One Piece: The Strongest Asura

Over the course of a month, Zallor finally mastered the language spoken in this strange land. His primary goal was clear: find out where he was and locate the Sabaody Archipelago. However, despite his efforts, no one seemed to have any answers.

"Teacher, do you know where this place is? Or where the Sabaody Archipelago is on the Grand Line?" Zallor asked, his tone filled with urgency.

The elderly tutor furrowed his brow. "The Grand Line? Sabaody Archipelago? I've never heard of such places. Perhaps someone by the sea might know, but I cannot help you."

Zallor's frustration grew. He pressed further, "What about the World Government? The Navy?"

The tutor's confusion deepened. "World Government? Is that some sort of alliance of nations? Here, the only established nation is the Jianfang, but it's not called the World Government. As for the Navy... do you mean some kind of maritime military force? This continent rarely interacts with the sea, so I wouldn't know. Perhaps the Zhuo patriarch might have more knowledge on the matter."

The tutor's ignorance was evident, leaving Zallor at a loss. "How can they not know?" he muttered to himself. "I've finally learned the language, and this is all I get?"

Still, he couldn't afford to give up. Zallor resolved to ask the Zhuo patriarch when he returned. For now, he decided to focus on what he could control—training his body and preparing for the day he would leave.

During the month of rigorous training, Zallor's physical condition improved significantly. His body had grown far stronger, yet he found himself facing an unexpected problem: there were no swords to be found in this land.

"It's unbelievable," Zallor thought, shaking his head. "They've abolished swords? How does anyone even fight properly?"

This posed a severe challenge for someone like Zallor, who relied on his unique three-sword style. Without even a single blade, let alone three, he felt adrift. Desperate to adapt, he began crafting wooden swords from the materials he could find.

The results were crude—three wooden blades, barely serviceable—but they were enough for Zallor to resume his swordsmanship practice. Despite their imperfections, holding them at his waist gave him a sense of normalcy.

"This feels better," Zallor said, testing the weight of the wooden swords. "It's been too long since I've practiced properly. Let's see how much I've regressed."

As he began to train, his movements were initially stiff, but muscle memory soon took over. The rhythm of his strikes and the flow of his techniques gradually returned. As he immersed himself in the practice, he felt a spark of inspiration—an inkling that his skills could evolve to an even higher level.

Hours passed unnoticed. His body, which had grown remarkably resilient, showed no signs of fatigue.

From a distance, the Zhuo patriarch observed Zallor's relentless training. A hint of pride flashed in his eyes. "This boy is extraordinary. He's been training for hours without a break, as if his stamina knows no limits. Perhaps he truly is destined for greatness."

In his hands, the patriarch held a sword—a blade that had been passed down through the Zhuo family for generations. Its width was six inches, its length about three feet, and it gleamed with a radiant white light, as if carved from pure jade.

This ancestral blade had long been rendered obsolete in a world where swords were outlawed. To wield it openly required immense strength, the kind that could withstand the inevitable persecution from those who enforced the ban. Such strength was rare, found only in individuals who had surpassed the tenth level of mastery.

The patriarch weighed his decision carefully. "This sword has been dormant for too long. But Zallor... he's proven himself worthy. Perhaps it's time to pass it on to him."

He stepped forward, his resolve firm. The ancestral blade would soon find its new master.