Chapter 13

White Sea, Gate of Heaven.

Finally setting foot on land, Mihawk pulled out his black blade, Yoru: “Barzab Seven, draw your sword.”

Perhaps because the nineteen-year-old Mihawk had not yet reached the title of the world’s greatest swordsman, Seven was spared the humiliation of being bested by a small knife.

Ding~ Ding~ Ding~

The two exchanged three swift strikes in an instant, a warm-up.

Feeling Seven’s growing strength, Mihawk remarked: “A sword powered only by force lacks true sharpness.”

After brief combat, Mihawk grew even more curious about the unsharpened blade in Seven’s hand, its surface glowing with violet light.

Even in blade integrity alone, it was no weaker than his own Yoru, one of the Twelve Supreme Grade Blades.

A Supreme Grade Blade never seen before?

Then Seven wrapped his blade in crackling black-red Conqueror’s Haki and lightning.

This sight made Mihawk’s eye twitch, his hawk-like gaze sharpening further.

“Conqueror’s Haki wrapping? What a freak.”

In all his years at sea, seeking the path of the sword, Mihawk had challenged many sword masters—but never encountered anything like this.

No Armament Haki, no Observation Haki—yet he had elevated Conqueror’s Haki to the level of wrapping.

It couldn’t even be called a specialization!

What kind of audacity could produce such a freak?

No wonder he became a member of the Pirate King’s crew. No wonder he found the final island and the great treasure.

Both swung their blades, releasing flying slashes—one violet, one green.

But compared to Mihawk’s green slash, capable of cleaving through the cloud sea, Seven’s violet slash looked rather miniature.

Yet its power carried a compact, ferocious intensity.

After all, it was Conqueror’s Haki wrapping, amplified by 100% by the Dream One Cut.

Since Seven had not awakened Armament or Observation Haki, he could only predict Mihawk’s moves by sensing electromagnetic waves in the air.

He could not enhance his attack or defense with Armament Haki.

In short, relying on Conqueror’s Haki wrapping and his Devil Fruit ability, Seven’s offensive power had already reached the top tier of the Grand Line.

As for defense… better not mention it.

Unless he could elevate Conqueror’s Haki to a higher level—Conqueror’s Haki Armor.

Before his reincarnation, the only man in the pirate world known to have used Conqueror’s Haki Armor was the true man, Rocks.

Boom~

After being blasted dozens of meters by Mihawk, Seven wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand: “Sure enough, battle is the best training.”

This fight with Mihawk.

Not only had it fully integrated the swordmaster cultivation experience imprinted in his mind, but even the newly acquired Dream One Cut cultivation experience showed signs of merging.

Moreover, his swordsmanship and the Rumble-Rumble Fruit ability were beginning to produce a subtle chemical reaction.

For instance, when he slashed out a flying attack, streams of lightning dragons followed behind the blade energy.

Another example: during blade clashes, Seven stimulated his body with electricity to spike adrenaline, significantly boosting strength and reaction speed.

Clang~ Clang~ Clang~

They fought from night until day, utterly unaware of fatigue.

Strangely, neither called out the names of their dazzling techniques.

Mihawk: I don’t name my moves—that’s just basic attack.

Seven: Me too!

Yet, ultimately, his foundation was insufficient.

After eight hours of exchanging blows, Seven collapsed first, gasping for breath.

In this battle between a Great Swordsman and a swordsman, Mihawk had held back severely.

Four years separated them in age; Seven’s innate physique was average, he often went hungry as a child, and during his six years aboard the Roger Pirates, he learned a scattered variety of skills.

To reach this point was already extraordinary.

But with innate godlike strength and a bottomless stomach—or rather, with a system—Seven lacked only time to grow. Give him enough time, and he could overturn the world.

Mihawk sheathed Yoru and pulled Seven to his feet: “Not bad. You’ve improved.”

Perhaps in five years… or two, this man could become a worthy opponent.

As Seven prepared to further bond with Mihawk, an untimely voice suddenly rang out: “Captain, someone’s coming.”

A group of warriors emerged from the jungle.

The Golden Land was originally part of Jiayadao; four centuries ago, a massive upward current hurled it into the White Sea.

The Sky Island people discovered this land, triggering a four-century war between them and the native Shandians for control of the territory.

The group of natives before Seven, each with small wings on their backs, were the Shandians. One, a chieftain-like warrior, cautiously asked:

“Seven?”

Someone he knew? Seven studied the man; a memory from two years ago surfaced.

“Karpa? Long time no see.”

Karpa was a descendant of Karugara, a great Shandian warrior from four centuries ago.

Two years ago, the Roger Pirates came to the Sky Island and found the historical text stele inscribed with information about the ancient weapon, Neptune.

They had also met the Shandian warrior Karpa and the sixth-generation Sky Island god, Gan Fuer.

After a warm embrace, Karpa asked: “Have you found the great treasure? Where are Captain Roger and the others? Why are you alone?”

Seven gave a selective, brief account of what had happened after leaving the Sky Island.

“I never thought a man like Captain Roger would turn himself in.”

“We respect the Captain’s choice. What about you? Do you still fight with Gan Fuer and his people?”

Karpa shook his head: “We’ve had a truce lately. Come on, let’s go hold a feast.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m hungry again.”

In the pirate world, holding a feast was like celebrating a holiday with dumplings in the north of Seven’s past life—

If you’re happy, let’s have a feast.

If you’re sad, let’s have a feast.

Along his journey with the Roger Pirates seeking the great treasure, Seven made many friends; he was remembered among the crew mainly because of his exceptional cooking.

Meeting new friends meant a feast; feasts naturally required fine food and fine wine.

As the Roger Pirates’ chief cook, Seven won over not only his crewmates but also countless allies with his cuisine and liquor.

Passing the spot where the Golden Pillar once stood, Seven feigned surprise: “Where’s that pillar?!”

Karpa looked gloomy: “Don’t mention it. It was stolen last night.”

“What?!”

Seven dramatically gestured with both hands: “How the hell did someone carry off a pillar that big?!”

“Who knows?” Karpa continued complaining: “We kept fainting randomly last night—must’ve been stolen during one of those times.”

Hearing this, Mihawk cast a silent glance at Seven, sensing something was off.

This man had come up last night. The Golden Pillar was stolen last night. The truth… was obvious.

Yet from the traces on the ground, the so-called Golden Pillar was truly enormous—how had Seven stolen it?

And where had he put it?

Mihawk was growing increasingly fascinated by this—mysterious man.

Yunyin Village was established on the island’s clouds four centuries ago, after the Shandians lost their homeland to the Sky Island gods; it still retained primitive tribal features—tents, totems, and all.

At the grand feast, Seven returned to his duties, once again conquering the Shandians with his cooking.

“Seven, I’ve finally eaten your food again.”

After the Roger Pirates left the Sky Island, the Shandians who had attended that feast held a long grudge against their own cooks.

Both were cooks, but others’ meals left you craving more—yours was just a waste of ingredients.

“Seven, why are you here now?”

Seven set down his cup: “I’m going to talk to Gan Fuer. I want to end this war between your people. You’re both descendants of the Moon—what’s the point of killing each other?”

A Shandian warrior immediately shouted:

“Impossible! Absolutely impossible! We will never worship that man as a god!”

Seven smiled calmly: “I know. Then…”

“How about I become your god?”