Chapter 707

Since then, they had used her relentlessly. Whenever rival gangs caused trouble, they forced her to unleash her strange hollows upon them. Time and time again she watched grown men collapse into despair after touching her spectral ghosts, their spirits crushed instantly. It gave the syndicate enormous advantages in conflicts.

And because of that, they treated her like property. Not a child. Not a person. A weapon. More than once she had tried turning her powers against them. Tried using her hollows to weaken the men guarding her. Sometimes it worked.

But there were always a few among the syndicate completely unaffected by her abilities. Men who merely grimaced before brushing the ghosts aside through sheer force of will. She never understood why. Only that she had once overheard them whispering about something called Haki.

A mysterious power beyond Devil Fruits. And deep down, the little girl understood one terrifying truth: as long as she remained ignorant about that power...she would never escape this nightmare. The leader finally released her, letting her crumple back into the mud.

"Lock her back up," he ordered coldly. "No food for a week, just water."

The burly man grabbed her again, though this time she didn’t resist. Not because she had given up. Never that. As her battered body was dragged back toward the dark corridors beneath the fortress, the little girl silently clenched her trembling fists.

The syndicate leader had just begun turning his attention back toward the chaos in the courtyard when—BOOOOOOM—!!

A thunderous crash erupted from the far side of the ruined fortress. The entire stronghold shook violently as part of the ancient watchtower collapsed inward, sending massive chunks of stone crashing into the courtyard below. Dust and debris exploded outward in a dense cloud while several nearby criminals stumbled back in alarm.

"What the hell now?!"

"The tower’s collapsing?!"

"Another earthquake?!"

Everyone instinctively turned toward the destruction. Even the burly brute dragging the little girl by her hair stopped mid-step, staring toward the smoke-filled ruins in confusion. The battered child hanging weakly from his grasp also lifted her swollen eyes slightly despite the pain coursing through her body.

The old watchtower had stood abandoned for decades. Half the structure was already ruined long before the syndicate occupied the fortress, and no one had ever bothered exploring its buried foundations. As far as they knew, there was nothing beneath it except ancient rubble.

But now—something had emerged from underneath. Soft footsteps echoed through the settling dust. Slow. Measured. Unhurried. Every sound of the courtyard gradually died away as a lone silhouette began walking through the smoke. Then he emerged fully into view.

Dracule Mihawk stepped out from the ruins calmly, fragments of stone and dust sliding from his black coat as though he had merely walked through light rain rather than an underground catastrophe capable of collapsing half the island beneath itself. The moonlight caught his golden eyes.

On his back rested the massive cylindrical bag containing the Poneglyph rubbing equipment, while beside it was strapped the enormous black blade—Yoru—whose sheer presence alone radiated danger. For several seconds, nobody spoke. The atmosphere itself felt distorted around the man.

"W-What the hell...?" one of the underlings finally muttered.

"Where did he even come from?" another blurted out.

The confusion was genuine. They had occupied this fortress for years. Smuggled contraband through it. Conducted executions beneath it. Hidden treasures and prisoners within its lower chambers. Yet not a single one of them had known a hidden underground passage existed beneath the old watchtower.

If not for this stranger literally bursting through the ruins, they would have remained ignorant forever. But despite the countless eyes now fixed upon him, Mihawk himself seemed utterly uninterested in the syndicate surrounding him.

He didn’t question them. Didn’t threaten them. Didn’t even acknowledge them. He merely dusted off his coat once, adjusted the bag over his shoulder, and calmly began walking across the courtyard toward the direction of the harbor where his small boat was anchored. As though over a hundred armed criminals simply didn’t matter. The sheer disregard irritated them instantly.

"Oi!" one of the pirates barked angrily. "You bastard! Who the hell do you think you are barging into our territory and walking off like nothing happened?!"

Mihawk kept walking. Another thug suddenly pointed toward the large cylindrical bag strapped across Mihawk’s back.

"Wait... look at what he’s carrying!" The surrounding men narrowed their eyes greedily.

"He must’ve found something underground!"

"Treasure!"

"No way... did this guy stumble onto one of the old royal vaults?!"

"Then there’s gotta be more down there...he can lead us back to it!"

