Chapter Thirty-Two: Frozen Isle!

The sky was a boundless expanse of blue, not a single cloud in sight. In the sky a thousand meters high, Camio darted forward swiftly. He had been flying for quite a while since leaving that sea, but still, not a single island appeared on the horizon. As for Jolia and the others, Camio didn't bother searching for them again; he chose to let them fend for themselves. Depending on others forever simply wasn't an option.

From time to time, Camio spread his spiritual sense outward. Without doing so, he might truly find nothing at all. Soon, his perception picked up on an island several hundred kilometers ahead, but something felt odd the moment his sense touched it. That island seemed terribly cold, and yet the sun was shining brilliantly. The entire place gave Camio the impression of winter. He shook his head slightly; the logic of this world was beyond comprehension, best not to dwell on it. If every island was unique, uncovering their mysteries would take far too long—and he hadn't come here to study geography.

Focusing on his target, Camio shot forward at a violent speed. While moving as a pure element was indeed fast, he preferred to use his own true energy for flight. Expending and then restoring his energy while traveling allowed him to slightly increase his reserves. It was only a marginal improvement, but every bit counted.

The faint sonic booms in the air revealed just how terrifying his speed was—his figure was almost invisible. This was the kind of speed that truly thrilled him. Though he had not yet reached his limit, the sensation was exhilarating. Feeling the pressure of the air ahead, Camio paid it no mind and continued toward the island.

He hadn't prepared anything like a permanent log pose, simply traveling in a straight line. This, however, was a bit of a mistake; the islands in this world were all scattered in different directions, and without a log pose, flying straight was a clumsy approach. For pirate crews, this would be deadly. But it didn't matter to Camio—he could fly, and his spiritual sense could detect islands.

A thousand meters above the sea, a purple figure stood suspended in the sky—none other than Camio himself.

He extended his hand. A few strands of snow drifted onto his palm. Looking back at the distant, sunlit sky, and then ahead to the snowy white island tens of kilometers away, he noted that above the island was a thick layer of dark clouds, which seemed never to have dispersed in decades. Camio could only marvel at the wonders of this world.

Shaking his head, he pushed his questions aside and sped toward the beautiful-looking island.

In just a few breaths, he arrived at the snow-covered island. There seemed to be few humans here, only a single small town. The island was about ten kilometers across, and in the center, a straight mountain peak rose high, its summit vanishing into the black clouds above. Who knew what might be up there...

The houses in the town looked particularly solid, though not very tall—perhaps to withstand storms. Their conical roofs were pure black, a striking contrast to the snow-white world around them.

At the nearby harbor, a purple silhouette appeared out of nowhere—it was Camio. "Purple Emperor" was already sheathed at his waist. Though he wasn’t afraid of trouble, he also didn’t want to be pestered.

The dock was not frozen; the seawater seemed to be moving, likely due to a large ocean current, and a layer of mist drifted over the water’s surface.

A few burly men nearby frowned upon seeing Camio appear so suddenly. They could tell this man was no ordinary visitor—a precious-looking purple longsword hung at his left waist, and he wore only a lightweight purple robe, seemingly unbothered by the cold.

Camio glanced at the men hauling fish. There didn’t appear to be any pirates here—just local villagers. Perhaps the island was simply too cold for pirates to care for it.

He strolled over at a measured pace, prompting the men to grow wary.

With a sigh, Camio spoke, “Sorry to trouble you. My name is Elros D. Camio, but you can just call me Camio. What’s the name of this island? I seem to have lost my way.” He finished with a slight smile.

Hearing Camio’s words, the man called Lance relaxed a little and eased his grip, as did the others, who no longer regarded Camio so cautiously.

Camio breathed a quiet sigh of relief. If they’d met him with cold indifference or weapons, he would have had no choice but to leave.

Lance looked at the youth before him, who seemed at most seventeen or eighteen. He felt unsettled—this young man seemed to be alone, and there was no ship in sight. How had he crossed the sea? And wearing so little, completely unaffected by the cold—this boy was truly frightening.

After a moment’s thought, Lance said, “My name is Lance. I’m the combat leader here. This is Icebound Island, located in a remote part of the New World. Pirates rarely come here. We’re amazed you managed to find your way here.”

