One Piece: Blood Clan

Night had fallen. Amid the scattered, defeated figures on the ground—and Luffy, barely clinging to consciousness—Bors downed the last of his grape juice in one swift gulp. Without hesitation, he leapt onto Shanks, shouting,

"Hey, Shanks! You're not just going to lie there, are you? Get up and keep drinking!"

But no response came from the indomitable Four Emperors' man.

In the end, with no alternative left, Bors fought Luffy until dawn. Only Luffy—the man destined to be Pirate King—could stand toe-to-toe with him. Even Shanks, one of the notorious Yonko, paled in comparison.

The following day, after bidding farewell to Shanks and his crew, Bors finally inspected the new ability he had unlocked:

Reaching the Pinnacle (Passive Skill): Once acquired, this skill dramatically heightens one's focus and resolve. Once you set your mind on a task, you refuse to quit until you've achieved perfection.

Though it offered no flashy stat boosts, to a man just beginning his training it was invaluable. For nearly three months, Bors had been content to slack off. His inherently lazy nature—and his lack of desire to become Pirate King—meant that intense effort never seemed necessary. Now, however, this new skill promised to drastically accelerate his progress.

Clenching a bloodstained flask in his fist, he murmured to himself, "Red-Haired… next time, I'll defeat you." Without delay, he pulled out a fresh blood bag and guzzled two harsh swigs.

The journey home was as calm as ever.

Rumor had it that Garp (often home in the East Blue) and the scattered pirates of that region were few and far between—Bors rarely encountered them.

Upon returning safely to East Blue Village, he immediately immersed himself once again in training. This time, his regimen was expanded: alongside swordsmanship, he would refine his Observation Haki, build up his stamina, and hone his Armament Haki.

He recalled how, during Rayleigh's training of Luffy, the young captain was made to train his Observation Haki blindfolded. As for Armament Haki, it could only be forged through grueling practice—a necessary burden for one not born with natural aptitude, whose body had yet to reach the requisite strength.

"Young Master, are you sure about this?" Mia asked hesitantly as she gripped a hefty wooden club.

"Relax—I can handle it," Bors replied coolly.

"Then… I guess I really have to hit you now."

"Very well."

"Yippee!" Mia cheered as she swung the club. The weight of the weapon caused her to spin uncontrollably for a few moments.

With the enhanced perception granted by his Observation Haki, Bors easily evaded her clumsy blow. Removing his mask, he sighed as he surveyed Mia sprawled on the ground. "This isn't working at all," he muttered. Clearly, his Observation Haki wasn't improving at the pace he'd hoped.

But inspiration struck. "Maybe I should try living blindfolded," he mused. "After all, this Haki is all about sharpening the senses—even to the point of foreseeing what's to come." Whether it would work or not, he was determined to find out. And so he persisted with his training, day after day, until the day following his seventh birthday—when his experience bar finally maxed out at Level 20.

A system message then echoed in his mind:

[Detected: Host experience has met requirements.

Activating evolution prerequisites: 1000 units of fresh blood and Level 20 experience. (Tip: The higher the quality of blood consumed, the stronger your post-evolution power.)]

Bors blinked in surprise. A thousand units of fresh blood? That was exactly the capacity of a full blood bag.

Glancing at the remaining ten units in his current bag, he knew drastic measures were needed.

Meanwhile, the vineyard was beginning to hit its stride—its production barely keeping up with the voracious consumption—and Bors' wealth was soaring.

In the early days, he'd showered the villagers with generous favors. They toiled with zeal, earning a pittance for work worth far more. Though Bors had once suggested raising wages, the villagers had refused, satisfied with what they had.

In truth, they had originally planned to work out of goodwill; now, with their newfound prosperity, they barely dared imagine working for free.

As prosperity spread, so did mischief. A group of young men, rather than working, lounged around and played cards by the villa.

"Is this really a good idea?" one whispered nervously.

"Why not? We're villagers of East Blue Village—Bors needs to keep us fed. Besides," another replied with a dismissive chuckle, "that miser wouldn't dare neglect us. We've earned him a fortune—why shouldn't he take care of us?"

After a moment's pause, one added, "By the way, have you noticed those two girls at Bors' place? They're stunning."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Hey, think about it—Bors is always setting sail. When he's gone, why don't we pay them a visit?"

Though a hesitant "But…" began to form, it was clear that resistance was futile.

Elsewhere, oblivious to the infestation plaguing his expanding wine cellar, Bors finished his training and prepared for a well-deserved rest. Thanks to "Reaching the Pinnacle," his concentration was at its zenith; five minutes of training now equated to two hours of past effort.

His swordsmanship was improving rapidly—it wouldn't be long before he reached an intermediate level. Enhanced focus meant higher training quality, which in turn consumed more blood.

That extra consumption accelerated his experience gain; indeed, his experience bar was now full—a virtuous cycle in motion.

There was, however, one nagging problem: his overall blood reserves were dangerously low. Tomorrow, he would set sail for Loguetown to take on some pirates and, hopefully, secure the blood he so desperately needed.

The next day at noon, three young men gathered around Bors' villa.

"When do we make our move?" one asked nervously.

Glancing at his anxious companion, the instigator scoffed, "Why are you so nervous? The fleet has already assembled. Most ships set off in the afternoon, but that guy always boards early—he should be on deck by now. We strike tonight; it'll be a sure thing."

"But what if he hasn't left?"

"Come on, that Bors never misses a sailing trip. That tightwad always joins his ships to safeguard his cargo. Trust me on this."

Later that night, Bors awoke. With his course set for Loguetown, he had prepared a small boat and enlisted only a single navigator for the journey.

Traveling alone, he knew that reaching Loguetown required him to be well-rested—and his navigator, like himself, needed to be alert after a long period of rest.