The salty breeze carried the sound of distant waves as Dante's boat glided across the open sea. Days had passed since his clash with the Black Vultures, and the thrill of victory still lingered in his mind. Yet, something gnawed at him—a subtle unease that he couldn't shake.
His victories, while satisfying, felt... hollow. He had proven his skill against weaklings, but the truth was that none of his opponents so far had posed a real challenge.
"Is this all there is?" he muttered, resting his chin on his hand as he stared at the horizon.
Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead. Dante looked up to see a massive albatross circling his boat, its sharp eyes fixed on him. A small pouch dangled from its leg, and Dante recognized it as a messenger bird.
"Hmm? What's this about?"
The albatross swooped down, landing gracefully on the edge of the boat. Dante untied the pouch and retrieved a folded piece of parchment. Unfurling it, he read the message aloud:
"To the young swordsman who humiliated the Black Vultures:
Your actions have not gone unnoticed. If you seek true strength, come to the island of Ryscan. A trial awaits.
—Signed, A Friend."
Dante's golden eyes narrowed as he reread the message. "Ryscan, huh? Sounds interesting."
The albatross cawed once, as if urging him to make a decision, before taking off into the sky.
Dante smirked, his earlier boredom vanishing. "A trial, huh? Let's see what you've got, 'Friend.'"
Ryscan Island: A Place of Legends
It took several days of sailing to reach Ryscan Island, and Dante was immediately struck by its appearance. Towering cliffs rose from the ocean, their jagged edges giving the island a foreboding aura. Dense forests covered the interior, and in the distance, he could see the ruins of an ancient fortress perched atop a hill.
As he docked his boat, he noticed the lack of any welcoming party. The beach was eerily quiet, save for the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.
"Not exactly a warm welcome," he muttered, stepping onto the sand.
The letter hadn't provided any details about the trial, but Dante wasn't one to shy away from the unknown. He tightened his grip on his sword and ventured into the forest, his senses on high alert.
The Mysterious Challenger
The forest was a labyrinth of twisting paths and towering trees. Dante moved cautiously, his eyes scanning for any signs of danger.
After what felt like hours of walking, he emerged into a clearing. Standing in the center was a lone figure, cloaked in shadows. The figure's posture was relaxed, but there was an undeniable air of menace about them.
"You made it," the figure said, their voice calm and measured.
Dante stepped closer, his sword at the ready. "So you're the one who sent the letter?"
The figure chuckled, stepping into the light. It was a tall man with a lean build, his face partially obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. A pair of piercing green eyes locked onto Dante's, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips.
"You could say that," the man replied. "I've been watching you, Dante Dracule. You have potential, but potential means nothing without the resolve to push yourself further."
Dante raised an eyebrow. "And who are you supposed to be? Some kind of wandering philosopher?"
The man laughed. "Call me Kael. I'm here to see if you're worthy of carrying that name of yours. Draw your sword, boy."
Dante's smirk returned. "Finally, someone who doesn't bore me to death."
Kael's hand moved to the hilt of his blade, and the tension in the air became almost palpable.
A Battle of Skill and Wit
The two swordsmen clashed, their blades ringing out in sharp, precise strikes. Kael's movements were fluid, his attacks calculated and efficient. Dante found himself pushed to his limits, forced to react faster and think smarter than ever before.
Kael didn't just rely on brute strength or flashy techniques. His every move was a test, probing Dante's defenses and exploiting his weaknesses.
"You're good," Kael said, dodging a particularly fast strike. "But you're holding back."
Dante gritted his teeth. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're too careful," Kael replied, his blade narrowly missing Dante's shoulder. "You've spent your life imitating your father's precision, but you lack his conviction. If you want to surpass him, you need to fight like you have something to prove."
The words struck a nerve. Dante's grip on his sword tightened, and a fire ignited in his golden eyes.
"Fine," he said, his voice low and steady. "No more holding back."
With a burst of speed, Dante launched into a flurry of attacks, his movements sharper and more aggressive than before. Kael's smirk faded as he struggled to keep up, and for the first time, the older swordsman seemed genuinely impressed.
