Kaguya
"Such formidable combat skills." Seeing the white-haired youth's counterattack, they were undoubtedly amazed. Teach's eyes Teach, and he couldn't help but exclaim.
This series of actions, the extremely simple killing methods, were decisive and completely unlike those of a boy who was only about ten years old.
"It was him. Two years before I left the Kruoye Kingdom, he appeared on the battlefield of the Cannon Fodder Camp. Before I left, he survived every battle. At first, he hesitated, but in just a few battles, he completely transformed, like a Killing Machine. He started killing people when he was only five years old." Kos looked at the boy. Even after so many years, his impression of the boy was still very deep.
"You know, young children like him are the easiest to die on the battlefield and are also easy targets for adults. Yet he has survived time and time again on the battlefield. At first, he was very cautious, but later he started to fight the enemy head-on. I have personally witnessed him being in danger many times, but he always managed to turn the tide at the crucial moment. He is a monster with extraordinary combat talent."
The use of the word "monster" demonstrates Kos's serious attitude. Having sailed the Grand Line for three years, he has seen a lot and is not the kind of person who makes boastful claims.
The word "monster" had previously only been used by him to refer to Teach and Bullet.
"I never imagined he would still be alive three years later," Kos couldn't help but exclaim.
"Kos, so it's been five years now. He was only five years old when he went to the battlefield. How is that possible? Even though he was a child, it's impossible for him to have gone to the battlefield so early," Wallace couldn't help but ask.
Sending someone to the battlefield at the age of five is too cruel. I thought it was already terrifying that Kos started killing people at the age of seven, but I didn't expect there to be something even more terrifying now, sending someone to the battlefield at the age of five.
At such a young age, going to the battlefield and killing are two different things, and Kos is a marksman, and long-range sniping is not the same as close-quarters combat.
"That's how it is. They are all orphans, raised by the military, trained in killing techniques from a young age, and raised until they were five years old before going to the battlefield. After all, raising children costs money, and the kingdom's funds cannot all be spent on these children. They are just orphans, but the kingdom's military is not an orphanage," Kos said coldly. He was used to all of this, having frequently been to the edge of the battlefield.
"Moreover, orphans are everywhere in the kingdom. One batch leaves and another batch comes. A large number of orphans are born every year, so there is no worry about the source of life. Moreover, the main fighting force is still those death row inmates and slaves."
"What's his name? Do you know?" Watching the silver-haired youth slaughtering everyone on the battlefield, no one could stop him. Many people came to block him, only to turn into corpses and fall to the ground.
"I checked, there are no names." Kos shook his head. "These orphans don't have names. Some do, some don't, but the moment they enter the orphanage established by the military, they lose their names, they only have code names. His code name is 8."
"The number 8 symbolizes darkness," Teach chuckled. "It suits our Night Pirates perfectly!"
Teach's meaning was very clear: he had his eye on this young man, who was an extremely sharp blade. It would be a pity for him to simply stay here and eventually die on this battlefield; if he stayed here, Bullet's experience would be his fate.
"That's fate!" Koscos said with a smile, adjusting his monocular telescope after hearing Teach's words.
"I'm already feeling the good luck." Baccarat tucked her short red hair behind her ear.
"A new companion!" Wallace exclaimed excitedly.
"It seems we need to work even harder," Nelson remarked.
This boy's fighting talent and ability surpassed half of theirs. Although he was physically weak, he still displayed great strength. However, they could all see that he was currently very thin and somewhat malnourished, and had not been eating well. Once he received these nutrients and his body began to develop normally, his fighting power would increase exponentially.
This put enormous pressure on them.
The boy was still fighting. He was too powerful. Only in moments like this, through killing, could he feel life, feel the passing of life, and feel his own existence.
The boy wore a red shoulder strap on his right shoulder, and an "8" was printed on the right side of his pants. He was shirtless, very thin, with his bones clearly visible, and covered in scars and wounds—the marks of his battles over the years.
If killing is an art, then it is fully displayed in him. He does not have a clear advantage in terms of strength or speed, but without any unnecessary movements, he dodges attacks one after another. Every swing of his weapon seems to kill a life or block a blow at just the right moment.
Seemingly dissatisfied with his low killing efficiency and the rapid depletion of his stamina in the battle, his weapon changed at some point, becoming a knife with a sharp blade. This made killing much easier and required less strength than using an iron rod.
His title of "White-Haired Devil" was earned through countless battles. At some point, someone called out this name in fear, and more and more people in both sides' Cannon Fodder Camp came to know him. Because of his impressive record, the high-ranking officials in the Kruoye Kingdom who controlled the Cannon Fodder Camp even said that as long as the White-Haired Devil was killed, they would gain their freedom.
