Chapter One

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You open an RPG game you downloaded just a couple of days ago—

"The Grand Line: Legend of D."

At this moment, you have no idea what’s in store. You enter the game with a casual mindset, figuring you’ll just mess around for a bit, and if it doesn’t meet your expectations, you’ll get a refund within two hours and drop it.

The opening cutscene flashes through a barrage of characters, packed with information—One Piece, the so-called Great Pirate Era—paired with a stirring soundtrack that ignites a flicker of excitement in your chest.

You’ve heard your friends mention the general background before, and you’re familiar with some of the iconic characters and plotlines that have gone viral. So after watching the intro, you skip straight to the character creation screen.

[Please select your gender.]

A. Male
B. Female

Of course, female!

[Please enter your name: Don Quixote Feledrica. (Random available)]

There it is.

Name selection usually generates a default name, which players can edit, but only the official names come with voice acting during dialogue.

You rub your chin. Having roamed the game world for years, you recall your younger self might have chosen cheeky, outlandish names like “Your Dad” or “Call Me Mom,” but!

Now, you no longer fuss over such things. Mature as you are, you quickly delete the default and type in your usual gamer ID with practiced speed.

[Sexy Mother Cockroach.]

Wait, that doesn’t sound right.

What’s this game called again? “The Grand Line: Legend of D.” Legend of D, Legend of D... That “D” seems crucial. It would be remiss not to include a D in your name.

Feeling you’ve grasped the game’s true essence, you promptly erase your previous nickname and enter a new one.

[Roach·D·Bug.]

Hit confirm.

[Your name contains prohibited words. Please enter a new name.]

Fine… Busted.

Staring at the red error box on the screen, you’re at a bit of a loss, your enthusiasm for mischief suddenly dampened. You just hit (Random).

A haphazardly generated name pops up: Edward Malow.

"…"

Isn’t this even more bizarre than the names you came up with? Must be some cheeky employee’s doing. Never mind, you don’t want to waste time on naming. You casually slot a D into the middle and move on.

[Input complete. Player name confirmed: Edward D. Malow.]

[Please select your race.]

A. Human
B. Mink
C. Giant
D. Dwarf
E. Merfolk
F. Fishman
G. Lunarian
H. Longarm Tribe
...
…
N. Celestial Dragon

So many pages.

You didn’t expect the game to offer such a wide array of races, each with a brief description and a reference illustration beneath. It’s dizzying—no wonder this AAA title is such a sensation lately.

You recall your friend mentioning the different races. The final one is especially unique: top-tier world nobility, self-proclaimed "descendants of the creators," enjoying every privilege imaginable.

Heh, you wouldn’t miss out on something like that.

You choose to be a Celestial Dragon!

[Loading... Loading…]

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[Information entry successful.]

[System: On a perfectly ordinary night, you—a female—are born. Your name is Edward D. Malow, and you are a Celestial Dragon. Please select your starting location.]

A. Holy Land Mariejois
B. Totto Land
C. Fishman Island
D. Sky Island
E. Zou
F. Wano Country
G. Pirate Ship Moby Dick
H. White Town Flevance
I. Goa Kingdom, Windmill Village

...So many words, just like the race selection.

You feel a headache coming on, but you begin to ponder seriously. In most standard RPGs, you usually start in a village, right? Not to mention the islands, what’s with the pirate ship? That sounds interesting.

It’s obviously there to tempt you.

But never mind. For your first playthrough, you decide to play it safe and explore properly. You rest the mouse on the last option—

Goa Kingdom, Windmill Village.

The archetypal starter village. Here you come.

[System: Information entry successful.]

[Loading... Loading...]

[System: Error detected. Entering demo mode!]

[System: Warning! Warning! Error detected. Entering... prologue... demo version, randomly selecting... from the map…]

What’s going on?

A red error box suddenly pops up on your screen, startling you. Within seconds, the boxes multiply, flooding the whole display as if you’d been hit by a virus. The computer even starts to shake.

Before you can figure out what’s happening, a sharp pain lances through your head, your limbs go numb, and you collapse, unconscious, without warning.

[System: Prologue... demo version transfer complete...]

[System: Welcome to the world of "The Grand Line: Legend of D."]

***

You have crossed over.

After lying there for a while, you can’t avoid accepting the truth, even if you’d rather pretend otherwise. With a blank expression, you brace your hands against the ground and push yourself up, dirt clinging to your palms—all of it from the earth beneath you.

Because you’re on a deserted island.

Towering trees twist together, their bark covered in dark green moss; the humid air of the forest hangs heavy around you. But stranger than your surroundings is—

Your body has shrunk. You look about five to seven years old.

Eight, at most! Not a day older!

How did this happen? This sudden transmigration leaves you more disoriented than ever. Just before you woke up, you were still playing the new game you’d just bought.

