York never imagined that a simple excursion to test his new blade would lead him to serendipitously encounter Douglas Bullet in his youth.
The possibility of a shared name had briefly crossed his mind when he first heard the boy gasp it. But for them to share the exact same name, both be hulking child soldiers, and both have experienced brutal betrayal by their comrades in the trenches—York absolutely refused to believe such an astronomical coincidence existed. This was the real deal.
He crouched down in the muddy alleyway. After a thorough sweep with his Observation Haki, he confirmed that Bullet was not in any immediate, life-threatening danger; his organs were intact, but he was rapidly slipping into a coma from excessive blood loss.
Although taking two musket rounds to the chest and shoulder would be a fatal injury for an ordinary person in York's previous life, requiring immediate trauma surgery to survive, the people of this world possessed an absurd, tenacious vitality. This was especially true for someone with Bullet's monstrous genetic potential. He hadn't died from this betrayal in the original timeline, let alone now.
But if York just stood there and did nothing, wouldn't that make an Emperor look utterly incompetent?
York raised his hands. He activated his Mythical Zoan power, releasing several microscopic Holy Light tentacles from his palms. He wrapped one end gently around Bullet's bleeding wrist, extending the other ends far down the street, silently piercing through the backs of several patrolling Hart Kingdom soldiers.
SQUELCH.
He ruthlessly absorbed their life force. Using his own body as an absolute conduit, York filtered the stolen vitality and forcefully injected it straight into Bullet's fading pulse.
With the massive infusion of fresh life force, Bullet's terrifying self-healing functions were supercharged. Lost blood was instantly regenerated, and the ruptured, torn flesh of his gunshot wounds knitted together.
Soon after, Bullet's consciousness violently returned. He gasped for air, his eyes snapping open as he slowly pushed himself up from the bloody cobblestones.
He looked up at the towering, 2.8-meter-tall man with a massive sword slung over his shoulder. Wary, but understanding that this stranger had just pulled him from the abyss of death, Bullet thanked him solemnly.
"Thank you for saving me."
"It's nothing," York said, waving his hand dismissively. "Now, get up. Go get your revenge."
Bullet hesitated slightly, his fists clenching. He wasn't naive; he felt that this terrifying man must have saved him for a reason and would eventually expect something in return. But since he was being given the explicit opportunity to seek vengeance, he didn't want to overthink the politics right now. Reclaiming his stolen trophies and his pride was the only thing that mattered.
"Thank you," Bullet gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with lethal intent. "I will definitely repay you!"
Leaving that bloody oath hanging in the air, Bullet grabbed his discarded combat knife from the mud and launched himself down the alley, sprinting furiously in the direction the Hart child soldiers had departed.
Despite only being eight years old, Bullet possessed the physical strength and stride of a full-grown adult. He moved swiftly across the ruined battlefield.
As Bullet sprinted past a fortified section of the street, he suddenly skidded to a halt, noticing that a dozen adult Hart soldiers had died here in an incredibly strange, horrifying manner.
Each one looked as if every drop of fluid had been violently vacuumed from their bodies. Their muscles and skin were completely shriveled, clinging tightly to their skeletal frames like ancient mummies.
'Is it a Devil Fruit user?' Bullet thought, a chill running down his spine. He shook his head, his grip tightening on his knife. 'Hmph! I just hope those bastards who shot me aren't dead yet!!'
Bullet didn't linger. After quickly looting some flintlocks, fresh ammunition, and satchels of explosives from the mummified corpses, he continued his pursuit.
Moments later, York, silently trailing Bullet, stepped into the same street.
He didn't even spare a second glance at the mummified corpses. To be precise, these husks were entirely his doing.
The ability of Holy Light Absorption, if only used to heal York himself, was incredibly efficient. He received almost exactly as much life force as he absorbed, with a negligible loss of about one percent.
However, if he used his own body as a conduit to heal others, the conversion loss ratio became extremely terrifying. To revive a dying person to a perfectly healthy state required completely draining the life force of approximately twenty grown men.
This extreme inefficiency was exactly why York had never publicly displayed this healing ability on a mass scale before. The cost-effectiveness was far too low, vastly inferior to the normal medical treatment provided by his 49 ship doctors. Healing Bullet this time was purely a localized emergency.
Besides, the cost was paid with the lives of Hart Kingdom soldiers, not York's own Crimson Empire subordinates. What was there to care about?
