Chapter Forty-Seven: Departure!

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Without a sound, several men approached. Camus observed them carefully; they appeared to be burly men in their forties, though he suspected their true ages were greater. None of them were weak, and one in particular possessed strength nearly surpassing Whitebeard’s peak among the Four Emperors. Surprisingly, while few people inhabited this place, experts were plentiful. Evidently, centuries of peace had not lulled them into complacency—they were prepared for future dangers. If pirates from above ever discovered this place, and considering the advanced firearms here, those above would surely suffer.

The man at the front was clearly their leader and the strongest among them. He halted about ten meters from Camus, scrutinizing him with intense curiosity. They all wondered how this seemingly young man had arrived; in centuries, they had failed to find an exit to the world above, yet he had managed to discover it. It was, in their eyes, a blow. If they knew that the entrance was only a few kilometers wide, hidden high in the sky and indistinguishable from the surrounding scenery, their shock would have been immeasurable.

“Young man, greetings. My name is Monkey D. Kalan. I am the strongest here. As an outsider, shouldn’t you say something?” the leader introduced himself. Yet that name...

Camus was momentarily stunned when he heard it. He hadn’t expected that someone with the same surname as Garp would be here, and the strongest one at that. It seemed those bearing the name Monkey were never ordinary.

Casting a peculiar glance at this middle-aged man, Camus suppressed his thoughts and smiled slightly. “Elros D. Camus. You may call me Camus.”

“D? You have a D in your name as well. Are you perhaps a descendant of our D clan from above?” Kalan exclaimed in surprise, and the others behind him were equally astonished. It seemed the letter D held even greater significance here than above.

Camus felt a bit awkward. Anyone who crossed into this world and chose a name would surely include the letter D—without it, where was the dignity?

“That’s not for you to worry about. Since you know I’m an outsider, why are you so polite? Why not just capture me?” Camus took out a cigarette, and a deep blue, almost violet spark flickered on his fingertips. He lit it, exhaled several smoke rings, and spoke arrogantly.

The faces of the burly men stiffened. Seeing that electric spark, they distinctly sensed a destructive power. Camus’s words further darkened their expressions; they hadn’t expected such impudence from this young man. Did great strength entitle one to such arrogance here? If Kalan, their leader, gave the order to kill, Camus would be instantly riddled with bullets—hundreds of sharpshooters lay in ambush, their aim flawless.

Kalan was now extremely annoyed. Though Camus was an outsider, he was audaciously insolent. As their leader, if he failed to respond, how would the people regard him?

“Hmph! Boy, don’t be foolish. Though you’re a descendant of the D clan, you shouldn’t hope to leave here. Surrender quietly—you cannot escape.” Kalan spoke coldly. If the young man resisted, they were fully confident in capturing him. Though his precise strength was unknown, he was so young; even if he possessed a Devil Fruit, how much could he wield? They were confident in subduing him.

Had Kalan known Camus’s true power, he would not have spoken so boldly.

Camus curled his lip disdainfully. Suddenly, a purple light enveloped him, and he vanished from where he stood, appearing high above. The residents below were astounded, and the experts, too, were momentarily dazed; that power didn’t seem to be lightning.

“Let’s see how you capture me. Can you even catch up?” Camus hovered in the air, mocking.

Kalan’s brow furrowed deeply. He hadn’t expected Camus’s mastery of his Fruit powers to be so advanced. It seemed he’d have to exert himself.

“Where’s my sword?” Kalan suddenly turned to his followers. One immediately handed him an ancient blade. Camus frowned; this sword was at least on par with the Purple Emperor.

As Kalan took the sword, he suddenly transformed into a raging gale and vanished from Camus’s sight.

Camus was dumbfounded. He hadn’t expected the top-tier Gale Fruit to be here—a true surprise.

As Kalan disappeared, Camus instantly drew the Purple Emperor.

Clang!

Kalan’s blade, brimming with Conqueror’s Haki, appeared before Camus with lightning speed. Camus hurriedly raised his own blade to parry, and the two clashed furiously in midair dozens of times.

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Clang!...

The sound of blades colliding in the sky drew everyone’s attention. All eyes turned upward, mouths agape as they witnessed the two figures locked in fierce aerial combat.

The experts below remained outwardly calm, but inwardly, waves of shock surged. The young man was holding his own against Kalan, who possessed Conqueror’s Haki, mastered to its limit, and the Gale Fruit. Here, none could rival Kalan, yet their estimation of Camus’s strength had been gravely mistaken.

Clang!

The two separated, standing ten meters apart in the void. Kalan, facing Camus, breathed heavily—the intense exchange had left him strained, while Camus still smiled serenely.

“Young man, your power is extraordinary. Will you tell me your purpose? Why did you come here?” Kalan suppressed his breath, his gaze resolute. If Camus’s answer threatened this place, this sixty-year-old man would stake his life to slay him. If he failed, no one here could do anything to Camus.

