c7: The night is darkening, the killing is coming
East Blue, Shimotsuki Village.
One plume of smoke after another rose lazily from the chimneys, carrying the scent of freshly cooked rice and charcoal fires the familiar warmth once again permeated the peaceful village.
Beneath the backdrop of the setting sun, a slim figure no taller than most grown women, a long sword slung across his waist, stood balanced on a thick branch of an ancient camphor tree. His gaze was locked on a hidden bandit stronghold nestled in the foothills not far away.
With slow deliberation, he drew the long blade at his waist and gently ran his fingers along its spine. The weapon was technically a sword, but due to its single-edged nature and katana-like curve, it looked more like a large knife than a typical Western-style blade.
According to Koshiro, the name of this sword was Wado Ichimonji.
In the original work, it was one of the Ō Wazamono a grade of 21 Great Grade swords. Both its sheath and blade were a pristine white, the blade measuring roughly 88 centimeters.
Though he had undergone a year of intense physical training under Koshiro's rigorous standards, the weapon was still slightly long for him. Yet his familiarity and control over it made the extra length barely an inconvenience.
He was around Kuina's age, two years older than Zoro. At eleven, his height had reached about 1.6 meters thanks to continuous conditioning, making the sword only slightly oversized for his frame.
Still, it was more than enough for dealing with the likes of mountain bandits. And he Dongze whose perception had been enhanced by the Witness System, could already assess the entire camp at a glance.
So this is the East Blue, huh?
Among the four great seas of the One Piece world, East Blue was the weakest by far. It lacked powerful pirates, notorious bounty hunters, or even a single Yonko-affiliated territory. It was a symbol of peace at least on the surface.
But it owed that peace not to nature, but to Garp the Hero his iron fists had crushed countless pirate dens across this sea, taming it like a wild beast beaten into obedience. Here, pirates had become a rare breed.
Inside the bandit lair, Dongze counted 127 men most of them fit, strong adults. Only a handful of women could be seen, and even they didn't appear safe. Their blank expressions and ragged clothes told a quiet, ugly truth. These weren't family members they were trophies.
This was the East Blue, yes but even in peace, darkness lingered.
In an age like this, the weak don't even have the right to choose.
Dongze's expression darkened slightly as he considered how easily these people suffered.
There was only one firearm in the entire hideout clearly in the possession of the bandit leader. The rest wielded cutlasses, cleavers, or sharpened farming tools. The single gun was likely a symbol of authority, a psychological weapon to control loyalty and fear.
Against truly strong people, firearms might not matter. But among the weak? A gun was practically divine judgment.
"Ugh…"
A long, weary sigh left his lips and vanished into the wind. Dongze slid down from the tree in silence. As the last hues of daylight clung to the sky, he moved carefully toward the outskirts of the bandit stronghold.
Built against the mountain ridge, the base was crude but defensible wooden walls braced by stone, watchtowers with clear views of the slope. In design, it was sound. But in practice?
They'd grown soft. Arrogant. Years without challenge had dulled their instincts.
There were no sentries posted. Not one.
Dongze entered the outer perimeter without resistance, weaving between shadows.
It was another reminder of the illusion of peace that ruled East Blue.
But tonight this place would drown in blood.
The bandits outnumbered him massively. Dongze had no intention of charging in with reckless abandon. He wasn't a hot-blooded idiot who mistook bravado for victory. Facing 127 opponents, discretion was necessary.
He would strike in waves use surprise, angles, terrain. He wasn't naïve enough to think he'd avoid a fight entirely, but by thinning their numbers silently, he could reduce the risk of a fatal misstep.
So he waited.
He crouched behind a half-fallen boulder along the outskirts of the mountain lair, eyes steady, ears attuned to every whisper of movement.
The sun dipped fully behind the horizon. The twilight dimmed, the sounds of laughter and clinking bowls filtered from the camp.
And then
Night fell.
Dongze stood up quietly stretched his somewhat stiff limbs and prepared to advance with the plan he had carefully conceived in his mind.
At that moment, his sharpened senses picked up two drunken voices from nearby his eyes narrowed with vigilance.
Two of the bandits, clearly intoxicated, were swaggering back and forth muttering vulgarities and lewd boasts with every other step.
The conversation was little more than filth. One bragged about how good he "felt again," the other slurred half-formed tales of conquests and how "mighty" he'd been. There was talk of "three feet from the wind," a lecherous phrase Dongze had learned meant nothing good.
…
Hearing the content of their crude banter, Dongze's expression chilled his eyes glinting with a cold light of killing intent. He didn't need full details he could already guess what these two had done.
Without hesitation, his hand slid to his waist. With a soft, clean whisper, Wado Ichimonji was drawn its steel catching the moonlight for just a breath of a second.
The friction of blade against scabbard made a sharp scraping sound that shot through the night air like a crack of lightning. The two drunken men staggered to a halt, their inebriation pierced by the chilling familiarity of that sound.
"Who's there?!"
Their voices cracked with alarm, but there was no caution in them. For too long, they'd lived without fear no villagers ever resisted, and no challenger had ever approached.
They had misjudged.
The night offered no reply only a gleam of arcing steel, flashing in the shadows like a ghost.
In a breath, it was over. A half-moon of silver traced across their sight, and before they could even register pain there was only darkness. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
"Under an avalanche not a single snowflake is innocent. Tonight seems destined to be a sleepless night."
Dongze whispered the words under his breath. The sight of their corpses stirred no joy. He knew this world was brutal, but seeing it feeling the weight of blood on his hands was different from knowing it in theory.
And in that moment subtle and quiet a string of faint letters glowed on the light-blue interface only he could see. Sword Draw Proficiency: 21/10000.
When night deepens so too does the shadow.
Dongze's figure melted into the darkness silent steps beginning a massacre without sound.
"Ah~~~"
Another bandit's final breath escaped him Dongze struck again. But this time, he exhaled lightly in frustration.
The solo targets were becoming scarce. The remaining bandits had grown more cautious, clustering together. Slipping through them undetected would now require far more finesse.
Still, more than half of the 127 had already fallen. The pressure was now halved. The scale had tipped in his favor.
Though one scream had cracked the silence of the night like a hammer to glass it didn't stop Dongze from moving. In fact, before the remaining bandits could react to the death cries, he struck again swift, precise, unstoppable.
This new flurry of attacks included a key target the bandit king.
That man had wielded the only firearm in the camp and even though Dongze had not yet mastered Busoshoku Haki or eaten a Devil Fruit, he was keenly aware of the threat guns posed.
He couldn't allow that man to live.
And though the bandit king had ruled the lair through fear, his actual combat prowess wasn't much stronger than the rest. He was a tyrant built on the illusion of firepower a thug hiding behind a trigger.
But that worked to Dongze's advantage.
If this had been the Grand Line instead of East Blue things would be vastly different. Even average townspeople there were often armed with rifles or flintlocks.
The reason was obvious on the Grand Line, self-defense wasn't optional, it was survival.
From Loguetown to Drum Island, the seas were wild. Unpredictable weather. Rogue waves. And pirates. Always pirates. Firearms were as common as food in most port towns.
If this lair had possessed even fifty guns, Dongze would have never attempted a direct assault.
He'd only recently awakened his Goldfinger. He had no intention of dying needlessly before he even stepped foot on the broader stage of the world.
It was fortunate very fortunate that this was East Blue.
And this bandit lair had only one gun.
Thanks to that small mercy his revenge became far more possible.
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