My clone invades all realms

Luo Ya withdrew his gaze.

The enormous mangrove tree, named "Yarqiman," soars into the sky, its roots intertwined with the earth, its canopy blocking out the sunlight and casting dappled shadows.

Countless coated bubbles floated leisurely in the air, carrying vehicles, houses, and even a bizarre Ferris wheel.

He didn't turn around, but he could clearly feel at least three gazes, like a persistent, stabbing wound, fixed on his back from different directions.

One came from the shadows at the street corner, another from the window of the bubble cafe across the street, and yet another, mingling in the bustling crowd, seemingly close yet distant.

CP0's lackey.

His current status is that of an owner of the Royal Palace of Rhodes.

They certainly wouldn't let this "property" of his slip out of sight.

He turned a corner, his figure swallowed up by the shadow cast by the huge tree roots.

Roya was no stranger to the Sabaody Archipelago; the Celestial Dragons often came here, and as Ronosya's subordinate, he had been here many times.

His destination was the 28th.

He casually grabbed a hooded coarse cloth cloak from a roadside stall, hiding his overly conspicuous face in the shadows.

This is a true lawless place; exposing your face will attract human traffickers.

"Black Cup Tavern".

Roya lowered the brim of his hat and silently recited the name he had learned from the slaves' conversation.

It's said that you can buy anything there, as long as the price is right.

Of course, Roya scoffed at this.

Those who can become slaves of the Celestial Dragons, the so-called "omnipotent black market" they talk about is probably worth only half the value.

But this is his only option at the moment.

The tavern was in a more remote location than I had imagined, hidden at the end of an alleyway that smelled of fish and dampness.

The wooden door was rotten, and the hinges groaned under the weight, as if they would fall apart with the slightest push.

He pushed the door open and entered.

A strong smell of rum mixed with cheap tobacco and a faint hint of blood hit me.

The tavern was dimly lit and had only a few customers, all of whom had unfriendly expressions and looked at the tavern like they were sizing up prey.

Behind the bar, an old man with gray hair and a face full of wrinkles was slowly wiping a chipped wine glass with a rag whose original color was indistinguishable.

"A new face." The old bartender didn't even lift his eyelids.

Roya walked straight to the bar, his face obscured by shadows.

"I've heard," he said, deliberately lowering his voice, "that you can buy anything here."

The old bartender paused for a moment, then finally raised his cloudy eyes to look him over. He grinned, revealing a few yellowed teeth. "The old boss was alright, but he's in jail now. This place is just a tavern that's about to go out of business."

Without saying a word, Luo Ya turned and left.

"Young man~" the old bartender's voice came from behind: "The previous boss left behind quite a few things, but I don't know if you're interested."

Roya stopped in his tracks, slowly turned around, and returned to the bar.

"for example?"

"That depends on what you need, young man." The old bartender's yellow teeth were somewhat glaring in the dim light.

After a moment of silence, Roya said, "Naval Six Styles."

"no."

"The training methods for Haki, Observation Haki, or Armament Haki."

"no."

"Superior physical skills, or the art of killing."

"no."

Roya stood up again, his eyes cold beneath the hood.

Are you kidding him?

"Looks like I've come to the wrong place."

"Wait a minute," the old bartender said again.

Luo Ya stopped and stared at him coldly.

The old bartender's cloudy eyes seemed to pierce through the shadows of his hood: "You're looking for something that will help you grow, aren't you, young man?"

"So what?" Roya asked back.

Indeed, one should not have any expectations of the words of those worthless people.

The old bartender grinned. "Here I have a swordsman's life's lessons and notes. Would you like them?"

"A swordsman?" Roya sat down again, looking at the seemingly frail old man in front of him.

"you?"

"I used to be," the old bartender admitted frankly, a look of weariness on his face, as he opened his mouth to say something.

"Stop." Roya raised his hand, stopping the other person from starting to reminisce about the past: "I have no interest in hearing the story of a loser."

He pulled a wad of peso from his pocket and slammed the money on the bar with a dull thud.

"Your stuff, my money, a transaction, nothing more."

The old bartender's smile froze. He looked at Roya with a strange expression, tinged with a hint of admonition: "Young man, sometimes, the experiences of the strong are more valuable than those of inanimate objects..."

"A swordsman outdated by the times." Roya interrupted him mercilessly: "Your past is worthless to me."

He reached out, ready to take the money back.

At that very moment, a calloused hand pressed down on the back of his hand.

That hand looked old, but its strength was as heavy as a mountain.

"Money," the old bartender said with a smile, his yellow teeth almost touching Roya's ear, "can help us skip a lot of boring steps."

Roya felt his hand bones groan under the immense force of the other party.

To test the waters.

In this lawless land, if you flaunt your wealth and have no power to protect it, then the money belongs to others, and so does your life.

Roya narrowed his eyes beneath his hood.

His breathing rhythm underwent a subtle yet profound change at that moment, as if switching from a noisy tavern to a babbling brook in a quiet mountain valley.

The breath of water.

"Bang!"

A muffled thud.

Roya flipped his wrist at an incredible angle, relieving the mountain-like pressure and flicking away the old bartender's hand.

He slowly put the stack of pelies back into his arms.

"If you're not serious about making a deal, then our conversation can end here."

The old bartender shook his slightly numb hands, a hint of surprise in his cloudy eyes.

"Wait!" He took a deep breath, groped under the bar, pulled out a small booklet wrapped in oilcloth, and threw it on the bar.

"Let's check out the goods."

Instead of immediately taking out his money, Luo Ya reached out and held the booklet, which smelled of age, in front of him.

The old bartender did not stop it.

What's recorded in the booklet is less of personal insights and more of a complete system of swordsmanship.

From the most basic sword swings and physical training to the later exquisite sword techniques.

Becoming a sword master through this might be a pipe dream, but it's enough to turn a complete novice into a decent swordsman.

Roya closed the booklet and put the stack of pelies back on the bar.

He had no doubt that he wouldn't be able to leave this door if he didn't pay.

Is that enough?

"More than enough." The old bartender gave him a deep look, quickly put the money away, and said no more.

This kind of thing is priceless to those who understand it, but just a pile of waste paper to those who don't.

"Besides this, what else is there?" Roya knew that this book of notes was just the old man's own possession.

It can hardly be considered a remnant.

"Ships, guns, Grand Line charts, treasure maps..." The old bartender's eyes lit up as he rubbed his fingers together. "Of course, there are even rarer things, like... Devil Fruits."

"If you can keep these things for a while, I'll take them all."

"how long?"

Luo Ya pondered for a moment: "A few months."

"A few months?" The old bartender clicked his tongue, somewhat dissatisfied. "I can't guarantee they'll still be there."

"Then there's no need to reserve it for me." Roya turned and left.

Stepping out of the tavern, the outside world was still that bizarre and surreal bubble world.

Luo Ya looked up, squinting at the sky that was fragmented by the branches and leaves of the red trees.

Being by Ronosya's side, he had no time to cultivate.

Only those who can cultivate...