Rayleigh did have Devil Fruits—plenty, in fact.
Back in his Roger Pirates days, he'd plundered treasures beyond counting and looted more pirate crews than he could remember.
But those days were long gone.
Now, he was an old man—and his savings were his coffin fund.
So, this time, he had to stand firm. No reckless deals.
"How about this," Ron mused after a pause. "Ten pills. No more."
Among all the tavern's visitors, Rayleigh was probably the only one who could even make use of this sort of… enhancement.
So Ron figured, might as well fleece him while I can.
After all, he'd only paid two sheep for the whole batch of pills—this was pure profit.
"Deal!" Rayleigh agreed instantly, without a second thought.
He pocketed the ten Enlarge–Shrink Pills and felt a rush of triumph—until the excitement wore off and his brain finally rebooted.
The fog lifted, and reason reclaimed its throne.
Something didn't add up.
"Wait a damn minute…" he muttered, running the math.
"You traded two sheep for thirty pills—while I just gave you a Devil Fruit for ten?"
His face darkened. "You little brat, you scammed me!"
Ron smiled lazily. "No refunds, old man. Just remember to deliver the Devil Fruit tomorrow."
Rayleigh clenched his teeth, half ready to explode—but then sagged in defeat.
He couldn't win a fight with Ron, and besides, he relied on the man's Tiger Whip Wine and Goji Berry Brew just to survive Shakky's nightly "training sessions."
Without them, his withered old body would've long been wrung dry.
At that moment, Grey Wolf lifted his cup and called out cheerfully,
"Boss, thanks for the sheep! My wife loved it yesterday—couldn't stop praising me all night. Been years since she's smiled like that!"
Ron nodded with a grin. "You'll have a steady supply from now on."
Rayleigh clapped the wolf on the shoulder.
"Brother, so you're afraid of your wife too?"
Grey Wolf nodded hard, eyes full of silent suffering.
"Afraid" didn't even begin to cover it—more like haunted for life.
If luck hadn't favored him, he'd have been buried under a frying pan years ago.
Rayleigh sighed in empathy.
"When I'm in good form—turning into Mr. Mighty—Shakky treats me kindly enough."
He paused, took a long swig of his drink, and added bitterly,
"But on bad days… she'd rather toss me out of bed entirely. Guess that's what I get for digging a well and still being blamed for it."
Grey Wolf raised his glass solemnly.
"I understand perfectly," he said. "Digging the well's hard work—but the water sure is sweet."
"...?" Ron blinked.
"...??" Rayleigh stared, speechless.
Good grief. The guy looked honest, but he clearly had experience taking curves.
A real professional driver.
Rayleigh gave a weary chuckle. "You're lucky. I keep digging, but I haven't seen a single drop of water in years."
Ron's eyelid twitched. I think I just learned way too much about this man.
Time drifted by.
One by one, the tavern's patrons left.
Grey Wolf finished his drink and hurried home to deliver the sheep to his terrifying wife.
The Holy Lord and the Demon Dragon left soon after—still arguing about their "practice run," promising to duel it out back in Hell.
As for Rayleigh—he lingered long enough to mooch a free lunch, then slipped away with a bottle of Tiger Whip Wine, keeping a secret eye on Ace just in case trouble struck.
The tavern finally fell quiet.
Ron stretched, ready to curl up beside Yoruichi for an afternoon nap—
Ding-ling…
The doorbell chimed again.
Ron looked toward the entrance automatically.
The grassy clearing outside was gone—replaced by a chaotic void.
A moment later, a massive green dragon's head pushed through the doorway, golden eyes gleaming, twin horns scraping the ceiling.
A low, disdainful voice rumbled from its throat.
"So the call wasn't a lie… There truly is a tavern here."
"I didn't expect the last things I'd see in this life to be a human—and a spirit with such a dense soul signature."
The dragon's vertical pupils swept over Ron and Yoruichi, full of contempt.
Yoruichi jolted awake. The moment her eyes met the dragon's, her fur puffed up, every sense screaming danger.
"Seriously?! What kind of monsters do you keep inviting here? Each one scarier than the last!"
"Easy," Ron said softly, stroking her back to calm her. "She's Lucoa's friend."
Indeed—this was Tohru, from the world of Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid.
Descendant of the End Emperor, dragon of the Chaos Faction.
Suddenly, a violet magic circle bloomed above Tohru's head.
In a flash, a voluptuous figure descended and wrapped her arms around the dragon's head.
"Tohru! Thank goodness—you're alive!"
Feeling that familiar warmth, Tohru's golden eyes widened.
"...Lucoa?"
She hadn't expected to see her old friend again—in another world entirely.
Lucoa frowned, concern flashing across her face. "You're hurt, aren't you?"
Indeed, Tohru's aura was faint—so faint it felt like she might vanish any moment.
She nodded silently, her eyes filled not with pain but relief.
Not long ago, she'd gone to war alone against the Gods. She had fallen—gravely wounded—and crashed into the human realm.
Ron's voice floated from behind the counter.
"Come inside. Don't block the door."
"Oh, and Tohru—maybe shrink down a little? The tavern can't hold you like that."
Tohru's eyes flicked toward him, still full of distaste.
But after a moment's thought, she sighed and nodded.
Whoom...
Soft light rippled around her as her form shrank, though she stayed in dragon shape rather than taking human form.
As she crawled into the tavern, Ron and Lucoa could finally see the long sword embedded deep in her back.
Ancient in design—but radiating divine power, suppressing and corroding her from within.
"A divine sword…" Lucoa murmured with a pained smile. "No wonder you looked so hopeless."
It was a weapon forged from the combined faith and might of the Gods.
To pull it free, one needed a heart completely free of faith—and no reverence toward the divine at all.
Even Lucoa, a high god herself, couldn't touch it.
"Hopeless? No," Tohru said quietly. "Maybe… just relieved."
She shook her head and slowly settled at the bar.
Pfft—
Blood seeped from the wound, sliding down her scales.
"Your drink, miss," Rem said gently, setting a bottle before her.
But this time, she didn't walk away.
She stood there, eyes fixed on the sword piercing Tohru's back.
Tohru turned her head slightly.
"I'm sorry…" Rem stammered, fidgeting with her fingers. "It must hurt a lot. If you'd like… my sister and I could help you pull it out."
Beside her, Ram clenched her fists and nodded firmly.
Tohru's cold voice softened a fraction. "...As you wish."
As she turned her head away, the icy hatred in her gaze faded—replaced by a faint warmth.
Rem and Ram activated their demonic horns, coating their hands in Armament Haki, and gripped the sword's hilt.
They pulled with all their might.
But no matter how hard they strained, the divine blade didn't budge an inch.
Five minutes later, both sisters' faces were flushed, hair plastered with sweat.
At last, panting heavily, they gasped,
"Master… we don't have any strength left… please… help us…"
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