several steps, the shattered rubble beneath their feet scattering wildly, leaving shallow, chaotic marks on the ground.
Bahr leaned on his knees, panting heavily. His left sleeve had been sliced open, blood trickling down his arm before gathering at his wrist and dripping to the ground.
A shallow cut marred his cheek, blood mingling with sweat as it slid into his collar.
He shook his numb wrist—though his palm hadn't split, it throbbed painfully. The last exchange had made it clear he was slightly outmatched in raw strength, his arm still aching from the impact.
Mihawk wasn't faring much better. His signature black hat sat askew, its white fur trim dusted with dirt, while a tear in his coat near his ribs revealed a bleeding wound, dark stains slowly spreading.
His fingers flexed slightly around the hilt of Black Sword Night, clearly affected by the clash, yet his posture remained as unyielding as a pine tree, as if the fierce battle had merely brushed dust from his clothes.
"You have the qualifications to challenge my title as the world's strongest swordsman," Mihawk said, his voice devoid of emotion, though his amber eyes burned with an intense fire, locked onto Bahr.
Wiping sweat from his face, Bahr chuckled breathlessly. "Not interested."
What use was a title like that? Was it more comfortable than a soft bed?
Still, Mihawk lived up to his reputation as the world's strongest. In pure swordsmanship, Bahr stood no chance. If not for the Space Fruit's abilities allowing him to dodge the deadliest strikes, he'd have been sent flying three times already.
Fighting someone like this demanded absolute focus every second—it was exhausting. He'd much rather be back with Miss Valentine, Robin, and Perona, sipping tea and chatting.
But complaints aside, he wouldn't back down from a challenge.
Taking a deep breath, a dark purple glow once again enveloped Autumn Water's blade as Bahr prepared to unleash a powerful strike—when suddenly, the air around them froze.
The sounds of battle—clashing weapons, screams, roars—all vanished as if muted, leaving only an eerie silence.
Bahr and Mihawk frowned simultaneously, turning their attention toward the source.
In the distance, Akainu's magma-wreathed fist, glowing like a red-hot brand, pierced clean through Ace's chest with a sizzling burn. Where the molten rock dripped, Ace's black shirt instantly charred, tendrils of smoke curling upward.
Bahr's eyelid twitched violently, his mouth twisting involuntarily.
So he still died?
The realization hit him—Akainu must have taunted Whitebeard again, and that hotheaded fool had charged back into the fray, only to meet his end.
Watching Ace's head slump forward, an inexplicable irritation flared in Bahr's chest.
Idiot.
Just like in the original story—he'd had every chance to escape. Whitebeard had fought to his last breath to protect him, countless others had laid down their lives to pave his way, yet at the final moment, he'd stubbornly turned back, slamming headfirst into the hardest wall.
All that effort, all those sacrifices—rendered meaningless by his own pride.
Some people were like that. Once they chose their path, they'd walk it to the end, even if it led to death. You could stop them once, but not twice. If they insisted on leaping into the fire, who could pull them back?
Bahr had never cared much for Ace—he'd only saved him to spite the Marines.
But now, after publicly declaring he'd protect Ace, only for the man to be killed right under his nose—it felt like a slap to the face.
A self-righteous fool like that deserved his fate.
"Respect others' fate, let go of the savior complex, and embrace the joy of being shameless." Words to live by.
He should've minded his own business from the start.
Mihawk turned his gaze back, his hawk-like eyes locking onto Bahr once more. His tone was calm but unshakable. "We continue."
To him, the bloodline of the Pirate King, the outcome of this war—none of it mattered. The titles and conflicts that drove others to madness had never held his interest.
What he cared about was swordsmanship itself—only a blade that truly threatened him could stir his excitement.
And Bahr's swordplay, chaotic yet brimming with potential, each shift in stance carrying unexpected lethality, had struck that chord.
Compared to the distant chaos, he was far more interested in seeing just how far this unique swordsman could push his limits.
Bahr exhaled sharply, forcing down the frustration Ace's death had stirred. Flexing his fingers, he tightened his grip on Autumn Water's hilt, the cold metal sharpening his scattered thoughts.
Rather than dwelling on fools who couldn't be saved, he needed to focus on surviving Mihawk's next strike.
Just as the tension between them reignited, Whitebeard in the distance raised his massive hand. Before his fingers even fully extended, the air around his palm began violently distorting, countless invisible ripples colliding with a dense hum, warping even the light itself.
"Boom—!"
A visible shockwave erupted from him, shattering the air like glass with a piercing crackle.
The atmosphere fractured into countless transparent shards before disintegrating into dust, the sunlight twisting like crumpled silk under the force.
"The New World—has no ship that can carry me!"
His voice, amplified by the tremors, drowned out all other noise, striking like thunder into every heart.
The ground beneath them quaked violently, as if some ancient beast were thrashing beneath the sea, the vibrations rattling bones.
Bahr looked up to see the space ahead fracturing like shattered glass, spiderweb cracks spreading rapidly with a brittle crunch, as though the world itself might collapse.
Then, Marineford itself seemed seized by an invisible hand—its iconic spire snapped in half, white walls collapsing like tidal waves, rubble and steel beams crashing down in thunderous impacts, dust billowing skyward.
The massive "MARINE" emblem toppled, kicking up a dust storm that blotted out the sun, dyeing the world a murky yellow.
Even more terrifying was the bottomless fissure splitting the battlefield in two, a wound torn into the earth itself, separating the Marines from the pirates.
Soldiers on both sides froze, awestruck by the devastation, staring at the abyss that seemed capable of swallowing everything.
The fissure had originated from Whitebeard's feet—the full power of the Tremor-Tremor Fruit, every tremor a testament to the old man's might.
Akainu, caught in the blast, was driven deep into the ground, his magma body dimmed as he coughed up steaming blood.
Whitebeard's face showed no expression, only his clouded eyes burning with undying fire.
Breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling sharply, it was clear the attack had drained him—yet his grip on his glaive remained unshakable, as though the weapon were fused to his flesh.
Standing amidst the ruins of Marineford, Bahr couldn't help but feel a pang of awe.
This cataclysmic power—truly worthy of the title "Strongest Man in the World."
Even with his awakened spatial abilities, he couldn't match this level of destruction. The Tremor-Tremor Fruit lived up to its reputation as the most devastating power.
The lingering aftershocks in the air made the ground tremble faintly, as if the world itself still shuddered from the strongest man's final display.
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