Camus’s lips curled with a strange thought: If I say I just stumbled upon this place by accident, how would they react?

“Do you want the truth or a lie?” Camus smiled, his gaze enigmatic as he looked at Kalan.

Kalan frowned. What did Camus mean by that?

“Of course, the truth. Is your purpose truly impure?” Kalan’s tone was serious—this concerned the lives of tens of thousands. If the young man intended to conquer, he would have to fight.

It seemed this aging man was truly a good soul, Camus thought.

Camus glanced around, raised his brow, and said, “Follow me.” With that, he turned into a streak of purple light and shot toward the rooftop of a nearby building.

Those below were bewildered—the young man had fled. Was he not their leader’s equal? Cheers erupted.

Kalan glanced down, meeting the eyes of his burly companions. He nodded lightly and transformed into a breeze, pursuing Camus.

The others exchanged glances, unable to comprehend what was happening. They dispersed the cheering crowd, knowing from their keen eyes that the young man’s strength likely surpassed Kalan’s. Yet, why had the two departed together? They could only hope Kalan would return to tell the tale.

On the rooftop, Camus sat at the edge, a Red Double Happiness cigarette between his lips. He took two deep drags, savoring the nicotine, then exhaled smoke rings that faded into the air. (I have no intention of encouraging anyone to smoke...)

Soon, a gentle wind heralded Kalan’s arrival. He appeared at its center, frowning at the scoundrel enjoying himself.

“Speak. Just the two of us—what is your purpose? Tell me quickly.” Kalan was anxious; if Camus killed him here, he’d have no chance to escape. Below, at least, there were others of comparable strength.

Camus smiled, and the warmth of it made Kalan feel as if spring had arrived. Kalan’s expression shifted.

Camus shook his head slightly and fixed Kalan with a serious gaze. “Do you love this country?”

Kalan was shaken, never expecting such a question. His eyes flickered as he answered earnestly, “This is my homeland. Of course I love it. Don’t you love your own homeland?”

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Camus’s gaze grew dim. He had sorrows he could not speak—this world was not his home, and he wondered when he might return to Earth.

“Let’s discuss your question. I came here purely by accident. I don’t know if that answer satisfies you,” Camus said, his tone entirely serious.

Kalan was taken aback. Pure accident? Such powerful figures would not lie—yet he felt uncertain.

“How did you come here? What is the world outside like now?” Kalan asked, his eyes full of longing. They had been isolated for centuries, ignorant of the outside.

“Hmph, I won’t tell you about the outside, nor about the exit. After I leave, I hope never to see your people outside.” Camus’s tone was resolute, causing Kalan’s heart to tremble.

“I know we can’t confine you. I accept your terms. You may leave, but you must not bring outsiders in. If anyone from outside appears here, we will strive to find the exit and venture outward,” Kalan said seriously, his tone equally firm. As the supreme leader here, he could not lose face.

Camus gazed deeply at Kalan. “I don’t want to see your people outside. If I do, I may return and destroy this place entirely. Don’t look at me that way—I must be responsible for those outside. Don’t doubt my strength. If you ever get the chance, you can try.”

Kalan sighed softly. “I do not doubt your power. With a Logia Fruit, our weapons can’t kill you. The battle just now made clear the gulf between us. In my lifetime, I will not let anyone leave. After I die, what happens, I cannot say.”

“Let’s hope I never see your people outside. I’ll place a seal at the exit. If anyone leaves, I’ll sense it, and anyone who escapes will carry a trace of the seal’s power. That person will never escape my grasp. I won’t return what I’ve taken from you. Until fate brings us together again!” With these words, Camus’s spirit expanded, quickly locating the mental mark, and he vanished before Kalan’s eyes.

Kalan had intended to search for the exit after Camus left, but those words deterred him. More frightening was Camus’s method of departure. Ancient records spoke of teleportation, achievable only by those of immense strength who could sense the laws of heaven—yet it had occurred before his eyes. He realized he ought to call Camus “senior,” and felt a wave of regret for his earlier tone...

Camus paid them no more mind, heading straight to the exit. He gazed at this world in silence, his expression growing solemn. Bringing his hands together, after a blur of movements, he formed dozens of seals and intoned solemnly,

“Qiankun Array, Thousand Seals, arise!”

The space before him twisted, rippling like a droplet falling into a still lake, spreading out to cover the entire exit. The ripples faded quickly, leaving no trace.

The seal itself was not strong, but anyone who touched it would trigger Camus’s awareness. Anyone who left would carry a trace of the seal’s power, making them unable to escape Camus’s grasp.

The seal operated continuously, absorbing the world’s energy to maintain itself. There was no need to worry about it unraveling.

Camus adjusted his breath, his face cold and handsome. A flash of light appeared in his hand—the Spirit Snow Blade. He took a deep breath and shot out. Outside, countless powerful sharks awaited him...

...

This story ends here. These people will not appear again in the future.

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