The first light of dawn painted Elbaph's colossal canopy in hues of rose and amber, but aboard the Red Force, the atmosphere was distinctly less vibrant. Marya stepped onto the sun-warmed deck, the crisp sea air carrying the lingering tang of salt, pine, and something distinctly sour – the aftermath of a legendary Elbaf feast. The scene before her was a masterpiece of pirate recuperation.
Lucky Roux lay sprawled near the foremast like a beached whale, a half-gnawed, slightly stale boar knuckle still clutched in one hand, soft snores rumbling. Yasopp was slumped against a cannon, his prized sniper rifle cradled awkwardly, one eye covered by his hat, the other squinting painfully against the growing light. Hongo moved with meticulous, slow precision, administering clear fluids from small vials to a groaning Bonk Punch, while Limejuice winced as he adjusted rigging, his movements stiff. Monster was attempting to lift an empty barrel, groaning dramatically with each failed attempt, while Building Snake simply sat with his back against the mainmast, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Gab's lute lay discarded nearby, one string snapped. The air hummed with low groans and the smell of stale mead and roasted meat.
Marya's golden eyes, sharp and clear in the morning light, scanned the deck with detached efficiency. Her gaze swept past the groaning forms, past stacks of empty barrels, past scattered playing cards and discarded rib bones. It landed on the large, cleared space near the starboard rail – the muster station where her sleek submarine had been securely lashed the day before. Now, it held only coiled ropes and a faint oil stain.
A single, nearly imperceptible tightening of her jaw was the only outward sign. Without a word, she turned on her heel, her boots making soft, purposeful clicks on the sun-warmed wood, heading straight for the gangplank.
"Up and at 'em already, little hawk?" Shanks' voice, though slightly rough around the edges, was infused with its usual cheerful energy. He emerged from the captain's quarters, stretching, his crimson hair catching the dawn light. Beside him, Ben Beckman looked as immaculate as ever, though a faint weariness lingered around his eyes as he took a slow drag from a freshly lit cigarillo. "Eager for that spar with old Scopper?" Shanks grinned, leaning against the rail beside the gangplank. "He's probably already warming up, imagining your 'advanced experience' creaking."
Ben exhaled a plume of smoke, a ghost of amusement in his sharp gaze. "Gaban fights like a cornered badger. Less finesse, more… enthusiastic demolition. It'll be educational."
Their voices, though not loud, acted like a catalyst. A collective groan rose from the deck. Yasopp peeled his hat off his face, wincing. "Spar? Wha…? Oh! Right! Mihawk's kid vs. Scopper!" He nudged a semi-conscious Bonk Punch with his boot. "Wake up! We got front-row seats to history! Or a demolition derby!"
"Demolition…?" Bonk Punch mumbled, blinking blearily.
"FIGHT!" Monster roared, suddenly finding the strength to heave the barrel upright, his hangover momentarily forgotten in the prospect of spectacle.
"BLOOP! Marya fight?" Jelly's translucent blue form shot up from where he'd been curiously poking at Lucky Roux's knuckle. "Can I referee? Bounce signals? Throw sparkly dust for distractions?" He vibrated with sudden, chaotic energy.
The mention of the spar was like smelling salts to the hungover crew. Limejuice stopped wincing and started hustling, securing lines with renewed, if slightly shaky, vigor. Building Snake pushed himself upright, cracking his neck. Gab fumbled for his lute, plucking the snapped string with a grimace. Hongo efficiently capped his vials. Even Lucky Roux stirred, his eyes focusing on Marya with sudden interest. "Breakfast after?" he mumbled hopefully, still clutching the bone.
Marya watched the sudden, groggy flurry of activity her impending duel had provoked. A long, slow sigh escaped her – a sound of profound, weary tolerance for the absurdity surrounding her. She didn't dignify Shanks and Ben's teasing with a direct response about Gaban. Instead, she simply descended the gangplank with her usual measured stride, the crew beginning to stumble and hustle after her, a motley parade of bleary-eyed pirates suddenly invested in her morning plans.
Reaching the bustling dock, Marya's gaze swept the harbor. Giant ships, Elbaf fishing skiffs, the Red Force herself… and there, bobbing gently in the sheltered water beside the main pier, securely moored to giant-sized bollards, was her submarine. Its angular hull looked incongruous next to the wooden giants, but it sat safely in the water, no longer aboard the Red Force. Someone – likely a team effort once the mead really started flowing – had carefully offloaded it during the night's festivities.