The rumors spread instantly through the courtyard like wildfire. After all, stories of hidden treasures buried beneath the island had circulated for generations. Lost royal riches. Pricless weapons. Gold hidden during the kingdom’s destruction centuries ago. Entire pirate crews had come to the island searching for such legends.

And now this mysterious swordsman had literally emerged from beneath ancient ruins carrying unknown cargo. Their greed flared immediately. Weapons slowly began unsheathing all around the courtyard. Yet amidst all the rising hostility, one person reacted very differently. The syndicate leader.

The moment he saw the massive black blade strapped beside the cylindrical bag on the swordsman’s back, his blood ran cold. The cigar slipped from his mouth entirely. His face turned deathly pale as recognition struck him like lightning. There was no mistaking that sword. No mistaking those eyes.

No mistaking the overwhelming presence standing before them. The rest of his men were too blinded by greed and irritation to notice the horror spreading across their leader’s face. Already several underlings had begun moving to surround Mihawk before he could leave. The leader’s lips parted slightly.

"Wait—" Too late. Three heavily armed men stepped directly into Mihawk’s path, weapons drawn arrogantly. "Not another step, asshole."

Mihawk finally stopped walking. Slowly he lifted his gaze. Nothing more. Just a glance. The moment their eyes met his, the three men froze instantly. An indescribable chill shot down their spines. Their instincts screamed so violently that their bodies reacted before their minds could process it.

They staggered backward involuntarily. Sweat poured down their faces. One nearly dropped his weapon entirely. It felt as though they had just looked directly into the eyes of a predator standing at the very top of the food chain. Not human. Something else entirely. The surrounding criminals noticed immediately.

"You idiots, what’re you backing up for?...Don’t tell me you got scared just from him looking at you!"

The three men flushed with humiliation as laughter spread around them. Their fear instantly twisted into anger.

"You bastard..." one snarled while gripping his blade tighter. "Didn’t you hear us?!"

Another pointed toward the cylindrical bag aggressively. "What’s inside that thing?!"

"Treasure, right?...Where’d you find it?!"

"Is there more underground?!" The courtyard grew louder as greed consumed the syndicate members completely. More men began stepping forward. Guns. Axes. Swords. Over a hundred criminals now surrounded Mihawk from every direction beneath the ruined fortress.

And through it all, Mihawk simply stood there silently, golden eyes calm and utterly devoid of concern. Not tension. Not caution. Not even annoyance. Only indifference. As though the armed criminals encircling him weren’t enemies—but insects making noise on the side of the road.

"You imbeciles—STOP!!" The syndicate leader’s voice exploded across the courtyard in sheer panic. But he was too late. By the time the warning left his mouth, Yoru had already left its sheath.

SHIIING—the sound alone silenced the entire fortress. There was no grand stance. No dramatic flourish. No visible effort. Dracule Mihawk simply moved his arm slightly. Almost lazily. The massive black blade swept horizontally through the air with effortless precision, so casually that it looked less like an attack and more like a man brushing aside an inconvenience.

For a brief moment, nothing happened. The three men blocking Mihawk’s path blinked in confusion. Their weapons remained raised. Their bodies still standing. Then thin red lines appeared across their necks.

FWSSSHHH—!!

Blood erupted into the air in violent arcs. Three heads separated cleanly from their shoulders almost simultaneously, spinning through the courtyard before crashing wetly against the stone ground. Their headless bodies remained standing for half a second longer before collapsing lifelessly into the mud.

The cut had been so absurdly clean that none of them had even realized they were dead. Silence fell instantly. The surrounding criminals froze in horror as blood slowly spread across the ruined courtyard. Mihawk did not even look at the corpses. With one smooth motion, he rested Yoru over his shoulder and continued walking forward through the blood as though nothing significant had occurred. The sheer indifference behind the act was more terrifying than the slaughter itself.

"YOU—!!" The syndicate leader’s scream cracked with genuine terror. Cold sweat poured down his face as years-old rumors and stories resurfaced violently in his mind. Others here might still not recognize the man standing before them, but he did. How could he not? Those eyes. That blade. That monstrous presence. Dracule Mihawk. The current holder of the title: The World’s Strongest Swordsman.

