One Piece: Blood Clan

In an instant, the once peaceful village was plunged into chaos. Cries of despair from villagers, enraged shouts from men, and the cruel laughter of pirates blended into a nightmarish cacophony that turned the quiet town into a living hell.

"Young Master Burs! Young Master Burs! Run for your life!"

Amid the tumult, as Burs prepared to leave his room, he caught Miya's urgent voice.

"Miya, what's happening?" he asked.

"Young Master! Pirates have arrived—they're ransacking the village! We must escape immediately!"

"Pirates, you say? Understood. Stay hidden at home; I'll be back shortly."

"No, Young Master Burs! What are you planning to do?" Miya tried to block him from leaving.

"Go out and cut these scum down," he replied coolly.

Miya's eyes widened in disbelief. "What are you saying? Young Master, you're only a child!"

"Step aside, Miya," he ordered.

"I won't let you!" she protested.

Before she could react further, Burs's swift motion caught her by the nape, and she fainted. Quickly, he covered her with a small bag to shield her from view.

Moments later, he encountered Grey—still in her sleepwear, clearly just risen to alert him. In that brief moment, Burs realized that both Miya and Grey had always cared for him genuinely; his earlier doubts were unfounded.

Seeing their concern, Burs softened for a moment. Yet, knowing he had to protect these two beloved sisters, he steeled himself and burst out into the fray.

Outside, carnage reigned. In one area, a dozen villagers had already been slain by the merciless pirates. One man had lost a leg; before him, three pirates circled him, their intent clear—they planned to toy with him before finishing him off.

In another grim corner, the towering three-meter pirate captain, Toda, now loomed over a girl not yet ten. His lecherous grin said all that needed to be known about his vile intentions. His next move was as obvious as it was abhorrent.

All too often, such horrors played out in every dark corner of East Bro Village.

"Help! Somebody, please save me!" the little girl cried, her voice trembling in despair.

"No one will come…"

Thud!

A massive head fell to the ground, and in the ensuing confusion, the girl's eyes were hastily covered.

When she next opened her eyes, she found a boy roughly her age standing before her, brandishing a sword nearly as tall as himself. She recognized him instantly—it was the son of the Count.

"Run! And don't look back!" he urged.

The girl nodded fervently and fled.

Meanwhile, Burs examined his blade—Blood Drink—recalling the feel of his previous strike. He had seemingly sliced through empty air, yet the fallen pirate's head proved his blow had indeed found its mark.

"Blood Drink… what a fine sword," he murmured in appreciation.

Almost as if pleased by his praise, the blade emitted a soft, approving hum, like a loyal hound wagging its tail at its master's commendation.

"Enough of this chaos—stay calm," he said to the sword, and its hum subsided.

With renewed determination, Burs dashed toward his next target. Standing before him with his Dao Power nearing 300, these lowly pirates were nothing more than insects. Each swing of his sword claimed a life; in his eyes, these despicable criminals were utterly unworthy of mercy.

As the numbers of pirates dwindled, the surviving villagers began to stir.

"Look! It's Young Master Burs!" they exclaimed in awe.

Soon, the onlookers gaped at the sight—a mere six-year-old had decimated an entire pirate crew.

After dispatching the remaining foes, Burs calmly announced, "Now, go bury your loved ones. Leave the cleanup to me." He began methodically gathering the corpses.

The villagers watched his small figure with reverence, their eyes shining with gratitude. Over the next half-hour, Burs cleared the carnage, then retrieved his Small Blood Bag.

One by one, he extracted the precious blood from each enemy—a task he performed without even a hint of remorse. These villains, he thought, deserved no pity.

By the end of the grim task, the defeated pirate gang had contributed a total of 400 units of high-quality blood—with their captain alone offering 20 units. Only after he had cremated the remains did he finally return.

Upon reaching the grand entrance of his villa, he discovered that the villagers had already gathered there. Miya and Grey were awake, their faces etched with shock and wonder at the night's events.

"Hey! Grey, Miya—you're up," Burs greeted lightly.

"Young Master Burs, what happened?" they asked in unison.

"Thank you so much, Young Master!" one villager cried, his voice cracking with gratitude.

"Indeed, if it weren't for you—the son of the Count—our village would have been ruined," another added, barely able to speak.

Before Burs could respond, the waves of thanks from the villagers swamped him.

"Enough, everyone. Go back and rest. After tonight's ordeal, you must be exhausted," he instructed.

"But Young Master, how can we ever repay you?" they pleaded.

"No need for thanks. As a member of this village, protecting you is my duty. Now, go home and rest," Burs replied, his tone gentle yet firm.

The villagers hesitated, then slowly dispersed, mindful that a six-year-old had fought all night—battling and even managing the grim task of clearing bodies. Their awe was palpable.

That very night, after a fitful sleep, Burs awoke to a startling sight downstairs: mounds of food and an array of gift boxes had been left for him. Miya was busy tallying the offerings.

"Miya, what is all this?" he asked.

"These are gifts from the villagers, a token of their gratitude," she explained.

"No, send it all back. Our homes were damaged in last night's attack—I can't accept their belongings," he replied firmly.

"Understood, Young Master!" Miya responded dutifully.

As Burs walked a few steps, he paused and added, "Also, let's pull some funds from the storeroom to help repair the villagers' houses."

"Really?" Miya asked, astonished.

"Of course. Our family is not short on money. Helping the villagers is what matters most," he said resolutely.

"Right away!" Miya confirmed.

After issuing his orders, Burs returned to the training room. There, he greedily gulped down a large swig of blood—the familiar, searing warmth surging through him as if igniting every fiber of his being.

Soon, he resumed his sword training. The high-quality blood seemed to enhance every strike; each swing felt more powerful than before.

Meanwhile, as dusk turned to evening, the villagers worked tirelessly to repair their damaged homes, determined to restore their once-peaceful village—a process that would surely take time.