A flicker of understanding, perhaps mixed with mild annoyance at the presumption, passed through Marya's eyes. She hadn't asked for it to be moved, but its placement made practical sense. Shanks, Ben, and the recovering tide of Red Hair Pirates gathered at the dock's edge behind her, looking from the sub to Marya and back.
"See?" Shanks chuckled, clapping Ben on the shoulder. "Perfectly safe. Probably figured you'd want easier access to your books and… whatever else you keep in that metal whale." He gestured towards the distant training grounds nestled amongst the branches. "Now, about that demolition derby with Scopper… the crew's invested. Wouldn't want to disappoint them by being late, eh?"
Marya turned, her golden eyes meeting Shanks' amused gaze, then sweeping over the expectant, slightly hungover faces of his crew. A faint, almost challenging smirk touched her lips. "Demolition implies collateral damage," she stated coolly. "I intend to be… surgical." With that, she turned and began walking towards the path leading inland, leaving the crew buzzing with anticipation and the safe, if relocated, submarine bobbing quietly in the Elbaf dawn. The spar awaited.
The path wound upwards from the docks, leaving behind the salt tang and bustle for the deeper, moss-scented air beneath the Adam Tree's canopy. The Training Grounds of Elbaph weren't a formal arena, but a natural amphitheater carved by time and giant feet. Massive, moss-covered boulders formed a rough circle, their surfaces scarred by centuries of practice blows and etched with faded runes of encouragement. Sunlight dappled through leaves the size of sails, illuminating dust motes dancing in the cool morning air. At the center, the packed earth was smooth and hard, scattered with wood chips from shattered practice dummies.
Waiting near the largest boulder, looking remarkably awake despite the previous night's revelry, stood Scopper Gaban. He spun a pair of weathered, double-headed battle-axes – each easily longer than Marya was tall – with deceptive ease in his gnarled hands. His grin was wide and predatory, eyes sharp behind his round sunglasses. Beside him, practically vibrating with excitement, was Colon. The boy clutched a small, blunt training axe, trying to mimic his father's stance but mostly hopping from foot to foot.
"BLOOP! COLON!" Jelly's azure form shot past Marya like a wobbly comet, leaving faint glittering trails on the mossy path. He bounced erratically towards Colon, reforming into a distorted approximation of an axe. "Look! I'm weapon! Can I help train? Or be a shield? Or a bouncy obstacle?"
Colon's eyes lit up, momentarily forgetting his father. "Jelly! Awesome! Can you turn into a moving target?" He then spotted Shanks leading the procession of groaning, yawning, but undeniably eager Red Hair Pirates spilling into the natural stands formed by the boulders. Colon broke into a sprint, skidding to a halt in front of the Emperor, his small training axe held aloft like a banner. "UNCLE SHANKS! Did you see? I brought my axe! I practiced! Can I join the crew? Right now? I can swab decks! Or... or spot islands! Or help Jelly bounce signals!"
Shanks threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the clearing. He ruffled Colon's already messy hair. "Swabbing decks is serious business, sprout! Requires years of dedicated... avoiding Master Borin's geography lessons, I hear?" His grin was infectious.
Ben Beckman, settling onto a low boulder beside Shanks, took a drag from his cigarillo, his expression dry. "Skipping tariffs and geography? That's a two-for-one delinquency record you're building, lad. Impressive, if misguided."
Gaban chuckled, a low rumble like stones tumbling. "Guilty as charged, Ben! Figured history could wait for a lesson in real Elbaf heritage." He winked at his son, who beamed proudly before being distracted again by Jelly attempting to balance on his head like a wobbly blue hat.
The Red Hair Pirates quickly claimed their perches on the encircling boulders. Yasopp rubbed his temples but pulled out a notepad, already sketching odds. "Alright, bets! Even odds on first blood? Three-to-one on Gaban cracking the ground? Five-to-one on the little hawk landing a clean hit before the third exchange?" Limejuice and Bonk Punch immediately started arguing over the terms. Monster roared encouragement indiscriminately. Building Snake cracked his knuckles, eyes fixed on the combatants. Hongo sighed, pulling out a small medical kit just in case. Gab tuned his lute with a wince, plucking a tentative, anticipatory chord. Lucky Roux, miraculously producing a giant smoked sausage from somewhere, took a massive bite, watching with interest. "Breakfast and a show!"
