Loguetown, East Blue.
A stiflingly hot afternoon.
The sea breeze seemed to have been boiled by the intense heat, as it swept through the streets of this 'Town of the Beginning and the End'.
In this oppressive heat, the tavern, like a forgotten corner, appeared particularly dilapidated and quiet.
As a figure pushed open the door and stepped inside, the hinges groaned under the strain.
Compared to the outside, the tavern was cool and dimly lit, with only a few rays of sunlight struggling to squeeze through the gaps in the wooden windows.
Tomioka Giyu, the Water Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps from another world, walked to the bar and sat down.
His black uniform underneath was somewhat tattered, especially his right sleeve, which hung empty. A haori with different patterns on the left and right was worn over it; although it had been washed, some mended traces and stubborn dark stains were still visible.
His features were refined and stern, and he had long black hair tied up.
Most striking were his eyes, deep blue like a fathomless pool, serene and cold, carrying a vigilance that seemed out of place with his surroundings.
Behind the bar, an old owner with a face etched by years was leisurely wiping a glass. He looked up at the new customer.
"Owner," Tomioka's voice was steady but cold and flat as he asked, "I'd like to inquire about something."
He described a country to the owner with many mountains, distinct seasons, snow-capped peaks, and hot springs.
The owner's hand, wiping the glass, paused, then he slowly shook his head: "Never heard of it."
It was that answer again.
Tomioka realized he had been in this place for several days. Not long ago, he had just finished that horrific battle.
It was a brutal duel with Kibutsuji Muzan. He had lost many of his friends, and his right arm had been left in that battle, but fortunately, the demon Muzan, who had plagued people for a thousand years, finally died under the sunlight.
The night before Tomioka Giyu arrived in this world, he had made a batch of ohagi himself. Although it wasn't perfect yet, he planned to give it to Shinazugawa when he woke up the next day.
However, when Tomioka woke up and opened his eyes again, he was on the shore of this completely unfamiliar place.
From initial vigilance and observation to asking passersby, he learned that this place was called Loguetown, located in the East Blue.
But whether it was the famous Yoshiwara or the Mugen Train, people here all said they had never heard of them.
And there wasn't a trace of a demon's stench in the air. From his initial assumption that the current situation was caused by a Blood Demon Art, Tomioka now felt:
Perhaps this was the world after death, and this unfamiliar environment was one of his trials.
The owner put down the glass, raised his eyelids, and carefully scrutinized him. Based on his years of experience, he speculated: "Boy, judging by your attire, your katana, and your aura... you look somewhat like the rumored samurai. You're not from the East Blue, are you?"
"...Samurai?" Tomioka caught the familiar word.
"I've heard that there's a country on the Grand Line, a place that doesn't welcome outsiders, and even the World Government can't enter. But they say everyone there is a samurai like you." The owner wiped a glass. "Perhaps you'll find clues about the place you're looking for there."
"...Grand Line?" This was the only new clue Tomioka had heard in Loguetown.
The owner chuckled softly, his eyes revealing complex emotions, including awe and longing.
"That's the ocean that encircles the world, a place where dreams and graves intertwine."
As he spoke, his gaze drifted to a round table in the corner of the tavern. Tomioka followed his gaze.
Right in the center of that table, a pale skull was prominently displayed, its empty eye sockets staring directly at him.
"See that?" The owner pointed. "That fellow, when he was alive, was a ruthless character known as the 'Giant Killer'. But do you know how he died?"
The owner paused, his tone flat but carrying immense impact.
"Gol D. Roger, cut him in two with a single stroke. As simple as slicing cheese. The sea you wish to go to is where such monsters are born."
Listening to the owner behind the bar recount the tale, a few lines of text quietly appeared in Tomioka's vision, locked onto the owner:
[Interpersonal Communication Guide (Trial Version)]
[Subject: Tavern Owner]
[Status: Reminiscing]
[Preference: Talking about Roger]
[Suggestion: Continue to inquire]
This interface had been following Tomioka like a shadow since he woke up a few days ago.
He initially judged the appearance of these texts as interference from some kind of hallucination, but no matter how many times he used his Breathing Technique to concentrate, he couldn't interfere with them, and he could only reluctantly accept the existence of this guide.
Looking at the floating text, such information had also appeared next to other people in the past few days, seemingly allowing him to see the other person's emotional state and some other information.
Tomioka looked at the "Continue to inquire" suggestion and remained silent for a moment.
In the past few days, the suggestions given by this inexplicable guide sometimes worked, and sometimes they didn't.
But for Tomioka, he still embraced a learning attitude to accept this guide that was beneficial for "interpersonal communication."
At this moment, Tomioka couldn't think of any other suitable approach, so he accepted the suggestion and asked, "Where is this person now?"
