The Blood King
Yang Ning and his crew kept to a strict routine: rest during the day, hunt at night.
Three days and three nights passed in near-total silence outside the town.
And during these three days, the islanders began to notice something miraculous.
The Blood King's henchmen—usually strutting around like they owned the place—were disappearing.
Not one or two.
But in large numbers.
The streets grew livelier.
Voices returned.
The fear didn't vanish, but it loosened.
On the island's central hill stood a massive stone palace, built in a style foreign to East Blue—vaulted ceilings, marble pillars, and imposing statues. The kind of luxury only tyrants bothered to import.
Inside, the Blood King lounged on a throne of dark red stone, swirling a goblet filled with thick crimson fluid. His robe was deep scarlet, and his expression was colder than the floor beneath him.
Before him knelt dozens of trembling subordinates.
"A bunch of useless trash," the Blood King said softly, but his voice hit them like a hammer.
"Explain to me—how did fifteen men vanish without a trace?"
No one answered.
At the front knelt two towering figures.
One was a burly monster of a man, thick-armed and broad-chested—the Fist General.
The other was wrapped head-to-toe in medieval-style plate armor—the Sword General.
Together, the two commanded the Blood King's entire private army.
Yet even they dared not lift their heads.
"No one wants to talk?"
The Blood King's lips curled.
"Fine. Then listen well."
His voice dropped to a chilling calm.
"Fist General. Sword General. You have one day to find the rats killing my men. And you will crush them."
His tone sharpened.
"If you fail…
you already know what I'm capable of."
A cold shiver ran through both generals.
They knelt lower.
"Yes, Blood King!"
As they withdrew, splitting their forces in two, the palace fell silent.
From the shadows behind the throne, a gaunt, hairless old man crept forward. His skin was almost translucent, his eyes sunken, as if he hadn't seen sunlight in years.
He held a bowl of steaming blood respectfully in both hands.
"Your Majesty," the old man murmured, bowing low. "This is freshly drawn. Virgin arterial blood—your favorite."
The Blood King's expression didn't change.
If anything, he looked mildly irritated.
Still, he extended a hand.
From beneath his sleeve, a thick, bluish-black tentacle emerged—rough, veined, and pulsing as if alive.
Glug, glug.
It plunged into the bowl and drained it dry in seconds before retracting back into the Blood King's arm.
The old man bowed lower.
The Blood King waved him away.
"Leave."
The old servant backed out, face blank. Delivering blood seemed to be the only purpose left in his life.
---
Outside the palace, dust clouded the grounds as over a hundred of the Blood King's men assembled. The two generals stood at the front.
The Fist General cracked his knuckles, smirking.
"Tin Man," he boomed at the Sword General, "care for a little competition? Let's see who catches these rats first."
The Sword General cast him a cold look through the slits of his helmet.
"Boring."
He turned and marched off with his squad without another word.
The Fist General almost exploded on the spot.
"Damn tin bucket! Always putting on airs!"
But with no better option, he spat on the ground and led his men in the opposite direction.
---
And what was Yang Ning doing?
He was having a barbecue.
On the beach.
The fish of the One Piece world came in absurd varieties—bright colors, weird shapes, oversized fangs. And somehow, every one Yang Ning caught was edible.
Thankfully, Old Johnny recognized them all.
After three days of non-stop assassinations, Yang Ning was in high spirits. With a pile of fish on hand, he declared a holiday and hosted a barbecue feast for the entire crew.
"Drink up!"
"Hahaha! Cheers!"
The crew's combat strength was questionable, but their ability to celebrate was unmatched.
Even Yang Ning, usually cautious, found himself smiling along with them.
He had leveled up again.
His stats soared.
Life was good.
Everyone laughed and drank—except Johnny, who sat on a rock nearby, smoking grimly.
"Old Johnny! Come eat!" the Brown brothers called.
Johnny waved them off, still staring at the dark sea.
He was suffering.
Their new captain was strong—sure.
But sane? Debatable.
He had butchered over a dozen members of the island's ruling gang… then decided to throw a beach party.
No scouting.
No guards.
No plan.
Johnny rubbed his face.
Without him, this "family" really would fall apart.
And right on cue—
"Someone's coming! Alert! A large group of pirates!"
Johnny's sharp cry cut through the laughter like a slash of steel.
The crew panicked instantly.
"Where?!"
"What do we do?!"
"Get to the boat! Run!"
"Captain?!"
They were still the same cowards as always.
But Yang Ning?
He wasn't the same man anymore.
He calmly finished chewing his fish, swallowed his wine, and stood.
His muscles loosened. His blood warmed. His pulse steady.
He wanted to see—
just how strong he truly was now.
He opened his panel.
---
Yang Ning — Status
Level: 3
HP: 264 / 264
Attack: 15
Law Strength (AP): 55
Armor: 58
Magic Resist: 7
Passive — Hellfire Curse (49):
Gain +1 Armor and +1 AP per soul.
Skill 1 — Soul Drain Strike (15):
• Next attack gains +25 range
• Deals 30 (+1 AD) + passive bonus physical damage
• If it kills an enemy, permanent +3 damage
Current Damage: 45
Skill 2 — Soul Furnace (21):
• Gain +4 max HP per kill
• Current bonus: +84 max HP
• Active: Shield for 148 (+0.4 AP) + 10% max HP for 3 minutes
• If intact after 1 min, can detonate for equal damage
Skill 3 — Starfire Blade:
• Attacks deal +31 magic damage
• Active: next attack is ranged and deals bonus damage based on missing HP
---
With 58 armor, he ignored more than a third of physical damage.
Soul Strike + Starfire Blade totaled 76 damage before his normal attack even landed.
Most of this damage was magic—armor couldn't block it.
In One Piece terms?
Anyone who tried to block his blade would be cut clean in half, man and horse.
Combined with his shield and explosion from Soul Furnace, Yang Ning was an armored tank with the burst of a sea king.
Yang Ning exhaled.
"I'm really strong."
"In the East Blue, without major pirates? I'm invincible."
He pushed his frightened crew behind him and stepped forward alone as dozens of pirates rushed the beach.
Their leader—a giant of a man—grinned when he saw Yang Ning.
"So you're the little rats causing trouble?"
"Little mouse?" Yang Ning's expression sharpened.
He drew his sword slowly, deliberately.
"You've annoyed me. Kneel now and beg for mercy, and maybe I'll let you die cleanly."
The big man blinked.
Then burst into laughter.
"Hahahaha! Did you hear that?! He wants me to kneel!"
"He must be new!"
"Hahaha! This idiot has no idea how strong the Fist General is!"
The pirates roared with laughter.
A moment later, that laughter would stop.