The Turning Point
The clash of swords rang out in the clearing as Dante's strikes became relentless, his movements driven by a newfound sense of purpose. Each swing carried a raw intensity that forced Kael to retreat, his smirk replaced with a focused expression.
"That's more like it," Kael muttered, blocking a powerful strike that sent a shockwave through the ground beneath them.
Dante pressed his advantage, his golden eyes locked onto Kael's every move. He began to anticipate the older swordsman's patterns, exploiting openings with a precision that was uniquely his own. It wasn't just Mihawk's style—it was something more, something distinctly Dante.
Kael jumped back, breathing heavily. "You're learning as we fight. Impressive, but don't get cocky."
With a swift motion, Kael unsheathed a second, shorter blade from his belt. The dual swords gleamed in the sunlight as he launched a flurry of attacks that forced Dante on the defensive.
Dante's mind raced as he parried the strikes, his single sword seeming outmatched against Kael's dual-wielding style. But instead of panicking, he focused.
"Stay calm," he told himself. "Find the rhythm."
As the fight continued, Dante began to adapt, his movements growing more fluid and confident. He sidestepped Kael's strikes with ease, countering with precise, calculated blows that disrupted the older swordsman's rhythm.
Kael's eyes widened as Dante's blade slipped past his guard, grazing his shoulder. He leaped back, a hand pressed to the shallow cut.
"You're better than I expected," Kael admitted, a faint smile returning to his lips. "But let's see how you handle this."
He raised his swords, and a sudden burst of energy radiated from him, bending the grass and leaves around them.
Pushing Beyond Limits
Dante felt the shift immediately. Kael's attacks became faster and more unpredictable, his movements a blur as he unleashed his full strength. It was a test not just of skill, but of endurance and willpower.
Dante gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body straining as he blocked and dodged the relentless assault. Sweat dripped down his brow, and his breathing grew heavier, but he refused to back down.
"This is nothing," he growled, his determination unwavering. "I've got more in me."
Drawing on every ounce of his training, Dante began to push back. His strikes became sharper, his movements more precise. He wasn't just reacting anymore—he was dictating the flow of the battle.
Kael's smirk widened as he blocked another strike. "You're starting to get it. Show me what you're really made of!"
With a roar, Dante poured everything he had into a single, decisive strike. His blade cut through the air with blinding speed, meeting Kael's crossed swords with a force that sent a shockwave rippling through the clearing.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, with a loud crack, Kael's shorter blade shattered, the pieces scattering across the ground.
Kael stumbled back, his remaining sword lowered as he stared at Dante with a mix of surprise and admiration.
The Lesson
Dante stood tall, his chest heaving as he pointed his blade at Kael. "Do you yield?"
Kael chuckled, dropping his sword and raising his hands in surrender. "You win, kid. I'd say you passed the trial."
Dante sheathed his sword, his expression a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. "What was the point of all this?"
Kael leaned against a tree, wiping the sweat from his brow. "The point was to push you, to see if you had what it takes to go beyond your limits. You've got the skill, but more importantly, you've got the heart. That's what sets you apart."
Dante frowned, his golden eyes narrowing. "And who sent you to test me?"
Kael's smile turned cryptic. "Let's just say you've caught the attention of some very important people. Keep making waves, and you'll find out soon enough."
Before Dante could press further, Kael turned and began walking toward the forest's edge. "Oh, and one more thing," he called over his shoulder. "You're stronger than you think, but don't let it go to your head. The sea is full of monsters, kid—some of them far worse than anything you've faced so far."
With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Dante alone in the clearing.
The Next Step
Dante stood in silence, the weight of the battle still heavy on his shoulders. He looked down at his sword, the blade glinting in the sunlight.
"Stronger than I think, huh?" he muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He turned and began the long walk back to his boat, his mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. The trial had reignited his determination, giving him a glimpse of the potential Kael had spoken of.
As he reached the shore and set sail once more, Dante felt a sense of purpose like never before. The open sea stretched out before him, vast and full of possibilities.
"I'll surpass you one day, Mihawk," he said softly, his golden eyes shining with resolve. "Just wait and see."