The originally balanced battlefield was even disrupted by the White-Haired Devil.
Although his reputation was terrifying, the personnel of both sides' Cannon Fodder Camp were constantly being replaced. For the sake of profit and the future, they were willing to take risks. Moreover, the so-called White-Haired Devil was just a ten-year-old boy who looked very thin and not strong at all.
In every major battle, he faced attacks from numerous enemies.
Because of his outstanding performance, eight more adults joined forces to attack him.
They need to contain Number Eight, otherwise their side will completely collapse.
These people were also survivors of the battlefield, and their strength was no less than that of elite soldiers. In order to deal with Number Eight, they were specially transferred from other battlefields. The border between the two kingdoms is very long, and there are many battlefields along the entire edge.
They were transferred from other Cannon Fodder Camp with promises of huge benefits; once they killed the White-Haired Devil, they would be completely free and receive a considerable fortune.
Eight people surrounded Number Eight from all eight directions, seemingly not wanting to leave him any chance to escape, each holding a sharp long knife.
Kingdoms have their own rules, and in order to maintain stability, these rules cannot be broken; this is a tacit understanding between two Sengoku.
The Cannon Fodder Camp can only be dealt with by the Cannon Fodder Camp. If other elite soldiers are used to deal with the Cannon Fodder Camp, once one side sets the precedent, the other side will do the same. When the rules are broken, everything will become more chaotic and people will resort to any means necessary.
At that time, assassinations of generals, nobles, and even the king will occur. They will also need to seek foreign aid. The scale of the war may expand and affect the heartlands of both countries, which is something neither of them wants.
Therefore, to deal with Number Eight, they can only use some special methods within the rules.
Each of these eight men was clad in leather armor and carried fine weapons. Compared to the other members of the Cannon Fodder Camp, their equipment was undoubtedly very luxurious and enviable.
Even in such a dangerous situation, Number Eight remained completely calm and composed, showing no signs of tension.
He'd experienced too many things like this. Dying on the battlefield wouldn't be so bad; he was tired. What was the meaning of life? Was death the only option?
However, he was searching, determined not to die so easily, and would give it his all.
"Die, White-Haired Devil! Do your part for our freedom! Give us your head!" One of them, wielding a sharp longsword, took two quick steps forward to his left rear, gripping the sword with both hands, the sharp tip pointed at Number Eight's body.
At the same time he made his move, three more people made theirs, positioned in four directions around Number Eight. Four more people were preventing Number Eight from escaping. However, there was no coordination between them, and the large number of people fighting together actually created some negative effects.
They had all witnessed the battle that Number Eight had fought, so they were very vigilant and did not underestimate him just because Number Eight was only a ten-year-old child.
Moreover, this number eight has survived on this battlefield for five years, surpassing the vast majority of cannon fodder.
Facing the slash from behind, Number Eight felt a chill on his skin, but he was not afraid. He slightly bent his legs in the face of the attack.
He leaped into the air, performing a backflip three meters high, thus avoiding the stab that was thrust at him. At the same time, to the man's horrified gaze, he swung his long sword, slicing across the man's neck, blood spurting out. The leather jacket on their bodies was of no use; it couldn't possibly cover their necks.
This counterattack made the others' hearts tighten. One person had died so quickly. Now, with one person dead, Number Eight had already approached the outer perimeter and quickly bent down to pick up the long knife that had fallen from the hand of the person he had killed.
The moment he grabbed the longsword, he charged straight at one of the people on the outer perimeter. He quickly figured out a way to break the deadlock, knowing that being surrounded would inevitably put him at a disadvantage.
Such sharp reflexes were Teach had only ever seen in Wos before.
Number Eight, wielding two knives, was even more powerful. He swung one long knife, and the boy hurriedly raised his own to block it. However, in the next moment, Number Eight's other knife swung over, the tip slicing across his neck.
In the blink of an eye, two people died, and their encirclement was completely torn open.
Once he reached the outer perimeter, no one could stop him. After killing two people, he charged directly at the two adults on the left. To avoid being surrounded, his first target was the person on the outermost edge.
At this point, Teach and his team gained a deeper understanding of the Killing Machine that Kos had described. There were no unnecessary movements; every action was preparation for killing.
A heavy rain began to fall from the sky, dark clouds gathered, and the rain poured down, mingling with the flowing blood.
It seems they wanted to wash away death and pain.
