The David Clan and the Golden Finger

The leader's sudden death became the last straw that broke the camel's back. The remaining gang members finally collapsed completely.

Panic spread like a plague, and the last trace of fighting spirit vanished. With a collective shout, the survivors rushed toward the doors, windows, and any possible route of escape.

Dawn's gaze sharpened. He bent his knees slightly, and the muscles in his calves suddenly tightened like steel cables as he kicked off with explosive force.

Crack! Fine fractures spread across the solid ground beneath his feet.

Like a mad bull breaking free of its reins, he charged forward, turning his incredibly powerful body into the most direct weapon possible!

Boom!

The gangsters trying to flee were sent flying like bowling pins struck by a perfect throw. Amid scalp-tingling impacts, they were hurled in every direction, smashing heavily into walls and pillars. Their bones and tendons shattered, and they slid limply to the floor without another sound.

A moment later, all the clamor and cries of battle subsided, and the hall finally sank into deathly silence.

Only the heavy, nearly unbearable stench of blood lingered in the air, along with the mess covering the floor—broken furniture and corpses lying in every conceivable posture.

Dawn stood amid the mountain of corpses and sea of blood, his chest rising and falling faintly. Hot white vapor streamed from his mouth and nose, and a trace of weariness finally appeared on his face.

He swept his gaze over the enemies sprawled all around him and slowly exhaled a foul breath tinged with the scent of rust.

"My techniques... are still far too crude."

He quietly assessed himself, dissatisfied with his performance.

"I relied purely on physical instinct and strength to fight. It was far too inefficient. Otherwise, dealing with this trash wouldn't have cost me so much... As expected, I'm still too weak."

What others would have considered an inhuman feat was merely a barely passing result to him. His pursuit of strength was harsh and unwavering.

Dawn did not linger in his reflections for long. He quickly gathered his thoughts, and his eyes returned to their icy calm.

He began pacing slowly through the hall, delivering fatal blows to those whose bodies still carried faint traces of life.

Leaving no roots behind had always been his principle. Mercy toward an enemy was cruelty toward oneself.

After confirming that no living soul remained here except himself, Dawn began expertly collecting his spoils.

Ignoring the ordinary weapons splattered with blood, he headed directly toward the rear of the hall and found several rooms where the One-Eyed Gang stored its supplies.

He sorted all the preserved food he could find—jerky, black bread, coarse grains—as well as Beli cash and a few gold and silver trinkets hidden in secret compartments and chests, then packed them into two enormous burlap sacks he had prepared beforehand.

Before long, the two heavy bundles, each large enough to hold two grown men, were stuffed completely full.

Dawn effortlessly hoisted them onto his broad shoulders as though they were merely two sacks of cotton.

Ignoring the fearful, reverent, and faintly greedy gazes of the slum dwellers shivering as they watched from distant alleyways, he followed the route he had come by and returned directly to his shabby hut deep in the slums.

The trip passed without incident. No one blinded by greed dared jump out and try to "pick the peach."

Those who could survive in this hellish district might be vile or vicious, but very few of them were truly stupid.

They knew perfectly well that the fiend who could wipe out the One-Eyed Gang alone and walk away unscathed was not someone they could afford to provoke.

Back in the low, damp hut, which contained almost nothing besides a hard wooden bed, a battered wardrobe, and a crude stove, Dawn put down the supplies and carefully washed away the dried, congealed blood on his body.

Hot water flowed over the tiny wounds, bringing waves of mild stinging pain.

Yet only moments later, those superficial scratches had stopped bleeding and even begun to itch faintly, revealing healing capabilities far beyond those of an ordinary person.

After changing into relatively clean black clothes—also looted from some unlucky gang leader—he began preparing the food he had brought back.

He quickly lit a fire, simply heated a large chunk of dried meat, and sliced two fairly fresh fruits. That made for a dinner luxurious enough to be extravagant in the slums.

Then he began wolfing it down.

His appetite was astonishing, enough to leave any muscular man famed for his eating capacity dumbfounded. Great quantities of food vanished into his mouth at a visible rate, as though they were not solid food but liquid.

As the food entered his stomach, a familiar warmth swiftly rose from within. Like a gentle stream, it flowed merrily through his limbs and bones, reaching every corner of his body.

