The border of the Prodence Kingdom.
The thunder of artillery had raged all night long. Coastal cannons relentlessly bombarded troop transports and warships near the shore, while the beach was littered with shattered corpses and cratered by explosions.
Behind a jagged reef, Douglas Bullet crouched in hiding.
Not yet even eleven years old—but already a six-year veteran. It sounded absurd, yet in the Nation of Endless War, Galzburg, it was completely normal.
Children like him, conscripted at five or six years old, handed nothing more than crude wooden sticks, kitchen knives, or even bombs, and thrown straight onto the battlefield—there were countless like that.
To Galzburg's regular army, these children were nothing more than expendables—used to soak up enemy bullets, drain their energy, trigger mines, and absorb artillery fire.
Given how frequently Galzburg waged war, Bullet had effectively fought on the front lines nonstop for six years. In that time, he had lost count of how many battles he had been through, how many children his age had died right before his eyes.
He had grown used to war.
So used to it that without the smell of gunpowder, he found it hard to sleep.
Leaning against the reef, Bullet's expression was numb, his eyes calm—so calm it seemed nothing in the world could stir his emotions anymore.
His left hand absentmindedly rubbed a medal.
It was a "Hero Medal" awarded to him by the Galzburg Kingdom for his six years of service.
Bullet valued it deeply—not because it symbolized honor, but because it was the only thing in this world that truly belonged to him as "Bullet."
Only when touching it did he feel like he was still alive.
In the distance, another transport ship was obliterated by Prodence's coastal artillery before it could even unload its troops.
Bullet frowned slightly.
Reinforcements were having an extremely hard time landing. As expected of a military powerhouse of the New World, Prodence held the home-field advantage and had pushed Galzburg forces into a difficult position.
With his battle-hardened instincts, Bullet could already tell—
This war was likely unwinnable.
Defeat wasn't unfamiliar to him. Galzburg had clashed with many powerful nations across the New World, and losses were nothing new. He had experienced plenty himself.
Still, there was a trace of disappointment in his heart.
Because If they lost, his superior's promotion to General would undoubtedly be delayed again. And that meant his own freedom was one step further away.
The commander of the boy soldiers, Douglas, had promised Bullet that once he was promoted to General, he would let Bullet leave the battlefield.
In truth, Bullet didn't fully trust the man.
Two years ago, Douglas had promised to set him free if he became Commander, but that promise remained unfulfilled.
To appease Bullet, the commander had "gifted" him his own surname, "Douglas," turning the nameless Bullet into "Douglas Bullet," and had seen to it that he received that medal.
But even without trust, Bullet had no choice. Aside from warfare, he knew nothing. He had no other path. He didn't even know how to navigate, making escape an impossibility.
As Bullet waited quietly for the signal for the next charge, his eyes aimlessly scanning the fire-lit sea, his pupils suddenly constricted.
On the waters that should have been blockaded by the Galzburg fleet, a ship—completely different from the Galzburg warships—seemed to be using the cover of night to approach the battlefield. If it weren't for the occasional flashes of artillery reflecting off the water, Bullet wouldn't have even seen its silhouette.
An enemy ship?
Or some kind of secret weapon?
Before he could think further, a bright orange signal flare shot into the sky and exploded.
Seeing it, Bullet spat out the cigarette stub in his mouth, tucked away his medal, gripped his rifle—
—and burst out from behind the reef, firing nonstop toward the front without even aiming.
In war, that was normal.
You didn't aim every shot.
Suppressive fire was king—empty your magazine as fast as possible, and you were already considered a good soldier.
It often took thousands of bullets just to kill a single enemy.
Not just Bullet—soldiers from all over the battlefield surged forward from trenches, craters, behind reefs and obstacles. Child soldiers and regular troops alike.
Another pre-dawn charge by the Galzburg army.
Bullet's unit always suffered heavy casualties. The reason he had survived again and again was simple—
Unlike the others, he had mastered both Armament Haki and Observation Haki.
No training. No teacher.
He had forged them himself, in the fires of war.
In the darkness, he could instinctively dodge bullets. When artillery rained down nearby, he would immediately coat himself in Armament Haki for protection.
After pushing forward over two hundred meters through crossfire and bombardment, Bullet suddenly noticed a change in the enemy lines.
As the first light of dawn broke, illuminating the battlefield—
He saw a man.
A powerfully built, noble-looking middle-aged man, surrounded by soldiers… warming up.
Judging by the sweat drenching his body, he had been doing so for quite a while.
A sharp sense of danger surged through Bullet.
He stopped instantly, dove forward, and flattened himself into a shell crater. Carefully, he raised his head just enough to peek out, eyes fixed on that figure, confusion in his gaze.
As a child soldier, Bullet was still just expendable—though he was one of the few who had some expectations placed upon him. Even so, he had no access to any high-level intelligence.
He had no idea about the terrifying power of the Prodence royal family.
He only knew—
That man was dangerous.
But how dangerous? How to avoid it?
He had no clue.
And then—
Dawn fully arrived.
As sunlight swept away the darkness, the man in Bullet's vision suddenly stopped moving.
He took a stance.
The soldiers around him instantly scattered.
Then—
"King Punch!!!"
With a roar, he threw a perfect, textbook left hook—like a fighter in a boxing ring.
The instant he punched—
Bullet's scalp went numb.
A primal fear surged through him, like he was facing something utterly monstrous.
And he was right.
Bullet had already dropped to the ground, but many Galzburg soldiers were still charging forward.
The moment that punch was unleashed—
A terrifying shockwave erupted.
Nothing could withstand it.
Trenches were crushed. Obstacles obliterated. Reefs disintegrated in an instant.
Galzburg soldiers—
turned into blood mist.
Wiped from existence.
The shockwave swept forward with overwhelming force, covering an enormous area. At a glance, Bullet knew—
It engulfed not only the battlefield ahead, but even the offshore frontline.
This single blow could destroy an entire fleet.
More importantly—
There was nowhere to run.
Realizing this, Bullet instinctively coated his entire body in Armament Haki, preparing to take the King Punch head-on.
He had no other option.
But just then—
He felt… cold?
In the midst of a blazing battlefield, why would dawn bring such chill?
Before he could process it, a thin layer of ice formed on the ground around him.
The next second—
A figure flickered into existence atop the ice.
"Looks like I made it just in time…"
As that voice reached his ears, Bullet saw someone step in front of him.
Then—
An overwhelming, deep-blue Haki surged outward, almost tangible.
"Susanoo!!!"
In the next instant—
The King Punch crashed through.
Bullet stared at the figure standing before him—
…and for the first time in a long while—
his mind went completely blank.
...
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