Within the walls of Cross Guild, Dracule Mihawk's piercing yellow eyes sweep over an ornate collection of swords, emblems of past victories. His deep red coat billows in the torchlight, the large plume in his hat softly swaying with his movements.

He touches the hilt of Yoru, his legendary black blade, and a pang of longing for worthy adversaries stirs within him. Resting in his chair, Mihawk sips a glass of blood-red wine, the taste fueling thoughts of destiny and conquest.