The strength he had expended in the battle was replenished rapidly. His minor injuries healed at an unbelievable pace, scabbing over and even shedding their scabs, leaving behind only nearly invisible pale pink new flesh.

At the same time, he could clearly feel that every cell in his body seemed to be cheering, greedily absorbing the energy and undergoing a subtle yet undeniably real strengthening and transformation.

His muscle fibers seemed to grow denser and tougher, his bone density quietly increased, and his five senses became sharper... A feeling of power gradually drove away his earlier exhaustion.

Feeling this wondrous, intoxicating change, Dawn narrowed his eyes and sank into thought.

Dawn was a transmigrator.

His full name was Davy D. Dawn.

However, under the solemn instructions of his late parents, he generally called himself Herman Dawn in public. Herman was the surname from his parents' alias.

Twelve years ago, he had been an ordinary office worker in the Dragon Nation on Blue Star. On his way home after a night shift, an out-of-control speeding truck sent him to this world, where he was reborn as an infant.

His parents in this life had come from the David Clan, but rather than live with the other clan members, they chose to abandon the clan, conceal their identities, and hide in the chaotic industrial district of Carnival City in hopes of living peaceful lives.

However, heaven did not grant their wishes. No matter how careful they were, disaster still arrived as scheduled.

One day seven years ago, while Dawn was out looking for food, a member of the Longarm Tribe came to their door. He wore a white suit and a white mask with dark stripes on its right side. Dawn's parents were grievously wounded and left on the verge of death.

Dawn, who happened to be outside, narrowly escaped disaster.

When he returned home with the tiny piece of moldy bread he had struggled to find, all he saw were his parents lying in a pool of blood, barely clinging to life.

From their broken, fearful, and unwilling account in their final moments, he learned the killer's appearance and distinguishing features.

Using their last strength, his parents gripped his hand tightly and told him to stay away from anyone dressed in similar clothing and never reveal his true full name. Then they drew their final breaths and passed away.

From that day onward, Dawn became an orphan, struggling to survive in this law-of-the-jungle slum. His earliest days were as dark as a nightmare.

Malnourished and frail, with no fighting skills whatsoever, he could only become a target for street thugs to bully, beat, and rob of food. Going hungry and getting beaten were everyday occurrences.

Forced by the harsh realities of survival, he began resorting to less-than-honorable methods, setting crude traps and taking advantage of the disarming nature of a child's appearance.

When he first relied on a little cunning and a ruthless, death-defying streak to seize enough food for three days from several street thugs far stronger than himself, then ate the first truly filling meal of his life, he was shocked to find that his bruised body, battered countless times, began recovering rapidly and had even grown slightly stronger than before.

As an experienced web novel reader in his previous life, Dawn immediately understood—he might possess what was known as a "golden finger."

But the prerequisite for activating it was likely "eating a full meal." Before that, he had struggled merely to stay alive, so there had been no chance of meeting that condition.

After discovering this, something that had long been suppressed within him awakened.

I was bullied before I discovered the golden finger, and I'm still being bullied after discovering it. What use is this golden finger, then?

To avoid being bullied again and to continue developing this mysterious golden finger, Dawn began fighting his way forward.

He dealt with one gang of thugs and small gang after another, all entrenched throughout the slums and preying on the weak, seizing batch after batch of food.

And the One-Eyed Gang he had just destroyed was the largest local force, as well as the last one capable of posing even a slight threat to him.

"It's time to leave."

As the tide of memories receded, Dawn looked at his well-defined hands and made his decision inwardly.

"This place can no longer provide enemies strong enough for me to keep growing, nor enough food."

"And I must find out the truth behind this physique of mine. I need to become stronger and take revenge on those people."

The ability to continually grow stronger by eating after being injured was undeniably powerful, but it also left him faintly uneasy.

There was no such thing as a free lunch in this world. He desperately wanted to know where this ability came from and whether it concealed unknown side effects or a terrible price.

Could he lose control like Charlotte Linlin, falling into a terrifying eating disorder? Although he had not shown any such symptoms so far, and his craving for food was limited to what his body needed to grow stronger rather than some uncontrollable frenzy, he still had to remain cautious.

