Drifting Through the Land of Bliss

Grand Line, first half.

One moment, the sky had been cloudless for miles; the next, the entire sea had plunged into apocalyptic darkness without warning.

"Rumble—!"

Thick purple lightning, like colossal dragons, tore through the heavens. Accompanied by violent hurricanes, terrifying waves dozens of meters high surged across the sea. In these utterly illogical waters, natural disasters were practically an everyday occurrence.

Within troughs of water like the gaping mouths of an abyss, a medium-sized sailing ship covered entirely in Granite and obsidian armor bucked violently through the wind and rain.

The Bedrock.

Rain stood on the storm-ravaged deck, allowing the freezing seawater to lash against his dark gray cloak. His black eyes calmly watched the reverse current bearing down like an avalanche.

"[Gravity Ballast]."

Rain stomped heavily on the deck with one foot. Heavy grayish-white ripples instantly traveled from beneath his foot into the ship's keel, and countless pieces of extremely dense obsidian appeared. The Bedrock, which had been on the verge of capsizing amid the enormous waves, sank several meters deeper into the water at once, forcibly enduring the terrifying current that would have torn an ordinary wooden ship to pieces.

The storm came quickly and left just as quickly.

About half a day later, the violent currents gradually subsided, but the surrounding environment underwent a strange change.

The sea around them became deathly still, without a ripple. The sun was nowhere to be seen in the sky, replaced by a dense white sea fog that seemed almost impossible to disperse. Visibility was less than ten meters, and the air carried a faintly sweet, cloying smell.

Watching the Log Pose spin wildly in his hand, Rain had no idea which way to go. He could only follow the weak undercurrents unique to these waters and drift slowly through the thick fog.

About half a day passed.

Ahead of the fog, the outlines of a vast cluster of buildings gradually emerged, along with the faint sounds of lively commotion.

"Sithwal Port."

Rain looked at the enormous moss-covered stone monument at the harbor entrance and confirmed the island he had drifted to by chance. He wrapped his faintly heat-emitting right hand in fireproof bandages again, hid it beneath the shadows of his cloak, and leaped alone onto the dock.

He needed to determine his precise location again, let the Log Pose record the island's magnetic field, and replenish his fresh water and food supplies.

However, when Rain truly stepped into the streets of the port town, an indescribable sense of wrongness welled up inside him, and a chill crept up his spine.

This city was prosperous—one could even call it extraordinarily bustling.

Stalls selling fruit, seafood, and all kinds of handicrafts lined both sides of the streets; workers on the docks shouted work chants as they moved heavy cargo; patrolling soldiers in neat uniforms moved through the streets and alleys.

Everything appeared orderly and full of life.

But the problem lay in the people's faces.

They were smiling.

Everyone was smiling.

At a fish stall, a vendor and a housewife haggling over the weight of a fish did not argue red-faced. They merely looked at each other with gentle smiles on their lips.

At a street corner, a boy of seven or eight tripped while running and crashed hard onto the stone pavement. A large patch of skin had been scraped off his knee, and blood streamed down it. Yet he did not cry or make a fuss. He climbed up on his own, dusted off his hands, and continued running with a smile.

The laborers carrying loads weighing hundreds of pounds beneath the blazing sun had sweat soaking through their clothes and backs bent under the burden. Yet when they greeted one another, their faces still shone with those pleasant, spring-breeze smiles.

Everyone wore a natural smile.

Yet in this scene where a thousand faces looked the same, where absolutely no negative emotion was ever revealed, that "naturalness" instead became a suffocating horror.

"This island..."

Rain stopped walking. In this cruel Grand Line, there could never be a utopia without worries. The only explanation for this phenomenon was that the people of this island had been forcibly deprived of the ability to feel certain emotions by some power.

Just then, a dull booming sound suddenly came from the lumber distribution yard deeper within the docks.

"Boom!"

A steel cable on a crane snapped unexpectedly. A heavy timber raft loaded with dozens of massive logs crashed down from midair, striking a dockworker directing the unloading beneath it with brutal precision.

Blood, like glaring red paint, instantly sprayed from beneath the enormous timber raft, staining the ground around it red.

Rain's black eyes narrowed slightly. By all reason, what should have followed were heart-wrenching screams, terrified cries from those nearby, and frantic rescue efforts.

Yet nothing happened.

The surroundings were silent.

The lower half of the dockworker trapped beneath logs weighing several tons had been completely crushed into pulp. An ordinary person would have gone into shock from the agony—or even died on the spot.

But he did not.

The dockworker struggled to prop up his upper body with both hands and looked at the legs that had completely vanished beneath the timber raft, reduced to a bloody mess.

Then he raised a mud-stained hand and wiped away the blood continuously spilling from the corner of his mouth.

He looked at the coworkers hurrying over, his lips curving slightly upward into a calm smile that even carried a trace of apology.

"Oh dear, how careless of me. I dirtied this batch of good lumber." The dockworker smiled as he spoke. Even as he vomited fragments of his internal organs, he still tried to push the massive timber raft that could not possibly be moved with his hands.

None of the coworkers who arrived showed any expression of fear or grief.

They smiled as well. Some brought crowbars, while others brought ropes.

"It's all right. We'll have it moved in no time." One coworker smiled and patted the dying man on the shoulder, as though he had merely taken a fall. "Everyone, put some strength into it. Don't delay His Majesty's construction schedule."

This bloody scene, paired with the peaceful laughter and cheerful voices of this group, formed a hellish tableau capable of making any normal person's scalp crawl.

Rain stood quietly in the distance, watching the dockworker maintain his smile despite his grave injuries until his breathing gradually ceased.

He slowly lowered the hood of his dark gray cloak.

"No pain, no fear, even the sorrow of death has been cut away..."

Rain withdrew his gaze and no longer looked at the corpse still wearing a smile. He walked along the stone-paved road toward the black market deeper in town, his expression blank.

"So that's how it is. Not a utopia—it's more like a massive slaughterhouse where someone has locked away everyone's nerves."

Until he obtained a Log Pose pointing to the next island, he had no choice but to remain in this bizarre Land of Bliss for a while.