CHAPTER 488: CHAPTER 488

"This is lame and childish... What I wanted was a real fight."

Mihawk’s voice was flat, but the disappointment in his tone rang sharp as his gaze swept over the metal rod in his hand. He held it like a sword, but there was no weight behind it—yet. To his left, Shanks was bouncing on his heels like a child in a candy shop, stretching his shoulders, warming up like he was about to step into the ring of a world title match.

After last night’s banquet—and my casual taunt about being able to take them both on—their pride wouldn’t let it go. Mihawk had even stood guard outside my door at dawn like a hawk over prey, ensuring I didn’t "accidentally" find a way to disappear again.

"What’s the matter?" I grinned. "Afraid my haki might drown yours out too easily? I wouldn’t blame you if you backed down now."

Mihawk didn’t reply, but the vein at his temple twitched. He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured.

Shanks picked up a metal rod as long as a nodachi, twirling it once in his hand before extending it toward me. "I could take you alone, you know. This whole ’two-against-one’ setup? Smells like an excuse in case you lose."

I didn’t answer. I just chuckled.

We weren’t going to actually fight—not this time. That kind of clash would level the island and whatever innocent creatures dared to live on it. I’d already lost count of how many landmasses Mihawk and I had "accidentally" turned into smoking craters during previous spars.

This time, we’d settle it with pure haki. A test of will. A battle of souls. The challenge was simple: infuse the same piece of metal with your Haki, and try to crush the opposing force from within. I held the two rods, one gripped on the far end by Mihawk, the other by Shanks. Twin fuses waiting to be lit.

"Why does he get the right hand?!" Shanks suddenly complained.

Mihawk shot him a deadly side glance. "He’s ambidextrous, you drunk idiot. He doesn’t have a dominant arm."

"Tch. Still feels biased."

"Are you two done bickering?" I sighed, rolling my shoulders. "Or should I beat you with my feet instead?"

"Try it, and I’ll bury your face in the sand." Shanks snorted—but the carefree tone was gone. His smile faded, replaced by a focused, cutting gaze. Around us, the wind shifted. The atmosphere bent, and the seagulls on the far cliffs took flight as if sensing what was coming.

We had chosen an isolated island a fair distance from Foosha Village, just in case. Even then, it might not be enough.

Far inland, a group watched silently.

"Hundred Berries says our captain wins by a landslide!" Lucky Roux announced.

No one responded. No one blinked. All eyes were on the beach, where three monsters stood still as statues, the tension like a drawn string. Then Mihawk gave a simple nod. And the world began to shift.

BOOM.

Our Haki surged. In an instant, both my arms turned pitch black, the metal rods vibrating violently in my grip as the color of Armament exploded outward. Mihawk’s will was cold and refined, like obsidian forged under pressure. Shanks’ haki was wild, crashing in like a tidal wave of intent.

But mine? Mine was absolute. The metal groaned under the pressure as three titanic wills collided inside it, like tectonic plates grinding to rupture.

The sand beneath our feet shattered, the beach cracking open in a circular depression around us as the island itself recoiled. A fierce wind roared outward, flattening trees. The clouds above twisted in a spiral, darkening as if a storm had been summoned by willpower alone.

Mihawk’s expression was stone cold—but I could feel it. His grip tightened. Shanks grit his teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek.

And I?

I hadn’t even tapped into half of what I held. They were giving it everything they had. And they were losing ground.

"Damn him... he hasn’t even started sweating..." Shanks muttered, lips curling back.

Then it happened. A flicker of black lightning rippled out from Mihawk’s side of the rod—followed a heartbeat later by another from Shanks’. Conqueror’s Haki. So, they were serious.

I smirked—and let mine unleash.

A deep crack sounded from the earth, louder than thunder. My aura exploded outward like a typhoon, black lightning arcing, vaporizing palm leaves in a 100-meter radius.

The metal rods screamed. They had turned scarlet-hot, superheated by the clashing wills inside them. The steel was only still intact because three of the strongest Haki forces in the world were holding it together. If one of them faltered, even for an instant, the rods would disintegrate into light.

And right now?

That falter was coming—from them. Shanks’ knees buckled slightly. Mihawk’s eyes narrowed in disbelief as I began to push them both back, the weight of my haki crashing down on them like an avalanche of steel. Sparks danced in the air, and even the waves around the island had started to recede, caught in the tremor of power.