And unlike the fools surrounding him, the leader knew exactly what kind of monster Mihawk truly was. This was not merely a strong pirate. This was a calamity wearing human skin. Stories about Mihawk circulated constantly through the underworld. Entire pirate fleets annihilated because they interrupted his nap. Infamous captains slaughtered simply for irritating him. Pirate nests erased from islands overnight because Mihawk happened to pass through and felt bored.

Worst of all, once Mihawk drew blood, he rarely stopped. The leader understood immediately. The moment Yoru had been unsheathed...there was no room left for negotiation. No room for surrender. Only survival. And survival meant killing Mihawk before Mihawk killed all of them.

"KILL HIM!!" he roared desperately. The leader instantly raised his rifle, black armament Haki surging over the barrel like flowing oil. Unlike his men, he did not hesitate even slightly.

BANG—!! The Haki-infused bullet exploded from the rifle toward Mihawk’s back. At the same time the entire courtyard erupted into chaos.

"Fire!!"

"Don’t let him move!"

"Bring him down!!"

Gunfire thundered from every direction. Dozens of pirates rushed forward screaming with axes and swords raised high while bounty hunters leapt from the ruined walls above trying to surround Mihawk from all angles. Several Devil Fruit users among the syndicate immediately prepared their abilities, sensing instinctively that normal methods would never be enough.

Even the little girl being dragged away was violently shoved toward the center of the courtyard. "Use your ghosts!" one of the criminals barked at her.

"NOW!" The child stumbled weakly through the mud, bruised body trembling as she looked toward Mihawk with wide eyes. Unlike the others, she could feel it clearly. The difference. No—the abyss.

The syndicate leader believed numbers could overwhelm Mihawk. They believed that with enough fighters, enough bullets, and enough Devil Fruit abilities, they might somehow drag him down through sheer attrition. But despite possessing Haki himself...he fundamentally failed to comprehend the gap between them.

To Mihawk, these people were not opponents. They were background noise. The Haki-coated bullet reached Mihawk first.

CLANG.

Without even turning around, Yoru tilted slightly over Mihawk’s shoulder and deflected the bullet effortlessly. Sparks exploded through the air as the projectile ricocheted harmlessly into the fortress wall behind him. Then Mihawk finally stopped walking.

Slowly he turned his head. Golden eyes swept across the charging mob. And suddenly, every instinct in the courtyard screamed at once. The pressure descending from Mihawk changed completely. Before, he had merely seemed dangerous. Now? Now it felt as though death itself had finally acknowledged their existence.

Mihawk’s gaze settled briefly on the syndicate leader. The man’s entire body stiffened instantly. Because in that single glance—he understood something horrifying. Mihawk wasn’t angry. Wasn’t excited. Wasn’t even taking them seriously. To the world’s strongest swordsman, this was no different than stepping on insects beneath his boots.

The moment Dracule Mihawk turned around fully, the atmosphere in the ruined fortress changed completely. It no longer felt like a battle. It felt like judgment. The first wave of criminals charged him in a frenzy of panic and desperation, screaming as they rushed forward with sabers, axes, rifles, and spears. Gunfire erupted from every direction, muzzle flashes illuminating the ancient courtyard in bursts of orange light.

To them, overwhelming Mihawk with numbers was their only chance. To Mihawk— they were already dead.

BOOM.

The stone beneath his feet exploded apart as Mihawk moved. No one present could properly follow him. One moment he stood calmly amidst the courtyard, and the next he had vanished entirely, leaving behind only a violent shockwave that blasted dust and rubble outward. Then the slaughter began.

FWSSSHHH—!!

Yoru swept once through the crowd. Bodies exploded apart. A dozen charging men were bisected instantly at the waist, blood erupting into the air as torsos slid from severed hips before crashing wetly into the mud. The sword strike didn’t stop there—the emerald slash continued tearing across the fortress walls behind them, cleaving through ancient stone like paper before vanishing into the night beyond.

Screams erupted everywhere. "He’s too fast!"

"Where the hell did he— GAHHHH!!"

A pirate’s head spun high into the air before his body even realized it had been cut. Another man raised a rifle only for both his arms to suddenly slide off his shoulders in sprays of blood. Mihawk moved through the battlefield like a black phantom. Cold. Precise. Merciless.

There was no wasted motion in his swordsmanship. Every swing killed. Every step ended lives. He wasn’t fighting them. He was harvesting them. The courtyard descended into utter carnage within seconds. Severed limbs littered the ruined stone ground while blood mixed with rainwater and mud into crimson rivers flowing through the ancient fortress.