Camio chuckled awkwardly, “Well, I don’t have a permanent log pose or anything like that. I’m new to the New World and just wanted to look around. I came here out of curiosity and ended up wandering onto this island.”

Lance burst out laughing. “You’re impressive, indeed! Come, be my guest at home. We just caught some fresh fish. I’ll prepare a local specialty for you to try. It’s been ages since we’ve had an outsider visit.” He didn’t press for more details.

Camio smiled, “Alright! After wandering all this time, I am a bit hungry. You people are really hospitable.”

After saying goodbye to the others, Lance led Camio home, carrying several enormous fish, each several meters long and weighing several tons. The fish were pure white, exuding a chilly aura—Camio grew interested in what would be for dinner.

After a few minutes walking through the streets, they arrived at a larger house. The black roof and snow-white walls highlighted the island’s unique style.

Lance gestured for Camio to wait outside while he dragged the white fish around back, presumably to a storeroom.

After a while, Lance returned, opened the door, and invited Camio in.

Inside, a woman in her thirties appeared—not particularly beautiful, but she seemed well-matched to Lance. Behind her, a little girl of six or seven peeked curiously at Camio, her big eyes full of wonder. She’d likely never met a stranger before.

Lance introduced them, “This is my wife, Lis, and my daughter, Lanling. Lis, this is Mr. Camio—he lost his way and ended up here. Please prepare some fish for our guest; I’ve already cleaned it.”

Camio smiled gently, “Miss Lis, sorry to trouble you.”

“No trouble at all. You chat with Lance while I prepare dinner.” Lis looked at Camio with surprise—it was rare for a stranger to wander onto the island. She took Lanling’s hand and headed to the back room, which seemed to be the kitchen and was likely connected to the storeroom.

“Come, brother Camio, have a drink to warm yourself,” Lance said, taking off his coat and fetching a bottle of white liquor from the nearby shelf. He invited Camio to sit at the table.

Camio sat down opposite Lance without hesitation.

“So, Camio, how did you get here? I didn’t see a ship,” Lance asked, pouring two glasses of liquor and offering one to Camio.

“I flew here,” Camio replied, not bothering to elaborate.

Lance nodded, accepting the answer. He knew there were many people in the New World who could fly.

“Ah, so you have a Devil Fruit ability then! The power of flight is quite something,” Lance said, not pressing further since Camio seemed unwilling to explain. Asking more would only be awkward.

“I am curious, though—why is this island so cold? It seems to be like this all the time,” Camio asked, voicing the question that anyone would have.

Lance glanced at Camio, a trace of helplessness and fear in his eyes, making Camio even more curious about this place.

“Ah, that goes back more than ten years. Our island was once warm, but the arrival of a certain bird shattered our peace. The cold climate started with that bird’s coming,” Lance sighed, his tone full of resignation.

“A bird? What kind of bird could change the weather?” Camio was intrigued and eager to see it.

“More than a decade ago, a giant bird—dozens of meters long—flew here from the depths of the New World. I remember it was pure white, with blue and purple stripes. The bird landed on the mountain peak and never left. Every day, cold air radiates from its body into the sky. It’s been on that mountain for years, never moving. We don’t dare provoke it, and in any case, we can’t reach it,” Lance explained, his eyes filled with helplessness.

A white giant bird, capable of affecting the climate for hundreds of kilometers around—it must be incredibly powerful.

Now Camio was truly interested and decided he would visit the peak the next day.

Soon, Lance’s wife brought the meal to the table. After eating, Camio had to admit it was excellent—almost on par with Robin’s cooking.

That night, he rested in a small room next door. The following morning, Camio set off for the mountain peak.

Lance tried to stop him, but there was no way he could. Only when Camio promised not to take any risks—if things went badly, he’d just run away—did Lance reluctantly allow him to go. In truth, Lance hoped the bird would leave.

Camio waved goodbye to Lance and vanished before his eyes.

"Shave"—that technique was truly useful.

Now above the clouds, Camio gazed at the nearby mountain and let his spiritual sense spread out.

“This is...”

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