"You feel that...?" I asked calmly, my voice steady despite the warzone aura. "That’s the gap. You’re still standing in the shadow of the peak."

They didn’t reply. They couldn’t. They were too busy holding on. Back at the treeline, Little Uta stared in awe. "Is this really just a test of Haki...?"

"Nope..." Benn Beckman murmured, lighting a cigarette with a trembling hand. "This is a flex of goddamn divinity."

Shanks’ voice cut through the rumble of brewing chaos like a cannon blast.

"Get everyone off the island—take the children and go!"

He didn’t shout it twice. He didn’t have to. The aura rolling off the red-haired pirate was enough to make even the wind obey.

In that moment, the final fragments of shattered steel—the test rods of our will—crumbled into fine dust between us. No metal forged by man could contain our haki. Not when all three of us had taken the measure of one another... and found no room for restraint.

"Sorry, Ross," Shanks grinned, already stepping forward, Gryphon gripped tight in both hands.

"That little test? Doesn’t cut it."

To his side, Mihawk’s lips curled into the ghost of a smile, Yoru already rising in his hand. His gaze was sharp, clinical. The calm before a thousand perfect, precise cuts.

"Let’s see if you’re still as indomitable as you claimed yesterday..."

I didn’t even blink. Of course, I’d anticipated this. You don’t taunt two of the world’s greatest swordsmen and expect them to walk away. They were pirates. Warriors. Rivals. Brothers-in-arms to chaos.

The earth held its breath. Then—they moved.

Shanks surged first, Gryphon whistling as it sliced through the dense island air, cloaked in blinding black-and-red Conqueror’s Haki. The very pressure of his presence shattered the boulders nearby, trees uprooting under the invisible force.

Mihawk followed a heartbeat later, Yoru moving like a black crescent of death, elegant and absolute. His strikes came fast—too fast for any ordinary warrior to see—each one meant to pin me, bait me, break my guard. But I was no ordinary warrior.

"BOOM!"

I met them both—one blade in each hand, Shusui in my left, Akatsuki in my right. Steel screamed. Power collided. The shockwave that followed flattened an entire cliff face behind me, sending debris the size of ships flying into the sea.

The three of us became a hurricane of haki and steel—each movement splitting the very air between us.

"We’re pirates, Rosinante!" Shanks roared, clashing his blade again, face split with the grin of a man who lived for this moment.

"Let’s measure our worth like pirates do! With everything we’ve got...with our lives on the line!"

I barely parried Mihawk’s incoming cross slash when Shanks leapt backward and raised Gryphon high, eyes blazing.

"DIVINE DEPARTURE!!"

A crimson shockwave tore forward—so large it cleaved straight through the shoreline, disintegrating the forest beyond in its path.

Mihawk didn’t hesitate. Instead of dodging, he moved in tandem with Shanks—his own haki surging, black lightning dancing across Yoru’s edge as he launched an intersecting slash. Their two attacks joined like a blade of divine judgment.

But I was waiting. I twisted midair, pushing Conqueror’s Haki into both my blades, the aura crackling out like a demon’s wings. I roared, bringing both swords down in a single monstrous counter.

"DARK DESCENT!!"

Black met red. Will met Will. The air collapsed inward, sound imploding before the blast wave followed. The sea retreated. The island cracked. Mountains in the distance exploded into dust.

From afar, all the onlookers saw was a blinding orb of black and red light swallowing the shore, a calamitous pressure dome forcing the sea down into a crater-like pit, exposing the ocean floor.

Then—

BOOM.

Everything detonated. The island fractured in two. Clouds overhead parted in a vortex. Lightning tore the sky open as waves a hundred meters high erupted from the coastline.

Mihawk and Shanks stood side by side—blades drawn, eyes locked on me like apex predators sizing up their prey.

The sand beneath their boots rippled, tension thick in the air. Their grips on Yoru and Gryphon were firm, steady—seasoned hands prepared to kill or be killed. No words passed between them. None were needed. I exhaled slowly, rotating my shoulders with a grin.

"I thought we agreed there’d be no fighting today..."

No response. Only silence. Determined. Final. So be it.

"Fine then," I muttered, the last syllable barely escaping my lips before I vanished.