"BULLET?! YOU'RE NOT DEAD?!"
A startled, terrified cry suddenly rang out from the town square ahead, immediately followed by Bullet's furious, blood-curdling roar.
"YOU BETRAYED ME! GIVE ME BACK MY SPOILS!!"
"You're full of shit! These are our trophies now!!"
After a rapid, chaotic series of flintlock gunshots and a deafening gunpowder explosion, York finally strolled into the square.
The battle was already over.
Bullet stood in the center of the plaza, panting heavily. He slowly and deliberately pulled his combat knife from the chest of the lead child soldier who had shot him. The other betrayers lay dead in the rubble around them.
Not far away, a squad of adult Hart Kingdom soldiers stood frozen, utterly dumbfounded by the sheer brutality of the boy they had trained.
Bullet paid absolutely no mind to the adult onlookers. He knelt down, picked up the stolen leather pouch, and began meticulously stuffing his severed ear trophies back into it.
Seeing the adult soldiers slowly raise their rifles to execute the boy for treason, York's figure flickered. He vanished, appearing like a phantom directly behind the squad of observing Hart soldiers.
SHING.
The three-meter Miaodao slid silently from its custom scabbard. A faint, deadly hum of perfectly forged steel echoed in the smoky air.
Several heads rolled across the cobblestones like kicked balls. The headless bodies stood frozen for a fraction of a second before collapsing to the ground, blood gushing like fountains from their severed necks.
York raised his hand, looking closely at the gleaming, three-meter blade. Not a single drop of blood clung to the Damascus steel.
"Excellent," York murmured, a satisfied smirk on his face. "It kills without staining. It's a flawless blade. Truly worthy of being forged by my own hands."
Sheathing his sword with a crisp *clack*, York considered the first field test of his Thirteenth Supreme Grade Blade an absolute success. Killing was just killing; he possessed none of that boring swordsman's pride about 'famous swords not slaying nobodies.'
Walking casually over to Bullet's side, York looked down at the blood-soaked boy.
"How about following me from now on?" York asked calmly. "You slaughtered your own comrades today. Although they were the ones who cowardly shot you first, the military brass won't investigate the nuances. They will only see that you murdered your own unit."
Bullet fell silent for a moment. He wiped the blood from his cheek, looking up at the towering giant who had saved him.
"Who are you?" Bullet asked, his voice steady.
"My name is Atlas D. York," he replied, his coat billowing in the wind. "A man who intends to bring absolute change to this world! As for my identity in the eyes of the global authorities right now... I am a pirate!"
York stared steadily at Bullet. Bullet, unflinching, gazed right back into the eyes of an Emperor.
Their eyes met. York extended his massive, scarred hand first.
Bullet's gaze shifted to the outstretched hand. He hesitated for a few seconds, processing the sheer weight of the moment, before finally extending his own blood-stained hand and firmly clasping York's.
"If you betray me in the end," Bullet warned, his voice deadly serious, "I will definitely kill you."
York's smile widened into something terrifying.
"That should be my line, kid," York squeezed Bullet's hand. "If you ever dare to betray me... I will definitely kill you."
Bullet let out a cold snort. But for some inexplicable reason, after hearing York's absolute, unwavering threat, the boy naturally developed a profound hint of trust in the man. There were no lies here. Only power.
His lips unconsciously curved upward into a slight, predatory smirk. Bullet asked, "What do we do next? If you're a pirate, are we going to rob some treasure?"
"Plundering treasure is definitely on the agenda," York replied, tapping the hilt of his newly forged sword. "But at the same time, I came out here specifically to test my blade and kill people."
Bullet's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Who's the target?"
"I don't have a specific target," York shrugged. "Or rather... would you like to suggest one?"
Upon hearing this, Bullet's eyes first widened in sheer surprise. Then, he gritted his teeth, a grim, monstrous smile stretching across his young face.
"How about we wipe out the entire Hart Kingdom army?" Bullet suggested, his voice dripping with malice. "They've already finished plundering this town and collected most of the Clandia Kingdom's wealth! There is absolutely no one richer, or a better target to test a sword on, than them!"
York watched Bullet with a satisfied smile.
'It seems this kid really didn't have an easy time serving the Hart Kingdom,' York thought. 'Otherwise, he wouldn't be so cold-blooded about slaughtering them all.'
When Bullet's inquiring, eager gaze fell upon him, York gave him his answer.
"As you wish."
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