No matter what, this golden finger was now the foundation of his survival. Without understanding its origins, he could not truly rest easy.

As a transmigrator, he naturally knew that the true culprit behind his parents' deaths was most likely CP, the organization shrouded in the world's shadows. And that white-suited man in the striped mask was likely CP0, directly under the Celestial Dragons.

If not for those people, he might have had an ordinary, peaceful life in this world, even if it was a poor one.

If they could live normal lives, then aside from those born with great ambitions, who would willingly choose a life spent licking blood from the blade's edge, never knowing whether they would survive until tomorrow?

Since those pig-headed bastards who called themselves gods would not let him live in peace, then he would never let them live in peace either!

Having made up his mind, he quickly cleared the table, returned directly to the bedroom, lay down on the hard wooden bed, and forced himself to sleep.

The night passed without incident.

The next morning, dawn had barely broken, and the slums were still shrouded in gray haze and silence.

Dawn had already washed up and changed into relatively respectable black clothes. They were still simple, but at least they would not make him stand out too much when he blended into the elegantly dressed crowds of the outer city.

He carefully packed most of the Beli and the small amount of gold and silver valuables into a sturdy canvas backpack and slung it over his back.

Finally, he glanced around the hut that had borne witness to seven years of pain, struggle, and bloody rise. There was no attachment in his eyes as he turned without hesitation and locked the broken wooden door, which could not have kept out any thief anyway.

His tall figure passed through the muddy, potholed streets of the slums, drawing countless watchful eyes hidden in door cracks and behind window shadows. Yet no one dared approach him, much less stop him.

Before long, he reached the entrance in the tall wall separating the main city from the slums, a wall whose symbolic significance far outweighed its actual defensive value.

After paying an entrance fee that was an astronomical sum to any slum dweller, Dawn entered the true core district of Carnival City.

In an instant, noise and prosperity washed over him like a heat wave.

Clean, spacious streets; dazzling shops with bright display windows; well-dressed crowds chatting and laughing; the scent of freshly baked bread, creamy pastries, and rich coffee drifting through the air...

Everything stood in stark contrast to the hopeless, gray world behind him, as though they were two entirely different planets.

Dawn's calm gaze swept across it all. His eyes did not ripple in the slightest, showing neither envy nor hatred, only a profound indifference.

Following information he had gathered through various channels years ago, he headed directly toward the grandest travel agency near the city center square.

Prosperous Carnival City had a thriving tourism industry. As long as one paid enough Beli, its travel agencies could provide scheduled sightseeing routes to many famous islands on the Grand Line or chartered ship services.

Dawn entered the travel agency's gleaming lobby and walked straight to an empty counter. Pulling out a stack of Beli sufficient to cover a family of three in the slums for a week, he looked at the uniformed receptionist.

"One ticket to Drum Island. The nearest departure."

His reason for choosing Drum Island was simple and direct: it was famous throughout the world for its superb medical techniques and numerous renowned doctors. He needed its medical knowledge to investigate the secret of his physique.

After he paid the full amount, the ticket was quickly issued.

Dawn accepted the beautifully printed ticket and followed its instructions toward the designated waiting hall at the harbor.

He did not speak with the well-dressed passengers around him, who were eagerly discussing their upcoming journeys. Nor did he pay attention to the amazed or curious looks some women cast at his appearance and physique.

He found a quiet seat near a corner, placed his backpack on his knees, closed his eyes to rest, and waited for the ship's departure.

At dusk, the setting sun, like a massive molten golden orb, slowly sank beneath the horizon, dyeing the boundless sea a magnificent expanse of gold and orange-red.

A massive three-masted sailing ship belonging to the travel agency, its hull painted in vivid colors and carnival patterns, slowly docked and lowered its gangplank.

The passengers began lining up and boarded under the crew's guidance.

Dawn blended into the crowd. His tall build and cold temperament drew many sidelong glances, but his unapproachable aura discouraged anyone who wanted to strike up a conversation.

After boarding, he went directly to his room in the bottom of the ship's cabin. It was somewhat cramped for him, but he did not care.

After putting down his luggage, Dawn closed his eyes to rest, feeling the vibrations as the ship set sail and listening to the waves strike against its hull.