In an instant, I appeared behind them. The world cracked. The ground buckled. My sudden movement tore through space like a thunderclap. Their Observation Haki flared too late.

Black and gold lightning erupted from my blade as I swung Shusui in a horizontal arc—a slash that could split the heavens.

"Rengoku no Kōzan." [Abyssal Purgatory]

The air screamed as the void-black wave of haki surged forward—dense enough to warp the light around it. The trees along the beach were incinerated just by its passing. The ocean split briefly in its wake.

Shanks and Mihawk responded instantly—reflex honed from decades of war. Shanks turned, gritting his teeth, and in that split second, made his decision. He abandoned the incoming slash.

He knew I was already at his flank. He committed to the closer threat—me.

Mihawk, however, took the full force of the slash himself. He planted his feet and raised Yoru, the massive black blade trembling with focused power as he poured his entire will into it.

"Hmph."

The moment Yoru met my haki-infused darkness—

"BOOM!"

A volcanic shockwave erupted. The air ruptured. Trees tore from their roots. Mihawk was sent flying—launched like a cannonball inland, the ground carving a trench behind him as he crashed into a cliffside, debris raining down around him.

But I had no time to follow up. Shanks was already in front of me. Steel met steel. Gryphon against Akatsuki.

The clash sent out a shockwave that shattered the beach behind us, sending up a massive plume of dust and sea mist.

"Haaaah!!"

Shanks roared, his Conqueror’s Haki exploding outward in jagged crimson bolts. Our blades locked, sparks raining in all directions. The impact cratered the ground beneath us, stone splintering from the sheer weight of our wills colliding. I grinned, meeting his strength with equal force.

"You’re holding back, Shanks."

"Heh... was hoping to save the big swing for later."

We twisted free—and then it began. A storm of swordplay, fluid and lethal. Each clash of our blades released shockwaves that tore apart the terrain, slicing through the treeline behind us, sending walls of compressed air screaming across the bay.

Suddenly—a black blur streaked in from the inland forest. Mihawk. Dust-covered, coat tattered, Yoru gripped tighter than ever. He was grinning.

"Had enough warm-up?"

I ducked just as he arrived, his slash cutting through the space where my head had been. Then he and Shanks attacked in perfect rhythm—a harmony of deadly angles. Their styles were so different, yet somehow their blades moved like a duet of death. But I was faster. Sharper.

My body blurred as I flowed between their strikes, deflecting Mihawk’s precision and Shanks’ brute force like a tempest made flesh.

I leapt, twisting midair, and brought both Akatsuki and Shusui down in a double diagonal slash, forcing both of them to cross their blades defensively. The impact exploded the ground beneath them into shards of molten rock, throwing them backward.

They skidded across the beach but landed firm, eyes blazing—not with frustration, but exhilaration.

"You’re even stronger than the last time," Shanks breathed.

Mihawk wiped a trickle of blood from his lip.

"This is... exhilarating."

I stood there, both swords lowered at my side, aura crackling outward in waves, turning the mist to steam.

"I told you," I said with a smirk, haki pouring off me like a second sun, "two-on-one doesn’t change the outcome." The island trembled again. And the fight was far from over.

"Is this for real...?"

Yasopp muttered under his breath, his voice lost in the wind as he pinched Buggy’s arm. Buggy didn’t even react, his usual antics utterly absent. He stood frozen—like everyone else—eyes wide, mouth agape. Not even Buggy’s over-the-top fear could keep up with what they were witnessing.

From miles away, perched atop a distant cliff across the sea, the children and the Red Hair Pirates watched what could only be described as a war between gods.

The island that had once stood proud in the East Blue was gone—torn apart, reduced to floating fragments and scorched craters. The ocean had been forced to make room, pushed outward in concentric rings of displaced tide. Sea kings fled in panic. The very skies twisted in agony.

Storm clouds churned above like celestial beasts in pain. Thunder screamed. Red, black, and gold lightning clashed in the heavens, dancing wildly in jagged streaks that burned shapes into the clouds—dragons, gryphons, and titans.

Three wills. Three monsters. Locked in a brawl that shook the fabric of the world

Even the nearby islands were now completely torn apart, reduced to cracked debris and shattered earth, drifting in the raging tides like broken glass on black water. From the children’s perspective, the battle was less a duel and more a natural disaster.

