𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 || 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐋.𝐀

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋⁰²

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

Count the lights on empty souls

Quietly behind the doors

Oh, bleeding us just for fun

Men of power telling lies

Shifty hands and thirsty eyes

And they can smell your fear like blood

"When you speak, my only thought is to wring your neck"

He was at his monthly match, a fight that was held on the first day of every month, a fight that the entire village could watch, either from a Den Den Mushi or from the very stands of the 'Bloody Coliseum'.

It was called 'White Blood'.

He never really questioned the meaning of his name.

Let's get back to the point.

It was the first of October and Whittaker D. Kaede, the almost nine-year-old heir of Diphda Kingdom, having defeated Lorna after a two and a half hour combat, had let his guard down.

And it was at that exact moment, when he had walked away from his aunt, whose wounds were being wrapped by three nurses, that someone made the move on him.

Fortunately for Kaede, after hard training for eight long years, he had increased his instincts.

And that was what had saved his life that time.

Because, while he was walking towards the exit of the Colosseum, a person appeared.

He was a man with average facial features on Diphda Island. His body looked thin and his eyes were bloody as if he hadn't slept for a while.

He had a sword in his hands that he threw at Dede's throat at a speed that seemed slow, but he made it so that for some reason he couldn't dodge it.

The boy couldn't guess how this person had sneaked up on him, but in his mind he knew that it was impossible to dodge this attack.

But, to the surprise of the people he was watching, the little albino made an impossible move as he snapped out of his own shock.

He instinctively moved out of range of the blow, moving his head back, making the sword miss him.

He then crossed his hands in front of his young face and braced himself for the impact of the shock wave of the attack.

It was such a casual strike of the sword that anyone who saw it would be convinced that it contained no force.

But the shock wave that happened next was so large that it made a gash in the ground almost a hundred meters away.

And at the end of this trench was a boy who was [almost] nine years old.

His upper clothing was in tatters while he was still in a defensive position with his arms closed.

He shook his hands to free his body from the dust, and along the way he took off his ruined shirt.

He glared at the assailant with silent rage.

He had let his guard down. Which already pissed him off, but the most important thing is that if he hadn't gained the instincts of the mink race, he might have died from this sneak attack.