Chapter Twenty-Seven: Experiences on Fishman Island

Fishman Island was vast in size. Directly ahead of the island, a fierce current surged from the left side, thundering toward a massive cavern on the right, where it disappeared from sight. The sky above the entire island was just like the world outside; the ceiling of rock seemed to be coated with a layer of phosphorescence, illuminating the island for dozens of miles in every direction. In the distance, the island merged with bright, towering walls. To call it an “island” was perhaps not quite accurate; it was more of a peninsula.

Gazing at the luminous sky above, Camus could only marvel at how this world defied all conventional logic.

Before long, thanks to the crew’s efforts, the Grizzly was nearing shore. In the distance, some fishmen and humans could already be seen. All the fishmen watched the approaching pirate ship with wary eyes.

Only then did Camus recall that some pirates liked to capture and sell fishmen, which made the fishmen deeply suspicious of humans. The Navy also maintained a branch here, and had surely noticed the ship as soon as it surfaced—after all, the area was not that large, no more than several dozen kilometers across.

The distant naval officers made no move, merely glancing at the pirate flag. This was, after all, a gateway to the New World, and every few weeks, another pirate ship would pass through. If they knew that the man who had dared to kill a Celestial Dragon and openly oppose the Navy was aboard this ship, things would surely not remain so calm.

Though located within the Red Line, this place still had ways to communicate intelligence to the surface. Bounties for major pirates could be seen here, too. It was a prime spot for gathering information, being so close to the New World. Many fishmen had ventured there, and knew far more about it than those pirates who roamed only the first half of the Grand Line.

Jolia’s pirate ship drew little attention—after all, a crew of just over a dozen seemed insignificant. Upon seeing the crew, the fishmen on shore relaxed; a small pirate group couldn’t stir up trouble here.

Unnoticed by Camus, a fishman in the distance trembled the moment he saw him, then turned and ran toward the heart of Fishman Village.

“Jolia, be kind to the fishmen here,” Camus said, standing at the rail and addressing the curious, observant captain. “After all, this is their territory, and fishmen aren’t fond of humans.”

Jolia nodded in agreement and went off to warn the crew. This was just a stopover to resupply for the New World—they’d soon be gone. There was no need, and indeed no way, to make trouble here. Fishmen were a powerful race, far stronger than humans by nature, and this was their stronghold. It was clear who would have the upper hand in any conflict.

Jolia went off to make purchases, leaving Camus to wander the streets of Fishman Village alone. He wasn’t worried about the crew—though pirates in the early days of the Great Age of Sail had recklessly hunted and trafficked fishmen, the Navy’s presence and the leadership of the fishman hero Tiger had given the village its own defensive strength. Now, Jinbe was already a master in his own right. While the fishmen’s resentment toward humans had not diminished, they no longer attacked humans on sight. Still, this was the only route pirates could take toward the New World, and so chaos was inevitable.

Camus could feel the tense atmosphere here; all the fishmen regarded humans with deep suspicion.

Ahead, there was a tavern. Camus strolled over, and as he entered, the fishmen and pirates resting inside all turned to look at him. Some of the pirates recognized Camus, a flicker of panic in their eyes. Only recently had they learned that a human powerhouse had appeared above, one who dared kill a Celestial Dragon and stand against the three admirals, who could do nothing to stop him. Comparing new bounty notices with those from eight years before, many realized that this was the same person—a fact that shocked them even more. Eight years ago, he could defeat Kizaru; now, having bested the three admirals, it seemed only natural.

Camus ignored them, heading straight for a barstool and ordering a bottle of red wine. The humans and fishmen nearby cast furtive glances at the legendary “Violet Emperor,” only to find that he had no interest in so much as looking at them. Disheartened, they turned away—after all, the strong paid no heed to the weak, with rare exceptions. A few pirates slipped quietly out; Camus noticed, guessing they were Navy spies, but paid it no mind. Even if the Navy came, he had nothing to fear—he’d simply kill them if they dared.

Jolia stopped by the tavern about half an hour later, telling Camus they would depart by tomorrow afternoon. Camus nodded in acknowledgment, and Jolia returned to the ship. They had no intention of spending the night at the village inn, preferring to sleep aboard. They didn’t care where Camus stayed, only that he remembered to return the next afternoon.

Some time later, a commotion erupted outside. A group of fishmen entered, led by a nearly four-meter-tall, shark-like fishman. Camus couldn’t tell which breed of shark he was, but the male fishman radiated a strength that seemed even greater than that of the three admirals, almost reaching the level of Whitebeard himself.

The fishman glanced around, and when his gaze landed on Camus at the bar, his pupils narrowed sharply—he clearly recognized him. Though Camus appeared to be nothing more than a harmless, beautiful youth, this only proved how adept he was at concealing his power.

Tiger had heard that the “Violet Emperor,” who had recently made such waves above, had arrived here. Thinking it over, he guessed Camus must be heading for the New World. Though he had no real connection with Camus, he decided to meet him nonetheless. A human of such strength, an enemy of the World Government, could be a valuable acquaintance. It might even benefit the fishmen.

“So you’re the ‘Violet Emperor’—the one who dared kill a Celestial Dragon? You’re really young. I’m Tiger, a fishman from around here. We fishmen respect the strong, haha!” Tiger laughed heartily.

Camus was taken aback. He hadn’t expected this to be the very same Tiger who, some years later, would scale the Red Line by hand and free a thousand slaves from the Holy Land, among them the three Hancock sisters. No wonder he was so formidable.