Little Ace and Sabo stood rooted in place, unable to speak, their eyes wide with terror and wonder. For the first time, they understood what Naguri-san had meant.

"So this... this is what he meant..."

Ace swallowed hard, remembering the words of their old mentor.

"Out there, little ones, are monsters... real monsters. Each one could level an island with a whisper if they wanted. You’ll know them when you see them."

This was it. This was what he meant. From where they stood, they couldn’t even track the fighters—just feel the raw force. Explosions of air pressure. Shockwaves strong enough to split oceans.

Great arcs of cursed black slashes streaking through the skies, cutting clouds in half, tearing trenches through the sea, slicing through entire islands like paper. The sky itself raged in rebellion, filled with whirlwinds, thunderclaps, and chaotic lightning that painted the heavens like an oil fire.

They couldn’t even see the fight—just the aftershocks. Massive crescent-shaped slashes flying through the air, cleaving sea and sky alike, their trails glowing like comet fire. The world roared with each clash. The ground shook beneath their feet.

At the center of it all—three monsters, locked in a primal clash. Their Haki clashed like the cries of titans. Black. Gold. Crimson.

Their Conquerors’ Haki surged upward, twisting into the clouds above, the sky itself splitting as three colors of lightning danced like serpents across the stratosphere. It wasn’t just a battle anymore. It was myth made manifest.

"Heh... I knew it. My master is the strongest..."

Kuina spoke through gritted teeth, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, though her hands trembled from the overwhelming aura washing over them.

Even Little Zoro, always quick to argue or one-up her, said nothing. He stared at the distant chaos, wide-eyed, his breathing shallow. His eyes followed every slash, every flash, every boom. He was imprinting every second of it into his soul.

"So this... this is what a true swordsman is capable of..."

"Are we sure it’s safe here...? Maybe we should move to the next island...?"

Little Uta was visibly shaking now. Her instincts screamed that the next strike could reach them—and she wasn’t wrong.

The only reason any of them were still standing was because the three warriors at the center had refined their Conqueror’s Haki to perfection—not a speck of killing intent spilled outside the battlefield.

All of it was funneled with precision, every drop aimed only at each other. Had their focus slipped for even a second, entire coastlines would have been vaporized.

"You think the Captain’s gonna be okay...?"

Lucky Roux asked, chewing nervously on a drumstick—more out of habit than hunger. Even their Observation Haki couldn’t pierce the inferno of willpower that masked the battle. It wasn’t fog—it was a barrier of pure haki.

And from what little they could feel... Even the combined strength of Shanks and Dracule Mihawk wasn’t enough to pin Rosinante down. Not even close.

Beckmann said nothing at first. He stared into the storm, his cigarette burning down to the filter, forgotten between his fingers. His mouth finally opened.

"It feels like... no matter how much we grow... the gap only widens..."

No one replied. He wasn’t wrong. To the average eye, it might’ve looked like a stalemate. But Beckmann’s instincts were sharper than most. And they screamed the truth—Rosinante wasn’t even going all out.

What he had said at yesterday’s banquet—"Even if you all came at me at once, it wouldn’t make a difference."—

It wasn’t empty bravado. It was a warning. One they hadn’t taken seriously enough.

Beckmann’s jaw clenched as he flicked the burnt cigarette to the ground.

"If this is what every Yonko is like... we’re not ready."

No amount of infamy, no number of bounties or victories, or flashy headlines could change that.

Just being "Most Dangerous Rookies" wasn’t enough anymore. They weren’t rookies climbing the ladder. They were being measured now—measured by monsters.

And among them... Rosinante wasn’t even the loudest. But Beckmann knew with every fiber of his being.

He’s the most dangerous.

If Shanks ever asked him to choose between going after the Whitebeard Pirates or the Donquixote Family, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d choose the Whitebeard Pirates.

Not because he thought Rosinante was stronger. But because Rosinante was more than just brute strength. He was sharper than Beckmann himself. More calculating. More precise. There would be no tricks. No schemes. No missteps to exploit. Rosinante wouldn’t play a game he hadn’t already won.

As the sky above them cracked again with a triple thunderclap—each bolt a different color—Beckmann muttered the thought that sat cold in his chest.

"He’s not the last man I want to fight... He’s the last man I want to make an enemy of."