Could it be the game’s fault?

As a seasoned fan of transmigration novels, you often binge entire series overnight, well-versed in every kind of crossing. Quickly, you deduce—based on the error messages before you blacked out—that this is all part of the game’s scheme, and you’ve likely ended up inside it.

But the environment here doesn’t match the "village" you picked. It’s clearly a lonely, uncharted island, utterly uninhabited.

Could your guess be wrong?

No sooner does this thought arise than a transparent panel appears before you.

[System: You seem to have heard something. Go check out the beach.]

???

What sound? You didn’t hear anything. And what’s with this panel!

So, it really is that damned game. You’re filled with indignation, but powerless to do anything. You reach out to touch the panel, but your fingers pass right through; the prompt vanishes the instant you touch it.

Left with no choice, you brush the sand and dirt from your clothes and set out for the so-called "beach."

Speaking of your clothes...

Since waking, you’ve been wearing something like a glass dome on your head. Though it’s not stuffy, and you saw in the race selection that Celestial Dragons typically wear these domes, it didn’t feel odd in the game.

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But! Experiencing it firsthand is another matter entirely—it’s incredibly cumbersome. So you remove it.

[System: Would you like to remove the starter equipment “Celestial Dragon’s Oxygen Dome”?]

It turns out this thing is an item.

You notice a little speech bubble marked […] beside the dome. You poke it, and its stats immediately pop up.

Item: Celestial Dragon’s Oxygen Dome.
Stats: Attack -99, Agility -99, Defense +10.

...

Damn!

It only boosts defense by 10, while deducting 99 points each from attack and agility—it’s utterly useless junk!

Furious, you toss it to the ground.

At least the little blue backpack slung over your shoulder is actually useful, with 99 inventory slots, each able to hold unlimited quantities—a must-have starter item.

You silently pick up the transparent dome and stuff it into your bag.

You’re wearing a plain white shirt and a blue skirt, and there’s a pink bracelet on your left wrist. On inspection, it adds +5 to charm.

A good item—definitely keeping it.

Since the clothes don’t trigger an info box, their stats are unknown for now. Besides, you’d be stark naked if you took them off. So, you keep them on and head off in search of the sea.

To be honest, you’re not exactly a navigation expert, but you’re no hopeless case either. With no buildings to orient yourself by, and zero wilderness survival skills, you have no idea how to find your way in the forest.

Fortunately, you didn’t wake up deep in the island’s interior but near the forest’s edge, close to the shore. You can hear the waves and, through the low trees, catch glimpses of the endless blue sea.

Following that view, you break free of the trees and finally reach the beach.

That damned system panel doesn’t provide any further prompts, no matter how you try to interact. It’s just a rigid game interface.

You once read a novel called “RPG Experience at the Technical Academy”—a true masterpiece, brilliantly written, with its author, Little Bamboo, a genius among writers! So you know the drill: never let your guard down in this kind of RPG world; there’s always some hidden, sinister plot at play.

Best to explore the surroundings first.

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself that panicking won’t help. Barefoot, you begin to methodically search the soft sands of the beach.

With the dome off, the salty tang of the sea air is stronger. The sand, warmed by the sun, scorches your feet slightly, crunching with each step. Fine grains and sharp shell fragments press against your skin, making you frown.

You’re extremely, extremely, extremely sensitive to pain—even a shell poking your foot is enough to make you uncomfortable. Who’d have thought this game world would feel so real?

You really should find something to use as shoes.

No sooner does this thought cross your mind than something bites your foot.

Yes.

A tiny crab scuttles by, pauses, and—without warning—nips your toe with its claw, ripping off a bit of skin and then noisily stuffing it into its mouth.

[System prompt: HP -1.]

You: "..."

Aaaaaaah!!!!!

You leap straight into the air, springing up like a startled monkey. Already terrified of pain, and with a stubborn ingrown toenail to boot, you let out a shrill cry, tears streaming down your face.

Wait… Now that you’ve shrunk into a child, the ingrown nail is gone—but it still hurts!

Clutching your toe, you come to your senses and realize you’ve landed back down, somehow having bounded all the way to the tide line.

Here, the sand is firm and damp, repeatedly washed by the waves. What’s most unusual about this part of the beach is the “corpse” lying at the water’s edge.

Still sniffling, you wipe away your tears, glance down at your reddened big toe, and the stubborn little crab that refused to let go all this distance. A nameless fury rises in your chest, and you glare at it in indignation!

You don’t dare yank it off for fear of further injury.

For now, you ignore the crab and turn your attention to the huge man before you.

Calling him huge is no exaggeration. He’s lying face-down on the sand, eyes closed, easily several meters tall. His thick, wavy blond hair and great white mustache, like a scythe, make him look formidable even in unconsciousness.

You’re surprised to see the yellow ID above his head—

Edward Newgate.