No matter what, Tiger would one day go to rescue Hancock. Although Camus had freed Hancock ahead of time, that wouldn’t stop Tiger from climbing the Red Line three years from now. Tiger was a fishman worthy of respect! And, with Hancock destined to be his wife, Camus couldn’t ignore this connection.

“Heh, ‘Violet Emperor’ is too much. Just call me Camus,” he said with a slight smile. “Celestial Dragons deserve to die. If I get the chance, I’ll kill them all.” As he spoke, a murderous light flared in his eyes.

Tiger was shaken by the palpable killing intent in the eyes of this seemingly harmless young man. There was no doubting the sincerity of his words. Even the nearby pirates, hearing Camus speak so lightly of killing Celestial Dragons, were cowed by his presence.

“Heh, if I had the chance, I’d wipe out those bastards myself,” Tiger replied, wiping away non-existent sweat and forcing a smile. This youth was terrifying—surely even stronger than himself.

Camus gave a strange grin and whispered, “When I go to kill the Celestial Dragons, I’ll call you along.”

Tiger could only sweat in silence—it almost sounded as if they were about to attack Mary Geoise right then and there.

“When are you leaving?” Tiger asked, abandoning further pleasantries. Though Camus seemed harmless, a man so powerful that Tiger himself doubted he could defeat him was an unsettling presence on his own turf.

“Soon. We’ll be gone tomorrow afternoon—heading to the New World to look up some old friends,” Camus replied, lighting a cigarette. He hadn’t brought the Violet Emperor with him; it was stowed in his ring.

Tiger breathed a little easier; as long as Camus left quickly, there would be no trouble. If the Navy discovered his presence—and they probably already had—the vice admiral stationed here might get it into his head to pick a fight, which would only bring trouble to Fishman Village.

“Well then, if you’re not familiar with the New World, I can give you some pointers,” Tiger offered, hoping to build a rapport with such a formidable figure.

Camus waved him off, glancing at Tiger dismissively. “No need, I’ve already asked around. Actually, I’m quite looking forward to seeing the New World.” He raised his glass, sipped, and his expression clearly read: get lost; you’re in my way!

Tiger laughed awkwardly and could only take his leave. “Haha, I suppose I was overthinking it. Enjoy your stay—and be wary of the Navy. Headquarters may already know you’re here.”

“It doesn’t matter even if they do,” Camus said disdainfully. “What, are they going to chase me into the New World? If they come, I’ll just kill them.” If all three admirals came together, he might have some fun with them. Anyone else was hardly worth the trouble—except for that old bastard Garp, who didn’t count.

Tiger forced a smile and walked away, feeling oddly ill at ease, as if this place belonged to Camus rather than himself. He warned his subordinates not to provoke that lunatic, then headed back into the village.

Watching Tiger depart, Camus found things rather dull. Spreading out his spiritual sense, he scanned the area for anything of interest.

Ah! Wasn’t that a Poneglyph? He hadn’t expected to find one here as well. Though he’d never had much hope for this place, it was a surprise to discover a Poneglyph deep within the village, in a cavern beneath a church-like building. Clearly, the fishmen placed great value on that stone. He decided to take a look.

After glancing around to fix his target, Camus vanished instantly. Teleportation differed from Shave; it covered far greater distances—anywhere his spiritual sense reached. With Shave, the maximum distance he’d managed was about ten kilometers, within which he could move freely. For now, his spiritual sense could extend just over a thousand kilometers, which sounded impressive, but on the Grand Line, where islands were separated by great distances—sometimes thousands of kilometers—it was not much at all.

With a swish, Camus appeared in the grand hall within the church. The guards were all stationed outside; inside, there was no one.

He glanced around. The grand hall was magnificent, clearly renovated several times, but still bearing the marks of centuries past—at least several hundred years old. Camus checked outside—no one in sight—then headed toward the rear of the hall.

Behind it was a vast cavern, its entrance entirely concealed from outside view. No one would have guessed such a huge cavern existed here. Camus looked around, then walked inside.

The cave was deep and winding, and the farther he went, the brighter the light became. Camus examined the glowing rock walls with curiosity. The luminescence came from a type of mineral—very hard, though it couldn’t compare to Seastone. Taking out the Violet Emperor, he cut off a few pieces and put them in his ring—they’d make excellent lamps.

After half an hour, Camus reached the bottom. Emerging from the tunnel, he found himself in a massive, semicircular chamber hundreds of meters across. At its farthest point stood a structure like a great hall, roofless, where a massive square stone was set into the wall, only a few centimeters exposed but who knew how deep within it reached. The exposed face was covered with ancient script.

Camus approached the huge stone, looked up at it, and after a few minutes, shook his head and murmured, “The things recorded on this Poneglyph are truly fascinating. The letter D is mentioned again and again. Looks like whoever carved this Poneglyph had a D in their name, too. Clearly, the meaning of D is immense…” During his eighty years in the ring, Camus had learned to read the ancient texts.

Half-closing his eyes, Camus activated his Sharingan; his pupils turned red, three black tomoe rotating slowly. With utmost care, he copied down the entire Poneglyph. Later, he could use illusionary magic to bring Robin into the vision, recreating the experience as if she were present herself.

Robin had never mentioned seeking out the Poneglyphs, since the scholars of Ohara were still alive—and so was her mother—so Robin had never been burdened with the quest to uncover the lost century. Still, Camus had decided to find all the Poneglyphs. He himself was deeply interested in them.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the copying was complete. Surveying the chamber and finding nothing else of interest, he teleported away.

Now, all that remained was to wait for tomorrow afternoon and depart for the New World.

……

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