However, it could not be erased no matter what, because the war was still going on. This kind of battlefield with only a few hundred people was not considered war. In the context of the entire battlefield, it was just a minor skirmish, insignificant. But for these Cannon Fodder Camp soldiers, it was already war.
Death continued, and many corpses lay on the battlefield. No one cared about these bodies, for they had been experiencing it all along and were used to it.
In the Cannon Fodder Camp, life is worthless; if you don't kill, if you don't survive, then you have no value whatsoever.
Silver-haired boy number eight lived up to his title of devil. On this battlefield, after breaking the deadlock, he wielded his blood-stained twin blades and reaped lives one by one. The remaining six adults who were besieging him quickly died under his blade.
One by one, lives fell. Some people stared intently at the shoulder straps on the fallen corpses, grabbed five straps, and began to flee, heading towards the rear of the battlefield, towards the Cannon Fodder Camp.
For these survivors, their own lives were the most important thing. Some of them pretended to be dead at the beginning of the battle, and after their comrades killed the opponent and seized the shoulder strap, they would secretly ambush and kill their seriously wounded comrades.
In a battlefield of hundreds, only a few dozen survive. It's always the same. There are many such small battlefields, and the total death toll is terrifying, like a meat grinder, even higher than the main battlefield.
Those who were still alive fled one after another, and fewer and fewer people survived on the battlefield. Some were still fighting, while others were searching for the shoulder straps of their enemies among the piles of corpses. After all, in the midst of the carnage, it was impossible to take the shoulder straps of every person killed, as it would be easy to be ambushed by others.
The silver-haired boy didn't care about the shoulder straps at all. The last person fell down, panting heavily, his twin swords stained with blood, blood and rain dripping continuously from the tips of the blades.
All around him were corpses; apart from him, there was no one else alive. Blood flowed like a river, and the pain, despair, and resentment lingered on the faces of the dead.
"I'm all alone again. What is the meaning of life? Is it just killing? Is it just about surviving?"
The silver-haired boy looked at the corpses around him, his eyes filled with confusion, and muttered to himself.
Rain drizzled down on him, and a light mist appeared in the air, making his figure appear somewhat hazy and seemingly obscuring the bloodshed of the battlefield, shrouding him in an ethereal atmosphere.
Suddenly, his gaze fell upon a flower, a blooming white flower.
He was taken aback, quickly walked to the flower, and carefully squatted down. "It's the flower from back then." He had seen this flower in the same place during a previous battle, but back then it was just a bud. Now it was in full bloom, very beautiful, and it caught his eye.
"Why is it blooming here? Don't you know it's dangerous here?" The boy frowned and asked, staring at the flower.
However, after waiting for a long time, the flower did not give him the answer, because it could not speak.
"Why? Why aren't you answering me?" The boy looked at the flower that showed no reaction, seemingly a little angry. "Are you ignoring me?"
He wanted to feel his own existence, and killing allowed him to feel life and his own existence.
He picked up a knife he had placed on the ground, raised it, and pointed the tip at the flower, as if he wanted to stab it.
"Stop doing that." A voice suddenly rang out, and the boy reacted sharply, picking up his two knives, turning to the side, ready for battle, as if he might strike at any moment.
Suddenly, someone stood behind him. Teach, and the rain soaked his clothes.
The boy watched Teach with great vigilance, gripping the knife tightly in his hand, as if only a weapon could give him a sense of security.
"There's no such thing as the meaning of living." Teach looked at him and smiled faintly. Hearing Teach's words, the boy slowly stood up.
"But if you survive, you might find something interesting, or even the meaning of life," Teach said with a smile, looking at the boy. The boy turned around and stood face to face with Teach, looking at Teach.
"Just like you found that flower, just like I found you." Teach smiled, reaching out his left hand to gently stroke the boy's right cheek.
For some reason, the boy didn't resist; he was completely stunned, and his hands involuntarily loosened, causing the two knives to fall to the ground.
How warm! The boy couldn't help but think, feeling the warmth of Teach's hands, as if it were melting his heart.
"You don't have a name, do you?" Teach's words made the boy's heart sink a little, but the next sentence made his heart leap into his throat, reaching its peak, "Then I'll give you a name, Kaguya, from now on your name will be Kaguya."
"Kaguya, Kaguya." The boy's eyes widened in surprise. For some reason, he felt a surge of joy, as if he could sense the meaning of his existence.
"Come with me. There's no point in continuing to fight on this battlefield." Teach smiled, turned around, and left.
Kaguya was stunned for a moment, watching Teach's departing figure. For some reason, her body suddenly started moving on its own, and she couldn't help but follow Teach, trailing behind Teach.