Gaban hefted his axes, the sunlight glinting off the polished steel. He turned his full, mischievous attention to Marya, who had stepped calmly into the cleared circle, Eternal Eclipse still sheathed across her back. Her golden eyes were assessing the terrain, the light, the distance. "Sleep well, little hawk?" Gaban boomed, his voice carrying easily. "Hope you didn't dull that sharp tongue overnight. Or your blade." He took a mock-threatening step forward, the axes humming faintly as he spun them again.
Marya didn't flinch. She met his gaze, a ghost of that challenging smirk playing on her lips. "I slept adequately," she replied, her voice cool and clear. "Unlike some, who seem to rely on volume to compensate for... creaky joints. Shall we see if your axes remember how to find their mark, or just the nearest patch of dirt?"
"OHHHH!" The collective gasp from the Red Hair Pirates was followed by a wave of laughter and louder betting. Yasopp scribbled furiously. "She got him! Five beri says she lands the first verbal hit and the first physical one!"
Gaban's grin widened, showing teeth. "Creaky? I'll show you creaky, you Mihawk-bred minnow!" He dropped into a low, powerful stance, the axes held wide, muscles coiling like springs beneath his tunic. The playful glint in his eyes hardened into focused intensity. "Come on then, Surgeon! Let's see if you can operate on this old engine!"
Marya didn't draw her blade immediately. She shifted her weight subtly, her stance becoming balanced, poised, utterly still yet radiating potential energy like a drawn bowstring. Her hand rested lightly on the obsidian hilt of Eternal Eclipse. The morning air in the training grounds crackled, the playful atmosphere tightening into thrilling anticipation. The hangovers were forgotten. The bets were placed. Jelly wobbled excitedly near Colon, whispering, "Bloop! Fight start!" On the boulders, Shanks leaned forward, his smile sharp. Ben watched, analytical. The spar, promised under the Elbaf dawn, had begun.
The packed earth of the training grounds felt cool and firm beneath Marya's boots. Scopper Gaban exploded forward, a whirlwind of grizzled pirate and gleaming steel. His twin axes, Sea Breaker and Sky Cleaver, carved thunderous arcs through the morning air, whistling with the promise of shattered stone. Yet Marya didn't draw Eternal Eclipse. She flowed.
With movements so minimal they seemed like mere shifts of balance, she sidestepped the first horizontal sweep aimed at her ribs. As Sky Cleaver reversed in a brutal uppercut, she leaned back, the axe's wind ruffling her raven hair as it passed harmlessly overhead. When Gaban followed through with a stomp that cracked the earth where she'd just stood, she was already two paces to the left, her hand still resting casually on her obsidian hilt, golden eyes tracking him with unnerving calm.
"Stand still, you slippery minnow!" Gaban roared, a grin battling frustration on his weathered face as he reset, axes humming. "Or are you afraid that fancy toothpick of yours'll snap against real steel?"
Marya didn't flinch. A flicker of amusement touched her lips. "Hardly," she stated, her voice cutting through the sudden quiet that had fallen over the spectators. "I merely assumed you'd appreciate the extra moments. Gives the old joints time to warm up properly. Wouldn't want you pulling something vital... like a hip."
The eruption from the boulder-stands was immediate and deafening.
"OHHHH! SHE GOT HIM AGAIN!" Yasopp bellowed, nearly falling off his perch with laughter, scribbling furiously on his betting slate.
Bonk Punch pounded Limejuice's back, howling. Monster roared, "OLD BONES! OLD BONES!"
Shanks threw his head back, his laughter rich and booming. "She's got your number, Scopper! Right in the creaky hinges!" Ben Beckman simply shook his head, a rare, genuine smile playing on his lips as he exhaled cigarillo smoke.
Colon jumped up and down, tugging Ripley's sleeve. "Did you hear, Mama? Did you hear?"
Jelly bounced wildly beside him, morphing into a wobbly caricature of Gaban clutching his back. "Bloop! Hip owie!"
Gaban's initial mock outrage melted into a deep, rumbling chuckle that shook his shoulders. "Alright, little hawk," he conceded, the playful glint in his eyes sharpening into something far more focused. "Warmed up enough for you now." He dropped his center of gravity, the power coiling visibly in his legs and shoulders. The air around him seemed to thicken. This wasn't the boisterous veteran testing a youngster; this was the Roger Pirate, the seasoned warrior.
He surged forward again, but this attack was different. No wild swings. It was a calculated, devastating lunge, Sea Breaker leading in a blinding thrust aimed precisely at Marya's center mass, Sky Cleaver held back like a coiled serpent, ready to intercept any dodge. Speed and power combined with decades of brutal experience.
