CHAPTER 11 — WHEN RAIN FALLS ON MEN
The smell reached me first.
Smoke. Sweat. Old iron.
Observation Haki spread outward instinctively, touching the edges of Windmill Village, sliding over rooftops, alleys, and forest paths. Hostile intent rippled through it—coarse, loud, careless. Too many heartbeats. Too fast. Too confident.
Bandits.
Not the mountain bandits yet. Not them.
These were smaller. Hungrier. Desperate men looking for an easy target.
They chose the wrong place.
THE ATTACK
The first scream came from the edge of the village.
Glass shattered. A door slammed open. Heavy boots followed, pounding against wooden floors that had never known violence before. The bandits moved in
groups, laughing, shouting orders over each other, blades drawn without discipline.
Observation Haki mapped them instantly.
Six in the east alley.
Four near the docks.
Three pushing toward the old man's house.
My home.
I moved.
No rush. No wasted speed.
Three swords slid free in a single motion,
steel whispering as it met air. My extra arm flexed, grip tightening, stance lowering.
The first bandit never saw me.
FIRST BLOOD
He turned the corner with a sack over his shoulder, eyes wide when he saw me.
I did not swing wide.
One step forward.
Rain of Swords activated—not fully, not expansively. Just enough.
Three arms moved.
The sound was soft. Almost gentle.
When he hit the ground, his body didn't fall apart dramatically. He simply… collapsed. Blood followed seconds later, thin lines blooming across his chest, neck, and arms.
He was already dead.
No hesitation followed.
SYSTEMATIC ERASURE
The second group charged when they heard him fall.
Bad choice.
They came together. Clumped. Screaming.
Perfect.
I stepped into them.
This time, Rain of Swords unfolded wider.
Blades vanished into motion. Slashes layered over slashes, angles overlapping so densely that armor meant nothing.
Armament Haki reinforced edges, not overpowering, just enough to ensure every cut reached flesh.
One man tried to block.
His sword shattered under the pressure of intersecting cuts, his hands following an instant later.
Another tried to run.
Energy slashes followed him.
Not deep.
Not wide.
But precise.
He made it three steps before his legs failed, muscles severed by invisible edges.
They died quickly.
Not mercifully.
Efficiently.
ELSEWHERE
Ace exploded into motion on the opposite side of the village, fist already swinging.
"Get the hell out of our home!" he roared.
He didn't kill.
His punches were brutal—bone-cracking, breath-stealing—but controlled. He aimed
for jaws, ribs, solar plexus. Men flew, bodies slamming into walls, dropping unconscious in piles.
Sabo moved like a shadow.
A staff he'd stolen earlier cracked across knees, wrists, and temples. He used momentum, redirecting attacks, flipping
bandits onto the ground where they stayed down, gasping, broken but alive.
Luffy laughed.
Not because it was funny—but because he didn't understand fear yet.
He stretched, fists snapping out like whips, knocking bandits flat with cartoonish force that still carried bone-deep impact. They hit the ground hard and didn't get back up.
Three boys.
Three approaches.
One outcome.
BACK TO ME
I didn't stop moving.
Every hostile presence that crossed into my range was met with steel. I didn't announce myself. I didn't threaten. I didn't ask
questions.
One bandit dropped his weapon and begged.
Observation Haki told me he would attack the moment I turned away.
I didn't turn.
Rain of Swords ended him mid-sentence.
Blood pooled at my feet, soaking into dirt that would never fully forget it.
The old man's house stood behind me—untouched.
Too late for him to see this.
Good.
THE LAST STAND
The remaining bandits regrouped near the center of the village—six men left, backs to each other, breathing hard, eyes darting.
Fear finally reached them.
I walked toward them.
Slow.
Each step deliberate.
They attacked together.
I stopped.
Did not advance.
Did not retreat.
Rain of Swords unfolded completely.
This time, I let the pattern breathe.
Hundreds of slashes filled the space
between us—steel and energy intertwined, close-range and mid-range cuts layering over each other so densely that there was no safe place to stand.
The air screamed.
Then went silent.
The men fell apart—not explosively, not grotesquely—but as if their bodies simply failed to hold together anymore.
They were dead before they hit the ground.
AFTERMATH
Smoke drifted upward.
Villagers peeked from behind doors and windows, faces pale, eyes wide.
Bodies lay scattered—some unconscious, some broken, some still.
Some dead.
Ace wiped blood from his knuckles, chest heaving. "They won't be coming back."
Sabo leaned on his staff, eyes flicking
Toward me, then away. He didn't comment.
Luffy stared at the bodies I'd left behind, expression unreadable.
"…You killed them," he said finally.
I cleaned my blades.
One by one.
Carefully.
"They chose to attack," I replied. My voice was flat. Unmoved.
Ace clenched his fists, jaw tight, but he didn't argue.
Sabo understood. He always did.
Luffy looked down at his hands, then back up at me.
"…Okay."
That was all.
SILENCE RETURNS
The village survived.
Homes still stood.
Children still breathed.
Some men would wake with pain they'd never forget.
Others would never wake at all.
Rain of Swords faded, my arms settling at my sides. No triumph. No regret. Only assessment.
Threat eliminated.
Lesson delivered.
That night, Windmill Village slept under quiet skies.
Bandits learned fear.
Some learned it too late.
Ace, Sabo, and Luffy fought to protect.
I fought to erase.
And the rain—
The rain had fallen exactly where it was needed.