Chapter 3: The Night Raid
Charlotte crouched over the groaning gang boss and plucked something off the ground—a gold tooth, slick with blood.
"Nice."
He tucked it into his pouch. He needed money—badly—and gold was gold.
Bess, the boss of the Wild Wolf Gang, whimpered with his hands over his bleeding mouth, watching helplessly as Charlotte casually looted him.
Then Charlotte kicked him in the ribs.
Thud!
Bess flew through the air and crashed beside his unconscious lackeys.
"Get lost," Charlotte said coldly. "If I see you again, I won't be so polite."
The watching crowd parted in stunned silence. Even Bess's henchmen didn't argue. They scrambled to their feet, hoisted their half-conscious boss, and fled without a word.
Charlotte couldn't help but laugh.
"Wahahahaha!"
He hadn't laughed like that in a year. After all, mountain life wasn't exactly social. And even if he could tolerate loneliness, it didn't mean it didn't weigh on him. Now? He felt lighter. Freer.
He returned to his stall, packed up the pelts, and sold off the highest-quality ones. By sundown, he'd made 1.4 million Berries.
Not bad for a day's work.
The rest of the pelts were too damaged to be worth much, so he stashed them and made his way to the blacksmith.
"Boss! I need some custom ironwork!" he shouted into the forge.
A big man with a soot-covered face and a hammer in his hand stepped out.
"What can I do for you?"
Charlotte handed over a bundle of hand-drawn schematics. "Here. Build these."
The blacksmith unfolded the designs and squinted. His brow furrowed.
"This is… unusual. You sure you don't want a normal sword or farming tool?"
"Nope. Just follow the specs."
"These'll take time. And materials. Give me at least a month."
Charlotte frowned. "A month?"
He didn't have a month to wait.
"Alright. Just build the first few parts. I'll get the rest made elsewhere."
The blacksmith shrugged. "Fine by me. Leave the deposit."
There were only three blacksmith shops in town, so Charlotte split the order among them. With luck, he'd have everything ready within a week.
Business settled, Charlotte headed back to the small thatched cottage he hadn't set foot in for a year.
It was on the western edge of town, quiet and isolated. The roof leaked, the walls creaked, and the whole thing looked like a sneeze would knock it down.
Still better than sleeping in a tree.
He laid down, shut his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.
Meanwhile…
Inside a garish house on the east side of town, Bess sat on a couch, his face swollen and missing teeth. His gang stood around him, bruised and beaten, fuming with embarrassment.
"Boss," one of them muttered, "we can't just let that brat humiliate us. If word gets out, no one'll take the Wild Wolf Gang seriously again."
Bess slammed his fist on the table.
"That kid's dead. Even if God himself protects him, he won't live to see tomorrow."
He turned to one of his goons. "Did you find out who he is?"
"Yeah. He's an orphan. Lives in a thatched hut on the west side of town. Not exactly a secret."
Bess sneered and limped to a cabinet. He opened a drawer, pulled out a sleek flintlock pistol, and loaded it.
"Let's go."
Under the pale moonlight, Bess and five of his thugs crept toward the rundown shack.
Through the slats in the walls, they saw Charlotte fast asleep on his straw mattress.
Bess smirked.
"Perfect."
He raised the pistol, aimed it square at Charlotte's head, and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
In the instant before the shot reached him, Charlotte's entire body screamed with warning. His senses flared—his Observation Haki sparking like wildfire.
Danger. Incoming.
His eyes snapped open. Without thinking, he rolled to the side.
The bullet missed his skull by an inch, grazing his scalp.
"WHO?!"
Charlotte shot to his feet, bursting through the door.
He saw Bess.
And Bess froze.
He'd fired at point-blank range. The brat should be dead. But now the kid was wide awake and staring straight at him with murder in his eyes.
Charlotte pieced it together in an instant.
"You little rat. I spared your life, and you repay me with an assassination attempt?"
He exploded forward.
Before Bess could react, Charlotte slammed a fist into his chest—with everything he had.
The force of the punch tore straight through him.
Charlotte's arm passed clean through Bess's torso. Blood sprayed.
"Guh…!"
Bess tried to speak, but only coughed blood. His lips moved. Nothing came out.
He slumped forward, dead.
Charlotte yanked his arm back, flicked the blood off, and turned to face the others.
They were frozen in place. Shocked. Terrified.
One turned and ran.
Bad move.
Charlotte leapt after them. Not to kill—yet—but to make sure they didn't get away. With a few precise kicks, he knocked two to the ground and dragged them back by the ankles.
As he touched them, something strange happened.
Flashes of thought flickered through his mind—their thoughts.
"It's over. I'm dead. Poor me, I never even said goodbye to my girls…"
"Let me go! I swear, I'll kill you!"
Charlotte paused. He glanced at the second thug—the angry one still struggling.
He let him go.
The thug blinked, confused.
Then—crack!—Charlotte shattered his chest with one brutal stomp.
He dropped like a stone, dead before he hit the ground.
The last surviving thug curled up and trembled. "Don't kill me. Please. Don't…"
Charlotte tilted his head.
He wasn't sure why he could hear their thoughts now—but he'd figure it out later.
"You're Wild Wolf Gang, yeah? Where's your boss's stash?"
The guy hesitated.
Charlotte's eyes narrowed.
One of the others, bandaged and bleeding, raised his hand. "I'll tell you! Please—don't kill me."
"Speak."
"Boss kept all his valuables in a safe. In his manor. You… you can take them. We won't stop you!"
Charlotte leaned in, grabbed the boy's wrist, and asked again.
"Is that true?"
This time, he wasn't just listening to the answer. He was reading the fear behind the words.
And so far?
No lies.