One massive brute attempted to ambush Mihawk from above, leaping down from a ruined balcony with a Haki-coated greataxe.

"I GOT YOU—!!"

SHNK. Mihawk didn’t even look at him. Yoru rose slightly behind Mihawk’s back as the man passed overhead—and the attacker split cleanly down the middle midair. The two halves of his corpse crashed separately onto the ground behind Mihawk. Fear spread rapidly now. The syndicate members finally realized the horrifying truth.

Their numbers meant nothing. They weren’t surrounding Mihawk. Mihawk was simply standing inside a room full of prey.

"USE YOUR DEVIL FRUIT ABILITIES!" the leader screamed desperately while firing another Haki-infused shot. "DON’T LET HIM BREATHE!"

Three men immediately surged forward from the rear lines. One transformed both arms into massive stone hammers before smashing them toward Mihawk’s skull with enough force to pulverize buildings. Another unleashed streams of burning oil from his mouth while a third manipulated chains erupting from the ground in an attempt to restrain Mihawk’s movements.

For normal pirates, such coordination would have been terrifying. For Mihawk—it barely registered.The chains shot upward toward him.

FWOOOSH.

A black blur flashed once. Every chain disintegrated into tiny fragments instantly. The stone-armed man barely widened his eyes before Yoru cleaved through both hammer arms, his torso, and the fortress wall behind him in a single seamless motion. Blood exploded across the courtyard.

The oil user tried to retreat in terror—too slow. Mihawk appeared directly beside him. One thrust. Yoru pierced through the man’s chest effortlessly before Mihawk casually flicked the corpse aside like trash. Meanwhile, the final Devil Fruit user unleashed countless chains wildly toward Mihawk in blind panic.

The attack swallowed the courtyard momentarily. Several syndicate members cheered desperately. Then the chains split apart. Mihawk walked through the burning wreckage completely untouched, golden eyes emotionless beneath the flickering blaze. The chain user froze.

Mihawk swung once. The man’s upper body slowly slid off his lower half. The cheering stopped immediately. Terror consumed the fortress entirely now. People began running. Some threw down weapons entirely. Others tried climbing the ruined walls to escape while several pirates attempted to flee through underground corridors beneath the fortress.

None escaped. Massive green sword slashes erupted through the stronghold relentlessly, carving apart entire sections of the ancient ruins. Towers collapsed. Stairways exploded. Criminals trying to flee were torn apart alongside the structures themselves. The gap in power was beyond overwhelming.

This wasn’t a battle between pirates. It was a natural disaster unleashed upon human beings. Near the edge of the courtyard, the burly brute still holding the little girl finally snapped in panic.

"DAMMIT!" He violently grabbed her by the throat and shoved her forward. "USE YOUR POWER!" he screamed hysterically.

"STOP HIM!" The little girl stared toward Mihawk in horror. Bodies surrounded him. Blood dripped from Yoru in streams. The swordsman continued walking calmly through the massacre as though slaughtering dozens of armed men was no more taxing than strolling through rain. The child trembled.

"No..." she whispered weakly.

CRACK.

The brute twisted her arm viciously behind her back. Agonizing pain exploded through her tiny body as something nearly snapped. Tears instantly welled in her eyes.

"DO IT!!" The little girl bit down on her lip hard enough to bleed. Then trembling spectral hollows slowly emerged around her. Ghostly white apparitions floated into existence one after another, their haunting laughter echoing faintly through the blood-soaked courtyard before surging toward Mihawk.

The ghosts passed through him. Silence. Nothing happened. Mihawk didn’t even slow down. He merely turned his eyes briefly toward the little girl. That single glance froze her completely. Not because of killing intent. Not because of malice. But because there was absolutely no effect on him whatsoever.

Every person struck by her ghosts until now had collapsed into despair instantly. Even hardened criminals broke mentally after contact; even those with haki had to expend considerable effort to mitigate the effects of her negative hollow.

Yet Mihawk simply looked at her once and continued walking through the slaughter without a care. The little girl’s eyes widened in disbelief. So this was Haki...? No. This was something even beyond her understanding of it. The burly brute panicked.

