Want to read ahead? ✨
Join my Patreon for just $7 and get early access to all upcoming chapters!
👉 Patreon.com/NegativeTranslations
───────────────────────────
Chapter 156: First Meeting with Imu
The streets of Foosha Village weren't wide, paved with bluestone slabs that had seen some years.
The afternoon sun was just right, stretching the shadows of pedestrians long.
It should have been noisy here.
The loud voices of pirates, the hawking of vendors, and the whistles from the distant port usually mixed into a noise called "life."
But at this moment, a strange vacuum appeared within this noise.
A slender figure was walking slowly in the center of the street.
There was no exaggerated pomp.
No armored guards clearing the way, no believers kneeling in worship, not even half a bit of so-called "Domineering Aura" released.
The figure wore a long robe with a hood. Their face was hidden in the shadows, revealing only a pale chin.
But wherever they passed, the crowd parted automatically.
Not because of fear, but due to a biological instinct.
Like ants instinctively scattering when facing a giant elephant's descending foot, without even the courage to look up.
Stray dogs by the roadside tucked their tails and whimpered as they drilled deep into the alleys.
The cicadas in the trees stopped chirping abruptly.
" esteemed guest!"
an untimely voice broke this dead silence.
In front of a stall at the street corner, a young vendor was enthusiastically holding up his goods.
It was a greenhorn who had just arrived from out of town, obviously oblivious to the suffocating oppression in the air.
He held an exquisitely made small windmill in his hand—a specialty of Foosha Village.
"This is our village's most famous handicraft! They say hanging it on the bow of a boat blesses you with smooth sailing!"
The vendor was all smiles, even leaning forward two steps.
"Looking at your attire, you must be a noble from out of town, right? Buy one to take back for the kids to play with?"
Under the hood, a pair of eyes slowly looked up.
What kind of eyes were those?
Rings of ripples undulated in the red pupils—calm, abyssal, without a shred of emotion belonging to a "human."
The vendor's hand holding the windmill froze in mid-air.
No terrifying killing intent attacked him.
But he felt as if his heart were being ruthlessly gripped by an invisible giant hand.
His throat went dry.
Cold sweat instantly soaked his back.
That feeling was like a mayfly trying to sell a speck of dust to the vast sky.
"Smooth... sailing?"
A gender-neutral voice came from under the hood. One couldn't tell if it was male or female, nor could one discern joy or anger.
The vendor opened his mouth but couldn't make any sound.
The figure extended a hand.
The fingers were slender, nails trimmed neatly, skin so white it looked somewhat sickly.
A fingertip gently touched the spinning small windmill.
Crack.
The blades of the windmill stopped turning.
It wasn't broken, it simply stopped, as if even a natural phenomenon like "wind" dared not act rashly in front of this person.
"A boring prayer."
The figure withdrew their hand, not sparing another glance at the vendor who had already collapsed to the ground, and continued walking forward.
Only that small windmill fell lonely onto the stone slab, breaking off a blade.
...
Makino's Tavern.
The copper bell on the door let out a crisp ding-ling.
The sound wasn't loud, but it seemed exceptionally clear in the quiet afternoon.
There weren't many customers in the tavern.
Since the large Marine force garrisoned at the port, coupled with that madman Doflamingo swaggering through the market just now, most ordinary people chose to hide at home and wait and see.
Only two old drunks lay on a table in the corner, snoring.
Behind the bar, Blake sat with his legs crossed, holding a senbei, scrolling through the system panel in boredom.
Hearing the doorbell, he didn't even lift his head.
"Welcome!"
Makino was wiping a glass. Hearing the sound, she habitually revealed a gentle smile and looked up toward the door.
"Guest, table for how many? If you are dining..."
Makino stopped halfway through her sentence.
The rag in her hand tightened subconsciously.
As the proprietress of the tavern, she had seen all kinds of people.
Rude pirates, serious Marines, cunning merchants, and even cadres of the Revolutionary Army.
But the person before her felt completely different.
The figure stood at the door, against the light.
There was no aggressive aura, yet the light in the entire tavern seemed to dim a few degrees.
Like a mass of giant shadows silently swallowing the surrounding space.
"One."
The voice was very light.
As this word fell, the figure walked into the tavern.
The hood was taken off.
Revealing a face without any expression.
The features were exquisite, like a marble statue. The skin was pale, and those red Rinnegan eyes scanned the interior of the tavern calmly.
The two snoring drunks in the corner suddenly stopped snoring as if strangled by the neck.
They twitched all over in their sleep, then went completely silent, as if falling into some deep coma.
Makino felt a panic in her heart.
She subconsciously looked at Blake sitting at the bar.
Blake still sat there, half a senbei left in his hand.
He didn't stand up, nor did he turn his head.
Only the hand that had been scrolling through the system page stopped in mid-air.
Tap.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor.
The newcomer ignored the empty tables and chairs, walking straight to the bar.
The distance of each step was exactly the same, precise as if measuring this land.
Finally.
The figure stopped at the seat next to Blake.
Pulled out the high stool.
Sat down.
The movements were elegant and calm, just like taking a seat on their own throne.
The distance between the two was less than half a meter.
If Blake lifted his elbow slightly, he would touch the other's sleeve.
The air seemed to freeze.
Makino felt it was becoming difficult even to breathe. She forced her weak legs to move, wanting to go over and pour a glass of water, only to find she couldn't take a step at all.
That was suppression on a level of life form.
Just then.
Crunch.
A crisp chewing sound broke this suffocating dead silence.
Blake took a bite of the senbei in his hand, chewing with relish.
With this crisp sound, the terrifying oppression shrouding the tavern instantly dissipated by more than half.
Makino felt her body lighten. Gasping for breath, she looked gratefully at Blake's back.
Blake swallowed the food in his mouth and patted the crumbs off his hands.
Then, he turned his head.
His gaze landed calmly on the guest who had just sat down beside him.
Four eyes met.
There were no sparks flying from collision, nor was there any majestic confrontation of auras.
There was only a bizarre calm.
Blake picked up the rum on the bar, poured himself a glass, and then gently pushed the bottle in front of the other person.
"Drink?"
Blake's voice was lazy, without a hint of nervousness.
The person glanced at the cheap bottle of rum in front of them and didn't move.
"I do not drink alcohol."
The voice remained flat.
"That's a real pity."
Blake shrugged and took a sip from his own glass. "You can't drink such good wine in the Holy Land."
───────────────────────────
Love this fanfic? 💙
Support it by leaving positive reviews, comments, and Power Stones!
For advance chapters, visit:
👉 Patreon.com/NegativeTranslations