The reaction was instantaneous. In a blur of motion so fast it seemed like the dawn light fractured, Eternal Eclipse was free. Not a grand flourish, but an impossibly swift, economical draw. The obsidian blade, etched with faintly glowing crimson runes, met the thrusting axe-head not with a mighty clash, but with a sharp, resonant TING!
The force behind Gaban's blow was monstrous, enough to shatter lesser weapons and send defenders flying. Yet Marya didn't yield an inch. Her stance, rooted like the Adam Tree itself, absorbed the impact. Her blade, held at a perfect angle, deflected the axe-head upwards with a shower of sparks. The shockwave rippled out, flattening nearby moss and making the watching pirates gasp.
Then, the dance began in earnest. Gaban pressed the attack, his axes becoming a whirlwind of controlled fury – sweeping cuts, brutal chops, deceptive feints. Each blow carried the weight of mountains. Marya met him not with brute force, but with impossible precision and eerie calm. Eternal Eclipse was a black extension of her will, parrying, deflecting, and redirecting the colossal force of the axes with minimal, efficient movements. She flowed around his attacks, her footwork a masterpiece of balance and anticipation, her blade a shield and a threat in equal measure. Sparks flew like angry fireflies with every clash, the sharp CLANG! CLANG! TING! echoing like a rapid, metallic heartbeat under the giant canopy.
For several intense minutes, they moved – Gaban, the unstoppable force, and Marya, the immovable, surgical object. Neither gained a clear advantage. Gaban couldn't land a clean hit through her impeccable defense, and Marya, focused entirely on countering his overwhelming power, hadn't yet launched a significant offensive.
Finally, with a mighty two-axe overhead smash that Marya met with a crossed-blade block that sent tremors through the ground, they disengaged. Both breathed steadily, respect warring with challenge in their eyes. The clearing was silent except for the heavy breathing and the distant rustle of leaves.
Gaban lowered his axes, a wide, genuine grin splitting his face. He wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm. "Hah! Draw!" he declared, his voice rough but filled with admiration. "Round one goes to... well, neither of us landed a glove. But damn, girl." He shook his head, chuckling. "You move like shadow, hit like a landslide when you choose to. Definitely Mihawk's kid. Shoulda been obvious, I suppose."
Marya lowered Eternal Eclipse, the crimson runes fading slightly. She raised a single, elegant eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "Obvious? One would think the resemblance, the sword, and the general lack of tolerance might have been clues," she replied, her tone dry as sun-baked stone. She didn't sheathe the blade. Her gaze remained locked on Gaban, the curiosity and competitive fire now fully ignited beneath her usual stoicism. "Shall we see if round two holds fewer surprises for you, Mr. Gaban? Or are the old bones truly protesting?"
Gaban's grin turned predatory. He hefted his axes, the playful veteran gone, replaced by the fierce warrior eager to test a worthy opponent. "Protesting? Nah, they're just getting started, little hawk. Let's see what else that surgeon's blade can do!" He dropped back into his ready stance, the air crackling anew with serious, thrilling intent. Round two was about to begin.
Round two ignited with a ferocity that dwarfed the first. Gaban, the playful veteran fully shed, became a force of controlled destruction. His axes, Sea Breaker and Sky Cleaver, moved in a relentless, battering rhythm – heavy chops aimed at breaking guards, deceptive sweeps designed to trap, and sudden thrusts seeking openings. Marya met this storm with her signature precision. Eternal Eclipse was a blur of obsidian, parrying, deflecting, and redirecting the colossal force with minimal, efficient movements. Sparks flew in staccato bursts with each clash, the sharp CLANG! CLANG! TING! echoing like frantic drumbeats under the canopy. She flowed around his attacks, her footwork impeccable, her defense a masterpiece of economy. Yet, something was off.
Gaban's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses as he pressed. She was holding her own, yes, but she was reacting. There was none of the probing initiative, the subtle feints seeking weaknesses he'd expect from Mihawk's bloodline. She was playing defense, pure and simple. A flicker of irritation cut through his battle-focus. Was she humoring him?
"Still warming up the old reflexes, little hawk?" Gaban growled during a brief disengage, breathing heavily but not winded. He feinted high with Sky Cleaver, then abruptly dropped low, sweeping Sea Breaker in a wide, powerful arc aimed not at Marya herself, but at the packed earth directly beneath her feet. It was a dirty trick, a veteran's move designed to disrupt balance, not deliver a clean hit.
The packed earth exploded upwards in a shower of dirt and wood chips. Marya, focused on the high feint, was caught mid-shift. Her boots skidded, her perfect balance compromised for a critical half-second. She stumbled backwards, arms windmilling slightly to regain equilibrium.
