The natural system started off strong, but the navy finally reached its peak!

Gern lightly leaped backward, dodging the attack.

“Your swordsmanship is pure, but lacks the tempering of real combat. No wonder you seek out challenges.” Gern said while dodging.

"A true swordsman must not only be fast, but also know how to control the rhythm of the battle."

After all, having fought and defeated a great swordsman like Kozuki Oden, I am qualified to offer some comments.

Meanwhile, Mihawk did not respond, but his offensive became even more aggressive.

In an instant, the blades flashed like rain, each strike aimed directly at a vital point.

However, no matter how he changed his tactics, Gern always managed to easily deflect them, as if he had already seen through all of Gern's moves.

Finally, after an exchange, Gern suddenly exerted his strength, and the Black Blade Eight Desolations trembled violently, deflecting Mihawk's blade.

He then stepped forward, the blade resting on Mihawk's neck; just an inch further and he would be dead.

Mihawk's breathing quickened slightly, but he did not back down an inch.

"You lost." Gern sheathed his knife and smiled slightly.

“I will join the sea…” Mihawk lowered his eyes, but before he could finish speaking, Gern coldly interrupted him.

"unnecessary."

"???"

Mihawk stood still, his eagle-like eyes fixed on Gern, the knife in his hand trembling slightly.

"What do you mean by that?" His voice was low and suppressed, as if it were being squeezed out from between his teeth.

Gern stopped, turned his head, and a faint smile appeared on his lips: "The literal meaning."

“So…” Mihawk’s brows furrowed, his fingers gripping the knife turning white from the force: “Are you humiliating me?”

“No.” Gern turned around and looked at him calmly. “I just feel that this fight is unfair to you.”

“Unfair?” Mihawk sneered. “A loss is a loss. I accept my defeat and don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.” Gern shook his head, his eyes becoming serious.

"Right now, you don't even qualify to make me take you seriously, so this isn't a fight."

"My full strength, is it even a fight in front of you...?" Mihawk fell silent.

“So…” Gern tilted his head slightly, gazing at the distant horizon, his tone relaxed yet undeniably authoritative.

"Five years. I will give you another chance in five years."

A night breeze blew by, ruffling the hem of their clothes.

Mihawk's eyes flickered slightly, as if he was weighing Gern's words.

“Five years later…” he repeated softly, then suddenly looked up, his pupils blazing with fierce fighting spirit.

"Alright! I'll challenge you again in five years!"

“If you lose then…” Gern smiled and held up one finger.

"But it's really true, I'm really going to join the Navy."

Mihawk scoffed, "I won't lose a second time."

"I hope so." Gern shrugged, turned and walked away, his silhouette appearing exceptionally long in the moonlight.

Mihawk stood there, watching his figure gradually disappear into the distance, his fist slowly clenching.

In the fight just now, Gern hadn't even unwrapped the bandages on his knife, while he had given it his all, yet he couldn't even force Gern to take it seriously.

This gap made him feel resentful, but it also excited him.

“Five years…” he murmured softly, his eyes gradually hardening.

"Five years from now, I will show you what a true swordsman is!"

Thinking of this, Mihawk suddenly raised the knife in his hand, its sharp blade gleaming coldly in the moonlight, pointing it at Gern.

"For the next five years, I will absolutely not fail twice!!" His voice, sharp as a blade, echoed across the silent dock.

"I will never lose again until I defeat you and become the Great Swordsman!"

"So, you have a problem with that?! Gern!!!"

Upon hearing 15-year-old Mihawk's shout, Gern stopped and frowned. "Strange, it sounds familiar?"

But to maintain his persona, Gern turned around, his smile deepening, a hint of nostalgia flashing in his eyes.

"No objections." He then waved his hand with his back to Mihawk. "I'll be waiting for you in five years."

Mihawk slowly lowered his knife, watching Gern's figure disappear into the night, his fists clenched until they turned white.

He won't lose a second time.

Five years from now, he will definitely show Gern what the true "world's greatest swordsman" should be like!

The howling sea breeze scattered his words, but it could not extinguish the fighting spirit burning in his heart.

The five-year agreement was thus established.

(Zoro's strength has improved so quickly in two years, surely I, Hawkeye, am just one kick away from becoming the world's greatest swordsman in five years, right?)

.......

The night on Lilikaya Island was still bustling, with neon lights flowing through the streets and the cheers of gamblers and shouts of drunkards creating a noisy cacophony.

As Gern strolled through the crowd, his fingers lightly tapping the hilt of his sword, Mihawk's battle-ready declaration still echoing in his mind.

"Tsk, what a pity! I knew it looked familiar..." he muttered to himself, then couldn't help but stroke his chin.

"Should I leave a scar on Mihawk's chest? I missed it, I missed it..."

Just as he was lost in thought, a clear singing voice suddenly pierced through the noisy street, gently drifting into his ears like a ray of moonlight.

Gern paused and followed the sound.

A short while later, in front of a slave shop on the street corner, a green-haired youth was sitting on the steps outside the cage, holding a worn-out guitar in his arms, his fingertips gently plucking the strings.

His voice was deep and gentle, with a touch of huskiness, yet surprisingly pleasant to listen to.

Inside the cage, a blonde woman wearing a light blue dress and a slave collar around her neck rested her hands on the iron bars, a smile playing on her lips, and softly responded.

