Chapter 7

East Blue, Shimotsuki Village.

Smoke curled into the sky as warmth returned to the quiet village.

Beneath the setting sun, a young figure stood atop a towering tree branch, a long sword sheathed at his waist. His sharp gaze fixed on the bandit hideout below. Slowly, he unsheathed his weapon, his fingers tracing the cool steel of its spine. It was a single-edged blade, more akin to a katana than a traditional sword.

According to Koshiro, this was Wado Ichimonji.

One of the 21 Great Grade Swords, this blade was renowned for its exceptional sharpness and durability. Its pristine white hilt and scabbard gleamed faintly under the twilight, the blade itself measuring roughly 88 centimeters. Though Dongze had spent years training, the katana still felt slightly long for his frame. However, it did not hinder his ability to wield it.

At around eleven years old, Dongze was roughly the same age as Kuina and two years older than Zoro. His intense training had built his physique beyond that of an average boy, pushing his height to approximately 1.6 meters. Wado Ichimonji was just slightly unwieldy in his grip—but for the battle ahead, it was more than enough.

Peering into the bandit hideout, Dongze quickly assessed the situation.

This is the East Blue.

Of the Four Seas, East Blue is the weakest—lacking even a single notable pirate crew. It was a region that symbolized peace, its seas almost barren of true threats.

Credit for that belonged to Garp.

His legendary iron fists had torn through the region, reducing the presence of pirates to near extinction. In contrast to the Grand Line, the East Blue was relatively tame.

The bandit camp consisted of 127 people. Most were rugged men, hardened by years of crime, but there were also a handful of women—none of whom seemed to be there by choice. Dongze's jaw clenched. He understood too well what their presence meant.

In an unforgiving world, the weak had no say in their fate.

His eyes swept the encampment once more. There was only one firearm in the entire stronghold—wielded by the bandit leader. The rest carried blades, clubs, and rudimentary weapons. It was clear the leader used the gun to maintain control over his subordinates.

Hot weapons against cold steel—an overwhelming advantage when faced with weak combatants.

Dongze exhaled softly.

Then, without a sound, he descended from the tree, moving like a shadow towards the bandit stronghold.

The hideout, built against the mountain, had natural defenses. Though crude, its positioning made it difficult to attack directly. However, complacency had dulled these bandits. Their sentries were absent, their vigilance abandoned. It was too easy. Dongze slipped inside unnoticed.

The naivety of the East Blue was astonishing.

But tonight, this place would be bathed in blood.

Taking on all 127 bandits in direct combat would be foolish. Dongze wasn't reckless. Though a confrontation was inevitable, minimizing risk was paramount. Caution would keep him alive.

So, he waited.

The sky darkened, swallowing the land in the black embrace of night.

Dongze slowly stood, stretching his stiff limbs. The time had come.

Then, voices.

Two figures, swaying under the weight of alcohol, stumbled towards his position. Their slurred speech carried through the night, each word laced with crude arrogance. They spoke of their exploits—deeds soaked in cruelty and filth.

Dongze's grip on Wado Ichimonji tightened.

He already knew what they were boasting about.

The soft whisper of steel escaping its sheath sent a chill through the air. The two men flinched at the familiar sound, their drunken haze evaporating in an instant.

"Who's there!?"

Neither would live long enough to hear an answer.

A single, fluid arc of steel flashed under the moonlight.

Silence.

Their bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

"No snowflake is innocent in an avalanche."

Dongze's expression remained unreadable, his eyes cold and detached. He had known the world was cruel, but witnessing it firsthand was something else entirely.

Unnoticed by him, the small interface before his eyes flickered—

Swordsmanship – Iai: Draw and Strike Proficiency: 21/10,000

The night grew darker as Dongze's silhouette disappeared into the shadows, the silent massacre beginning in earnest.

A scream shattered the night's stillness.

Dongze exhaled slowly, unfazed. He had already eliminated more than half of the camp. The remaining bandits, now alert, gathered in groups—making it harder to pick them off individually.

But this did not deter him.

Using the chaos to his advantage, he struck again. Blades met flesh, and before the outlaws could mount a proper defense, their numbers dwindled further.

His next target was clear.

The bandit leader—the only man armed with a gun.

Dongze had yet to master weapon techniques or eat a Devil Fruit. In his current state, firearms were a threat. The key to victory was simple: eliminate the biggest danger first.

The so-called leader was nothing impressive. Despite being the camp's ruler, he relied on a gun to enforce his dominance. Against true warriors, he was nothing.

A single, precise slash ended him.

Just like that, the strongest weapon in the camp was gone.

A pathetic excuse for a leader.

Had this been the Grand Line, things would have been different. There, even civilians carried weapons for self-defense. Guns, cannons, even rudimentary Haki—it was a place of monsters.

If these bandits had been better equipped, Dongze would have approached things differently. Though he had awakened his Gift, he wasn't invincible. Risking everything recklessly would be a mistake.

But this was the East Blue.

Here, they were weak.

And for them, the night had just begun.