Douglas Bullet

On the battlefield.

Smoke billowed as blood and mud mixed together, trampled over and over beneath countless chaotic footsteps.

The air was thick with the nauseating stench of gunpowder, rust, and scorched flesh.

A nine-year-old child named Douglas Bullet was laughing wildly as he slaughtered his way through the fighting.

His hoarse roar was like something scorched by the flames of war again and again, echoing between artillery blasts with the exhilaration of tearing his throat apart.

He had been born on the Grand Line—in the Endless War Nation.

A place where even the word "peace" seemed extravagant and absurd.

His father had been a soldier from an enemy nation.

Before he was old enough to remember, his mother had abandoned him amid ruins and corpses.

He had no name, no home, and even less right to choose.

Until that day.

The Galz Force, army of the hostile military state of Gartzberg, found him while clearing the battlefield.

They judged only one thing—

This child could survive, and he could be used.

So, he was brought into the military camp.

Under the command of Captain Douglas Gray, he was honed, exploited, and molded like a tool.

He was given a number.

Number 9.

That was his designation, as well as his purpose.

He charged at the forefront as a demolition soldier, the first bullet that tore a bloody path open for the army.

Amid the endless atmosphere of war, he began to crave military achievements, crave "medals," crave something that could prove he existed.

With his innate, monstrous talent for combat, he quickly became active on the battlefield.

Blades, guns, explosions, close-quarters combat—he learned faster than anyone else and fought more ruthlessly than anyone else.

By the age of eight, he was already stronger and more dangerous than many adult