Gaban didn't hesitate. He saw the opening and surged forward like a battering ram, Sky Cleaver leading in a brutal, overhead smash aimed squarely at her exposed guard. Marya regained her footing just in time, bringing Eternal Eclipse up in a desperate cross-block. The impact was thunderous. CRACK-BOOM! The shockwave visibly rippled outwards, flattening moss for yards. Marya's boots dug deep furrows in the earth as she was driven back several feet, her arms vibrating from the sheer force. She held the block, but the defensive posture, the forced retreat – it was a clear win for Gaban in that exchange.
He didn't press further immediately. He lowered his axes slightly, his chest heaving, but his expression was one of profound annoyance, not triumph. "Enough!" he barked, the sound sharp in the sudden quiet that had fallen over the spectators. "When are you gonna stop playing patty-cake and take this seriously, girl? Sparring Mihawk was like dancing with death itself! You holding back is more insulting than any hip joke!"
A hush fell over the boulder-stands. Yasopp's betting pencil froze. Bonk Punch stopped mid-cheer. Monster's roar died in his throat. Shanks' grin sharpened. Ben leaned forward, eyes narrowed. Colon clutched Ripley's arm, wide-eyed. Jelly wobbled nervously, whispering, "Bloop? Angry Papa?"
Marya straightened slowly, brushing dirt from her sleeve with deliberate calm. Her golden eyes met Gaban's furious gaze. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across her lips, utterly devoid of warmth. "Patty-cake?" she echoed, her voice deceptively soft. "My apologies. I was simply saving the spectacle for an audience that appreciates... subtlety." She raised her chin, a predatory glint entering her eyes. "But if you insist on a demolition..."
The air around Marya warped. An invisible wave of pressure slammed outwards, thick and heavy as deep ocean water. The moss beneath her feet flattened instantly. Pebbles skittered away. A sudden, unnatural stillness gripped the clearing, silencing the rustle of leaves. Then, her eyes blazed. Not metaphorically. Literal, visible Conqueror's Haki ignited within them, turning her irises from molten gold into incandescent, burning suns. Eternal Eclipse hummed in her hand, the crimson runes along its obsidian length flaring with violent light.
Gaban's answering grin was feral, all teeth. "ABOUT DAMN TIME!" he roared. His own Haki erupted in response. It wasn't the focused, kingly pressure of Marya's, but a raw, volcanic force – the indomitable will of a Roger Pirate forged in a thousand battles. The ground cracked beneath his boots. The air itself seemed to crackle and spit with static discharge. His eyes, visible even behind the sunglasses, glowed with fierce, crimson light. The two immense wills clashed invisibly in the center of the clearing, making the very light seem to bend and warp. Dust devils whirled spontaneously.
Round three began not with a clash of steel, but with the silent, titanic collision of two unstoppable wills shaking the roots of Elbaph.
It was at this precise moment that Jaguar D. Saul lumbered onto the edge of the training grounds, drawn by the sudden, terrifying pressure wave rolling through the roots. His kindly face was etched with concern. "By the roots! What in Hel's name is—?" His booming voice, usually capable of shaking rafters, was utterly swallowed by the silent, crackling intensity of the Haki clash and the rapt, breathless anticipation of the onlookers. No one turned. No one heard him. Every eye was glued to the two figures radiating power like miniature suns about to collide.
Shanks was no longer leaning back. He was perched on the very edge of his boulder, elbows on his knees, his grin wide and predatory, his own Haki subtly resonating with the spectacle. Ben Beckman had discarded his cigarillo, his analytical gaze fixed with laser intensity, absorbing every nuance of the unleashed power. Yasopp was frantically erasing his previous odds and scribbling new ones, hands trembling slightly. Limejuice and Bonk Punch were rigid, eyes wide. Monster vibrated with suppressed energy. Building Snake had clenched his fists. Hongo held his medical kit ready, his usual calm replaced by focused tension. Gab's fingers hovered frozen over his lute strings. Lucky Roux had forgotten his sausage. Colon was bouncing on the balls of his feet, fists clenched, utterly mesmerized. Jelly had flattened into a shimmering blue puddle, whispering "BLOOP! SCARY SHINY!"
The air hummed with unreleased power. The earth trembled faintly. Marya and Gaban, eyes blazing, Haki radiating like visible auras, stared each other down across the cracked ground. The playful spar was dead. What remained was a clash of titanic wills and blades, poised to ignite.