Chapter Six: Three Legendary Blades?

Over the next few days, Camus felled several large trees and built a small wooden cabin at the edge of the forest. The cabin’s frame was supported by four massive trees, making it exceptionally sturdy. Aside from a main hall, there was only a single bedroom, and naturally, Robin shared it with the protagonist. Though Camus harbored some amorous thoughts at night, his body simply wasn’t up to the task, leaving him more than a little frustrated.

Camus’s training regime had become increasingly intense. Each morning was devoted to honing his Devil Fruit abilities, while the afternoons focused on physical strength and the Six Powers technique. He would also dive into the water to temper his resistance to the Fruit’s side effects. At night, he sat in meditation, cultivating the Dragon Phoenix Divine Art. Camus had already passed on the Art’s incantations to Robin, but for now, he could only access the first three stages of the first layer. The tome consisted of twelve layers, each with nine stages. Camus estimated that once he mastered the first layer, his strength would surpass even Whitebeard’s by at least tenfold.

Through cultivating the Divine Art, both Camus and Robin sensed their Fruit powers growing, albeit slowly. Robin’s progress was almost imperceptible, but she could feel it nonetheless. Camus, however, made particularly rapid progress; after six months, he advanced to the second layer, and his Fruit powers grew ever stronger. He guessed that upon fully mastering the second layer, his control over his powers would reach the “Mastery” level.

The three Admirals themselves had only pushed their Fruit powers to the third stage, “Mastery,” and further refined their techniques through rigorous physical training. Their combination of advanced Fruit abilities and martial prowess was formidable, especially as their Fruits were among the most powerful Logia types. This was not to downplay their strength—in this world, they stood at the very pinnacle, save for those few reclusive titans of legend.

After advancing to the second layer of the Divine Art, Camus began venturing out into the Grand Line, acting as a bounty hunter. As long as he didn’t encounter the likes of the Seven Warlords, he was virtually unmatched. During each operation, Camus wore a mask. After half a year of bloody practice, his combat experience deepened tremendously, and stories began to circulate throughout the West Blue of a masked bounty hunter. The rumors spoke of a boy, no older than ten, whose face was hidden but whose violet hair was unmistakable. Whenever he struck at pirates, he wielded the power of lightning, leading many to suspect the user of the Rumble-Rumble Fruit.

Oharra, being a haven for scholars, was rarely visited by the Navy, so Camus’s presence on the island remained unnoticed. Half a year in the role of bounty hunter had brought him hundreds of millions in bounty rewards. Since Robin was still there, Camus avoided unnecessary risks, targeting only minor pirates worth a few million, with the occasional score in the tens of millions. The Navy had taken note of him, but since he only visited the West Blue’s naval branch to cash in his rewards, he hadn’t drawn much attention.

Robin’s daily life was similarly uneventful. By day, she sat with a book taken from the Tree of Knowledge, quietly observing Camus’s training; by night, she practiced the Dragon Phoenix Divine Art alongside him in meditation. Life was peaceful.

Some time ago, Camus had visited that so-called world’s greatest library, and even managed to sneak a look at the historical poneglyph. He didn’t interfere further, but did become acquainted with the chief official who always looked after Robin. The first time Camus laid eyes on the official, with that peculiar white ring around his head, he nearly burst out laughing.

Over the course of a year, Camus and Robin grew ever closer. They’d already seen all there was to see—save that final step. Each time he gazed upon Robin’s body, Camus could only sigh inwardly.

Today, Camus decided to take a break from training to purchase a weapon. Though he still had a celestial sword in his ring, he judged it best not to use it until his Divine Art reached the second layer.

Strolling through Oharra’s streets, Camus could sense the townsfolk’s sidelong glances. He immediately understood it was because of Robin; anyone associated with the “Demon” would be regarded with suspicion. After Camus had once displayed the powers of the Rumble-Rumble Fruit, the locals had begun to classify him as a monster as well, leaving him resigned to his fate.

At the end of the main road stood a blacksmith’s shop. Every eye in the place turned to him, wondering what business a boy of seven or eight could possibly have there.

He surveyed the weapons on display—there were all kinds, but most were blades. Camus shook his head in disappointment; these weapons were simply too inferior. While they would serve any ordinary person well, they failed to pique his interest. At minimum, he wanted something on the level of Hawkeye’s black blade, one of the fabled Twelve Supreme Grade Swords.

The shopkeeper, curious about this little visitor who had found nothing to his liking, finally spoke up, “What kind of weapon are you looking for, young man?”

The term “young man” made Camus shudder inside. He may have looked seven or eight, but his mind was well over twenty. Glancing at his current body, he knew he’d grow into a strikingly handsome man, but he couldn’t help wishing time would pass a bit faster.

“Do you have any swords on the level of the Supreme Grade Twelve or the Great Grade Twenty-One?” Camus asked, utterly serious.

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened in surprise. How could such a young child know of those legendary swords? Still, he answered, “Those kinds of blades are all in the hands of the world’s strongest. At best, we have a single Great Grade Twenty-One here.”

“Let me see it,” Camus replied, slightly disappointed there was only one, but he quickly reconciled himself—Oharra was a gathering place for the world’s greatest minds, not its strongest fighters.

“Come this way. The sword is in the back.” The shopkeeper led the way, and Camus followed.

The weapons in the back room were indeed of much higher quality, though none seemed to be the legendary swords. However, two blades on the left-hand shelf immediately caught Camus’s eye. Despite his small stature, he picked one up, the size comically mismatched to his body.

It was a long blade with a hilt about a foot long and a scabbard nearly five feet in length, entirely black with a purple sheen—ancient and unadorned. It weighed just under ten kilograms, but Camus could feel its distinct aura.

At that moment, the shopkeeper returned, holding a wooden box. Seeing Camus with the black-purple blade, he said, “That sword’s been sitting there a long time. Looks good, but nobody’s ever bought it—it’s not even sharpened.”

Camus said nothing, putting the sword back and turning his attention to the shopkeeper’s box.

The shopkeeper produced a sword from the box. The blade was entirely silver-white, the hilt barely half a foot long, the scabbard just over two. It resembled a dagger more than a sword.

“This blade is called Heavenly Snow, the most unique among the Great Grade Twenty-One swords. It’s extremely short. Thirty million beli.”

Camus was fairly satisfied with this sword. Its small size would make it perfect for slicing fruit, he mused.

“I’ll take this one, and those two long blades as well,” Camus said, pointing to the black-purple sword and a blue one on the shelf. He wasn’t sure if they were Supreme Grade blades, but the more he inspected them, the more certain he became.

“Those two are five million each. That’s forty million in total,” the shopkeeper replied, eyeing Camus with amusement, curious to see if the boy could actually pay.

Without hesitation, Camus reached into his pocket. In a flash of violet light undetectable to the shopkeeper, a money pouch appeared in his hand. He produced forty million beli, much to the shopkeeper’s shock. Even after paying, the pouch seemed barely diminished. Camus took the swords and left without another word.

As he walked down the street, Camus grew ever more certain about the two nondescript long blades he had just acquired.