"Why isn’t it working?!" he shouted before violently shaking her again.

"DO SOMETHING!" He never finished the sentence.

FWSSSHHH. Yoru flashed once across the courtyard. The brute’s body froze. A thin line appeared diagonally across his chest. Then his upper body slid slowly off his lower half before collapsing into a heap of gore beside the horrified child. Warm blood splattered across her bruised face.

Mihawk walked past the corpse without pause. The little girl could only stare silently at the swordsman’s back as he advanced toward the final remaining figure in the fortress. The syndicate leader. By now the courtyard resembled hell itself.

Corpses covered the ground in piles. Blood flowed through cracks in the ancient stone. Fires burned across collapsed ruins while the screams of dying men slowly faded into silence.

More than a hundred criminals had been annihilated in mere minutes.

And standing amidst the carnage, Mihawk remained completely untouched. Not a scratch. Not even heavier breathing. The syndicate leader staggered backward, rifle trembling violently in his hands.

"This... this is impossible..." His instincts screamed at him to run. But his legs refused to move. Mihawk slowly approached through the sea of corpses, Yoru resting casually over his shoulder. Each footstep echoed like the tolling of a funeral bell. The leader fired wildly.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Every Haki-coated bullet was effortlessly deflected by Mihawk without even looking. Sparks burst around him harmlessly. Then Mihawk stopped directly before the trembling man. For one final moment, silence fell over the ruined fortress.

The leader looked into Mihawk’s eyes—and saw death staring back at him. Yoru rose slowly. One clean vertical swing descended.

SHHHHRRKKK—!!

The courtyard split apart. A massive sword scar carved through the fortress floor as the syndicate leader stood motionless for several seconds. Then his body split perfectly down the middle from head to groin. The two halves collapsed separately into the blood-soaked ruins.

Silence followed. Complete. Absolute. The massacre was over. And amidst the corpses, crumbling ruins, and rivers of blood, Dracule Mihawk simply sheathed Yoru and continued walking toward the harbor as though nothing significant had happened at all.

The ruined fortress had fallen silent at last. Smoke drifted through the shattered courtyard while blood pooled between ancient cracks in the stone. The corpses of pirates, bounty hunters, and criminals lay scattered everywhere like discarded trash after a storm.

And through that sea of death, Dracule Mihawk walked away without a second glance. Calm.

Unhurried. As though the massacre behind him had merely been a minor inconvenience delaying his evening. The night wind blew softly through the ruins, carrying with it the distant sounds of chaos still spreading across the island due to the earlier tremors. Mihawk adjusted the cylindrical bag resting across his back and continued toward the harbor where his small coffin-shaped boat awaited him.

Then—drag.

...drag.

...drag.

A faint sound followed behind him. Mihawk’s golden eyes narrowed slightly. Another step. Drag. His Observation Haki had already detected the presence several moments ago, but he had ignored it initially, assuming some half-dead survivor was crawling through the rubble. Yet the presence continued following him stubbornly.

Mihawk finally stopped and glanced over his shoulder. There she was. The little girl. Bruised black and blue, covered in dried blood and dirt, dragging one clearly broken leg through the blood-soaked earth as she struggled after him. Her disheveled pink hair hung over her swollen face while her tiny hands clawed weakly against the ground for balance. Every movement looked agonizing.

Yet her eyes remained fixed entirely on Mihawk. Determined. Stubborn. Unmoving. Mihawk stared at her for a moment in silence. Then he simply turned around and resumed walking. Surely that was enough of a message. It wasn’t.

...drag.

...drag.

...drag.

The sound continued behind him relentlessly. A vein almost visibly pulsed near Mihawk’s forehead. This time when he stopped, he did not even bother turning fully around.

SHING.

Yoru appeared instantly. One moment the blade was sheathed. The next, the massive black sword rested against the little girl’s nape so suddenly and precisely that the edge lightly pierced her skin, drawing a thin line of blood down her neck.

The child froze. The sheer size of Yoru made her look even smaller than before. One twitch from Mihawk and her head would separate from her shoulders instantly.

"Kid," Mihawk said flatly, not even looking directly at her, "don’t bother me." The pressure radiating from him was suffocating enough to make most grown pirates collapse unconscious.

"You have your freedom now." His voice remained cold and detached. "Go live a life that suits you."

