Chapter Ten: Arrival at Rogue Town

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Looking at Whitebeard, the man who would one day be the strongest in the world, Camio let a faint smile curl at his lips. Hmph! The strongest, you say? Perhaps, if I hadn’t come to this world. But now that I’m here, the title of the strongest will surely be mine.

“Let’s go see the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger. After all, he once saved my life—maybe there’s a chance to rescue Uncle Roger.” Of course, Camio was only half-serious. Gol D. Roger was the key that unlocked the new era of piracy. Without the Pirate King’s death and his final words, the new era would never have dawned. If Roger were to be saved, what would become of Camio’s own future?

Whitebeard looked at this youth, who looked no more than ten or so, and was inwardly shocked. Rescue that guy?

“You? Just a brat like you? You’re nowhere near strong enough. At best, you rival a Navy admiral, let alone the even more formidable Fleet Admiral Kong, and that bastard Garp. If you went, it’d be suicide,” Whitebeard said, unable to resist lecturing the brash young man before him.

Camio felt stifled. Was it necessary to say all that? And being called a brat over and over again was grating.

“Ah, weren’t you planning to rescue Roger? I was going to join you—after all, there’s strength in numbers!” Camio feigned confusion, though he was genuinely puzzled. In the original story, there was no mention of Whitebeard personally attending Roger’s execution. Could it be that they really intended to rescue Roger? If he joined in, maybe they could actually pull it off. Camio was clearly overestimating himself...

“Haha, save that bastard? Why would I go out of my way to rescue Roger? He turned himself in. What would I save him for? Besides, he’s about to kick the bucket anyway,” Whitebeard suddenly burst into hearty laughter.

Camio watched as Whitebeard called the Pirate King a bastard more than once, and couldn’t help but draw a mental black line at Whitebeard’s exaggerated laughter.

Suddenly, Camio noticed that Whitebeard’s eyes weren’t as joyful as they seemed, but rather tinged with gloom.

A moment’s thought made it clear: these two were the most formidable pirates of the Grand Line, rivals who had fought each other countless times and become old acquaintances. Despite Roger’s claim to the title of Pirate King, their long-standing relationship was undeniable. Now that Roger was about to be executed, it was only natural that Whitebeard would not be in high spirits.

“Then why are you going? Do you want the Navy to capture you as well?” Camio asked, his curiosity piqued now that he knew Whitebeard wasn’t there to rescue Roger.

Whitebeard glanced at Camio, his eyes suddenly glinting with an inscrutable light that made Camio’s heart race.

Standing up abruptly, Whitebeard’s presence surged as he declared, “Haha, I’m going to witness the dawn of a new era. The future belongs to you youngsters.” With that, he sat back down, seized his giant sake gourd, and took several hearty swigs.

Listening to Whitebeard’s words, Camio felt a rush of excitement. Though disappointed that there would be no high-level battle to witness, the chance to see the beginning of a new era was thrilling in its own right.

“You said Roger once saved you?” Whitebeard finally remembered what Camio had mentioned earlier.

“Yes, it was a year ago,” Camio replied softly, gazing up at the sky.

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The meaning of the D... He still hadn’t found it. Perhaps it lay at the very end.

“Oh,” Whitebeard said, realizing Camio didn’t wish to say more and dropping the subject.

Camio stayed aboard Whitebeard’s ship for five days; Loguetown was now close at hand.

“Pops, we’re almost at Loguetown,” one of Whitebeard’s division commanders called out.

Whitebeard hadn’t brought many with him this time—just the commanders of the first few divisions and the ship’s crew.

Rubbing his eyes, Camio emerged from the cabin and looked at the distant town, still quite small. Yet dozens of Navy warships circled it, making it clear entry was impossible. From afar, several pirate ships were also visible.

“So many Navy warships. Drop anchor as we get a bit closer,” Whitebeard instructed the first mate.

Soon, the ship was anchored a kilometer from the Navy blockade.

“Hey, isn’t that Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger? Why is Whitebeard here too?” By now, someone aboard one of the Navy warships had spotted Whitebeard’s ship, and news was quickly reported to the officers—after all, Whitebeard was a notorious pirate.

“Hey, kid, I’m not going any further. If I set foot there, it’d cause a sensation. And don’t try to rescue Roger—you’ll understand why soon enough.” Whitebeard lounged in his great chair as he spoke to Camio.

It seemed Whitebeard already knew why Roger had turned himself in—perhaps they’d been in contact.

“Alright, I’ll go check things out. The crew from Roger’s ship is probably there too,” Camio said, gazing toward Loguetown.

“Be careful. The future really does belong to your generation,” Whitebeard said with a smile.

“Goodbye, and thanks for your hospitality these past few days. Let’s meet again if fate allows,” Camio replied, not lingering any longer. With a flash of electricity, he vanished from Whitebeard’s ship.

“Eros D. Camio, eh? The future will indeed be yours... Roger!” Whitebeard gazed out over the sea and spoke softly, raising his gourd and drinking in great gulps.

Meanwhile, Camio appeared on the streets of Loguetown, having transformed and materialized in a deserted alley.

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By now, Loguetown was bustling with new arrivals. Most of the people walking the streets were clearly pirates. Camio curled his lip at the sight—the pirates had no manners, strutting about with blades at their sides. Yet the Navy made no moves to search them; it seemed they feared provoking a riot.

Camio walked the very road Roger would take the next day, eyeing the occasional passing Navy marine with disdain.

Soon, he reached the entrance of Loguetown’s largest tavern, which was packed to the brim. He sighed in frustration—then suddenly spotted a straw-hatted boy drinking at a table inside, surrounded by several others. It was none other than Shanks and a few members of Roger’s crew.

Seeing their gloomy faces, Camio shook his head, then instantly teleported over in elemental form.

“Shanks,” Camio said, appearing behind the red-haired youth and patting him on the shoulder.

“Huh? Who’s there?” The future Yonko, the still-young Red-Haired Shanks, turned a tired face toward Camio.

Judging by their expressions, it was clear how they’d spent the last few days—drinking nonstop, most likely.

At that moment, an older man dozing nearby also noticed Camio. “Hey! Isn’t that Camio? I’ve heard you’re quite famous in the West Blue these days.”

“Uncle Rayleigh, you’re here too? Why don’t you keep an eye on them?” Camio said, pointing at the slumped figures.

“Ah, Roger... After you left a year ago, the crew disbanded. Now he’s turned himself in—I can’t imagine what he’s thinking,” Rayleigh replied, sounding deeply troubled.

It seemed Rayleigh had guessed Roger’s true intentions and had kept the others from attempting a jailbreak. Camio could only shake his head in resignation, grabbing a bottle of liquor and joining them at the table.

“Tomorrow, we’ll know what’s going on. Uncle Roger must have his reasons—tomorrow, it will all become clear,” Camio said, taking a swig, only to cough as the strong drink burned his throat.

Rayleigh gazed at the distant sky and murmured, “Roger, you disbanded the crew, and yet everyone has come. Let tomorrow come quickly, so we can finally understand what you meant to do.”

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