Upon hearing Tomioka's question, the owner fell into thought for a moment, then replied faintly, "Him... He's no longer here..."
After speaking, he silently picked up two glasses with a few drops of milk on the table and began to wipe them.
Seeing the owner's silence, Tomioka was momentarily at a loss for words.
'...Ineffective suggestion.'
Then Tomioka remembered the Grand Line mentioned earlier and chose to break the silence, asking how to get there.
The owner looked up at Tomioka, his tone becoming serious: "That sea, mere strength isn't enough; you also need... well... many things, like luck."
Then he pulled a 100-Berries coin from his pocket and flicked it lightly with his thumb.
The coin spun rapidly in the air, tracing a dazzling arc and emitting a faint hum.
"Guess, heads or tails?" The owner's voice carried a hint of playfulness; he wanted to see what kind of reaction this somber fellow would have.
Tomioka did not answer.
He just silently watched the spinning coin, as if it were an object unrelated to him, his eyes showing no fluctuation.
"Clink—"
The coin landed on the wooden bar, bounced a few times, and finally came to a complete stop.
The side facing up was marked with a skull symbol—heads.
Only then did Tomioka calmly speak:
"Heads."
The owner was stunned for a moment, looked at the coin, then looked at the samurai in front of him who seemed to be entirely serious.
Immediately, he let out a booming laugh: "Hahahahaha! Interesting! You... are you serious!" Once he had laughed enough, he pointed towards the door and said, "Just before you, there was another interesting person here, a Mugiwara kid."
A flicker of recollection and appreciation passed through the owner's eyes, "Although he seemed like a clueless idiot, he had that... well... that kind of light that makes people can't help but believe in him."
"That guy just left, heading towards the execution platform square. If you plan to go to the Grand Line, you can try to find him and go together. That guy, I believe he'll definitely make it in."
Samurai, Grand Line, closed country, Mugiwara. Although the information was a bit jumbled, for Tomioka, this was the only concrete direction he had received in days.
Tomioka stood up, took a few silver coins from his inner clothing, and placed them on the table: "Thank you."
These were among the few coins he had left, but fortunately, silver coins were still usable for transactions in this place.
He pushed open the creaking wooden door of the tavern, and just a few steps out, a tall, burly, and immensely imposing figure walked toward him, almost blocking all the light.
Short white hair, a thick jacket with "Justice" emblazoned on the back, two cigars clenched in his mouth, and sharp eyes. He exuded an aura of battle-hardened resolve and the authority of a superior.
Tomioka's steps did not falter in the slightest; his body naturally entered a certain state, like an undercurrent surging beneath a calm lake.
His one-armed fingertips rested lightly on the tsuba of his katana, a posture that was both offensive and defensive, and best suited for unexpected situations.
His gaze calmly swept over the other person, observing his build, his stride, and the aura he exuded.
He's not a simple opponent; he feels different from the soldiers he encountered on the street earlier.
This was his most direct assessment.
Smoker, Tomioka had seen this image in newspapers distributed on the street. He was the Marine Captain assigned to govern this town. It was said that after he arrived, public order completely changed, becoming much better than before.
But Smoker's steps slowed slightly. His cold gaze fell on Tomioka—the empty sleeve, the weather-worn foreign haori, the katana that was clearly no ordinary blade.
And most importantly, the man in front of him possessed an aura as calm as the sea yet unfathomably deep.
This kind of aura, he had only seen on truly ruthless characters who had crawled back from hell.
Their gazes briefly met in the air; there were no sparks, yet it felt as if invisible weights were colliding.
Smoker let out an unidentifiable grunt from his nose, breaking the silence first, his voice deep and carrying an undeniable authority:
"Hmph, a new swordsman..." His gaze lingered for a moment on Tomioka's severed arm. "And carrying some impressive injuries. Loguetown is under my jurisdiction now. Suspicious fellows like you, stay out of trouble, don't go looking for it."
Tomioka did not respond to the warning, merely stating in his emotionless voice:
"I am just asking for directions."
Smoker stared at him for two seconds, seemingly trying to find something on Tomioka's face, but in the end, he only grunted again.
"It better be that way."
Smoker wasted no more time, strode past Tomioka, and walked straight into the tavern.
"I didn't expect anyone to still frequent your tavern these days, old man, hahahahahahahahaha."
"What are you talking about? You, who wants to ruin this place, talk less nonsense."
Tomioka did not look back, his fingertips slowly dropping from the tsuba.
He reconfirmed his direction—the execution platform square—then stepped into the stifling air of Loguetown.
I'm going to upload 15,000 words quickly , and after that, I'll update one chapter every day.
[Power Stones Required]
[1830 words]