The little girl trembled slightly from pain and exhaustion. But she did not back away. Did not cry. Did not beg. Instead, she slowly lifted her head and looked directly at Mihawk. Her swollen eyes burned with stubborn resolve. She had already decided. This man was different.

Every monster she had met until now had wanted something from her. Her powers. Her usefulness. Her suffering. But this man? He had cut down an entire syndicate without even acknowledging her existence. He had freed her simply because they annoyed him.

And for the first time in her miserable life, she had seen true strength. Not the cruel strength of abusers. Not the petty violence of criminals. But overwhelming, absolute power. Somewhere deep in her battered little heart, she became certain of one thing: If she followed this man...her life would change forever.

Even if it killed her. For several long moments, neither of them moved. The black blade remained pressed against her neck. The little girl stubbornly stared back. Mihawk stared down at her with visible annoyance.

"...You’re troublesome," he muttered finally. Yoru slowly withdrew before disappearing back into its sheath with a metallic click. Maybe it was because he had spent more time around children in recent years. Maybe because killing her now felt pointless. Or maybe he simply did not want blood from an obstinate child staining Yoru after testing it against a Poneglyph.

Whatever the reason, Mihawk exhaled softly and turned away again. "Don’t follow me." Naturally, the girl ignored him completely.

...drag.

...drag.

...drag.

The sound resumed almost immediately. Mihawk’s eyelid twitched faintly. "You truly intend to annoy me to death, don’t you?"

No response. Only stubborn dragging noises. As they traveled through the ruined streets toward the harbor, the contrast between them became almost absurd. Ahead walked the world’s strongest swordsman—calm, elegant, and terrifying enough to make entire pirate crews flee on sight.

Behind him crawled a tiny half-dead gremlin child refusing to leave him alone. At one point Mihawk abruptly changed directions by leaping cleanly over a collapsed building. Several seconds later—drag.

...drag.

...drag.

He glanced back. The girl had somehow climbed through the rubble pile after him despite her broken leg. She looked even more battered now, but her expression remained exactly the same. Determined. Mihawk stared at her silently for a few moments before continuing onward again.

"...Unbelievable." By the time they reached the harbor, the moon hung high overhead.

The sea reflected silver beneath the night sky while damaged pirate ships rocked gently against the docks. Mihawk’s small coffin-shaped boat floated calmly near the far end of the pier, untouched amidst the surrounding chaos.

Without slowing down, Mihawk stepped onto the edge of the dock and lightly leapt through the air. His black coat fluttered behind him as he landed perfectly atop the small vessel. Simple. Effortless. Then he looked back toward shore. Surely now the child would stop; after all, she was a devil fruit user.

The little girl stood at the edge of the pier breathing heavily, staring at the distance between herself and the boat. She clearly couldn’t jump that far. Mihawk folded his arms. Finally.

Common sense had prevailed. The girl looked down at the dark seawater below.

Then she stepped into it. Mihawk blinked once. The water immediately reached her knees, then her waist as she dragged herself forward toward the boat without hesitation. The moment seawater touched her properly, her body weakened visibly from the curse of her Devil Fruit. Her movements became sluggish and unstable almost instantly.

Yet she kept going. One trembling step after another. Deeper. And deeper. Until the water nearly reached her chest. Mihawk stared at her with genuine disbelief now.

"...You can’t even swim, can you?" The little girl said nothing. Her teeth chattered violently from exhaustion and seawater, but her eyes never left Mihawk for even a second. Another step. The water rose to her chin. Then suddenly—GLUB.

She vanished beneath the surface entirely. Bubbles rose frantically. Tiny hands flailed weakly underwater. For a brief moment, Mihawk simply watched the scene in silence. Then he slowly rubbed his forehead. "...What a pain."

A second later, the little girl suddenly emerged from the water with one powerful hand gripping the back of her torn shirt. Mihawk effortlessly lifted her out of the sea like a drenched cat before dropping her onto the boat.

COUGH! COUGH!

She curled up violently coughing seawater everywhere across the deck. Mihawk looked down at the soaked child with visible irritation. "You are the most stubborn child I’ve ever met."

The little girl weakly looked up at him through dripping pink hair. Then—despite everything—she smiled faintly. Mihawk immediately regretted rescuing her.