Their voices intertwined, as if even the cold iron cage could not block their tacit understanding and warmth.

“Tesoro…and Stella?” Gern squinted, recognizing the green-haired youth.

That was his goal for this trip: the future "Golden Emperor".

However, at this moment, Tesoro was just a poor boy desperately saving money for his beloved, not the emperor who would later control the world's money.

There was no greed in his eyes, only tenderness and unwavering devotion to the girl in the cage.

Gern didn't go forward immediately, but leaned against the wall and quietly watched the scene unfold.

The singing gradually stopped, and Tesoro looked up at the night sky, whispering, "Stella, wait a little longer... I'll be able to save enough money soon."

Stella smiled gently, her fingers slipping through the iron bars to touch his fingertips: "Yes, I'll wait for you."

As Gern watched this scene, a slight smile appeared on his lips.

"What a touching love story..." he murmured, then his eyes sharpened.

"Unfortunately, this world is not kind to you."

Chapter 116 Tezulo

Before dawn, Lilikaya Island was shrouded in a gray-blue mist.

The casino's neon lights had long been extinguished, leaving only the iron cages of the slave market gleaming coldly in the morning light.

Gern leaned against the shadows at the alley entrance, his fingertips gently stroking the hilt of the Black Blade Eight Desolations, his gaze never leaving the cage.

Tezzolo's voice was husky yet gentle, and the sound of the worn-out guitar strings was exceptionally clear on the quiet street.

Stella leaned against the iron bars, her fingers threaded through the gaps in the fence to intertwine with his, her eyes shining brighter than the moonlight.

They sang folk songs from the West Sea, about seagulls and lighthouses, about an unquenchable wait...

Gern didn't move or make a sound.

He simply watched quietly, watching Tesoro brush the stray hairs from Stella's face, watching Stella suddenly laugh when she heard a certain melody.

That smile made even the shadows of the cage transparent.

“I see.” Gern narrowed his eyes. “So this is the magic that can turn a gambler into a saint…”

Slowly, the blonde girl and the green-haired youth in the cage leaned on each other and fell asleep, separated by the cage.

As dawn broke, Tesoro finally stood up, his forehead pressed against the iron bars, and whispered, "Wait for me for three more days... this time I'll be able to raise enough money."

Seeing that Tesoro's years of hard work were about to succeed, Stella nodded vigorously, her fingertips lingeringly tracing across his palm.

Only after the young man's figure disappeared around the street corner did Gern emerge from the shadows.

Noticing someone approaching, Stella tensed instantly inside the cage, the light in her eyes disappearing.

He reverted to being that numb slave, huddled in a corner, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the collar around his neck, his eyes vacant.

Last night's song with Tezzolo felt like a dream, while the reality of daytime remains cold.

“What a beautiful singing voice,” Gern said softly as he stopped in front of the cage.

Upon hearing the voice, Stella looked up sharply and saw that the person in front of her was dressed in a black uniform, wearing a top hat and a long sword wrapped in white cloth at his waist.

"The way he risked his life for you was truly touching."

Upon hearing Gern mention Tesoro, Stella, even though she didn't recognize the person in front of her, still gripped the hem of her skirt tightly, her voice deliberately hoarse.

What do you want to do to him?

Gern chuckled softly and tapped the iron bars with his fingertips: "It's not me, it's this world."

He leaned down, casting a shadow on Stella's pale face. "You think he can redeem you once he's saved enough money? How naive."

Stella's breathing quickened.

She was well aware of the city's dark side—slave owners would raise prices at the last minute, guards would deliberately make things difficult, and even…

"Accidents" always happen to slaves who are about to gain their freedom.

"Who are you?" she asked in a trembling voice.

Seeing Stella like this, Gern sighed and leaned against the iron bars.

"Do you think Tesoro would do anything for you? After all, he changed because of you."

When Stella heard Gern mention Tesoro again, her expression changed, and a glimmer of light returned to her eyes.

Although it is ostensibly Tesoro who changed because of Stella, wasn't it also Tesoro's sudden intrusion that gave Stella a glimmer of light in her despair?

So when Stella heard Gern mention Tesoro, she became very agitated, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion: "What do you want to do to him?"

Gern didn't answer, but instead gave a slight smile and turned to leave.

His silhouette stretched long in the morning light, his black uniform and top hat gradually blending into the shadows of the street.

Stella's fingers gripped the iron bars tightly, her knuckles turning white, and she managed a low, hoarse question: "What exactly do you want to do..."

However, Gern did not stop walking; he simply raised his hand and waved, as if to say goodbye, or perhaps to mock her powerlessness.

Stella stared in the direction he had disappeared, her chest heaving violently.

She slowly slid down to the ground, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing the collar around her neck; the cold metallic touch brought her back to her senses.

She closed her eyes, and it seemed as if Tezzolo's song was playing in her ears again, that Western Sea folk song about seagulls and lighthouses.

"Three days..." she murmured, as if trying to convince herself, "Just three more days..."

Kogan's words coiled around her mind like a venomous snake—"Do you think he can redeem you just because he's saved enough money?"

In the distance, the bells of the slave market rang, and a new day began.

The world outside the iron cage remained noisy, but the blonde girl inside seemed to be isolated in another time and space.

She hugged her knees tightly, buried her face in her arms, and trembled silently.

The morning light grew brighter, but it couldn't penetrate the shadows in her eyes.