One Piece: Blood Clan

East Blue – East Bro Village.

"Alright, Burs, we're dropping you off here. You should head home now," Garp announced as the vessel slowed to dock.

"Yes, Vice Admiral Garp. Thank you for taking care of me these past few days," Burs replied politely, gathering his belongings.

Before Burs could disembark, Garp added, "And remember, if you ever decide to join the Marines, just give me a call—you know my number, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir," came the prompt reply.

"Then off you go."

With that, Burs shouldered his luggage and left the ship. His home lay in East Row Village, which was only about a two-hour journey from Usopp's West Bro Village. He recalled how, during a recent outing with his parents, a vicious pirate raid nearly cost him everything—only Garp and his crew had saved his life.

Lost in thought, Burs soon arrived at a grand mansion that looked more like a castle than a home. Although he had only just lost his adoptive parents, a flicker of excitement stirred within him at the thought of beginning his new life here. He wasn't one to wallow in feigned sorrow; after all, these were not his true parents—and self-pity would only feel insincere. Deep inside, however, he longed for the warmth of a real family, something he'd never truly known.

"Young master, welcome home!" a gentle voice chimed.

Standing before him was Miya, a sweet-faced 16-year-old maid with porcelain skin and a crisp black-and-white uniform. Miya was one of only two staff members in the household, the other being a seasoned housekeeper. Judging by her bright expression, it was clear that neither she nor the other servant yet knew about his parents' passing—and Burs hadn't mentioned it either. With no established outline for these characters, he preferred to learn their true natures before divulging such painful details.

"I'll take your suitcase, young master," Miya offered, accepting the luggage from his hands.

"Miss, may I ask—where are the master and madam?" she inquired.

"They're still out. It's likely they won't return for quite a while," he explained calmly.

Miya's eyes danced with playful mischief as she teased, "So, young master, you'll be all alone tonight. Would you like me to keep you company in bed? (★w★)"

A flush crept over Burs's cheeks as he stammered, "Ah—no, that won't be necessary."

"Really? You're used to sleeping with Madam. Aren't you scared of being alone?" she pressed, half-joking.

"Not at all!" he insisted, then stormed up the stairs in a huff.

Damn that cheeky maid! If my methods weren't still so rudimentary, I'd show you what true cruelty looks like, he thought with a mix of annoyance and secret amusement.

At the doorway to his room, Burs encountered another member of the staff—a composed, 25-year-old housekeeper named Nancy Grey. In contrast to Miya's youthful exuberance, Nancy's graceful figure and cool, composed expression spoke of maturity. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise at his early return.

Wasn't I supposed to be away with the master and madam on their trip? Why am I back already? Burs mused silently. Oh no… they must have come home too. Our food stores aren't much, and they planned to purchase supplies today. I'd better keep an eye on things before even a welcome dinner falls through.

Noticing the subtle shift in Nancy's expression, Burs tensed—hoping she wasn't as devious as the infamous housekeeper rumored to be lurking around Kaya's estate. Yet before he could press further, Nancy curtseyed and hurried away.

Taking mental notes from this brief encounter, Burs retreated to his own lavishly decorated room—a space he now called his own, a far cry from the cramped quarters he'd once shared.

Once his luggage was neatly set aside, his thoughts turned to the matter of evolution. His process was simple: by absorbing blood, he gained experience until he eventually evolved. Currently at Level 4, it was clear he'd already ingested some blood before.

There was a catch, though. As a low-level vampire, his capacity to absorb blood was limited—much like a human reaches fullness after a meal. Once sated, he had to wait for the blood to digest, which slowed his progress considerably. Yet if he engaged in combat or rigorous training after feeding, the accelerated metabolism would hasten digestion, letting him feed more often.

Regarding sources, he resolved not to prey on humans just yet. Though human blood was more potent, the thought of harming innocent people was abhorrent to him. For now, he would stick to drawing blood from animals. Once he sailed the high seas, where villains abounded, there would be no shortage of prey.

With that plan in mind, Burs stepped out into the mansion's spacious backyard. The estate kept a small menagerie—sheep, horses, cattle, and more. Following his nose, he eventually arrived before a black stallion. Though most of the animals reeked, the stallion's scent was comparatively less offensive.

Sensing his approach, the black stallion grew anxious. Its hooves began tapping nervously against the ground as it realized danger might be near, but it was tethered and couldn't escape.

As Burs drew closer, the stallion's eyes widened in palpable fear—a reminder that even the animals in this tumultuous world possessed a certain humanity.

"Steady now," Burs murmured soothingly. "It might hurt a little, but it'll be over soon."

The horse continued to struggle, clearly unmoved by his gentle words. With a sudden, resounding thump, a bruise bloomed on its head.

"I told you—stay still!" Burs snapped.

At last, the stallion calmed, albeit reluctantly. Seizing the moment, Burs clambered onto its back. A sly smile played on his lips as his small fangs emerged, and he sank them into the horse's neck.

A sharp, needle-like sting shot through the stallion, but it dared not move further—especially when it noticed that, inexplicably, Burs's hand now gripped a wooden stick. The stick was pressed against a sensitive spot just below its hindquarters, ensuring the horse stayed in place.

True to Burs's word, the ordeal lasted barely a minute. Still, in that short span, the poor stallion broke out in a cold sweat, terrified of what might come next.

Burs's appetite was modest—he only drained about half a kilogram of blood. The amount was hardly enough to seriously harm the horse, and the wound mended itself in mere seconds.

Full and satisfied, Burs's face flushed an unnatural red as he slid off the stallion, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs.

"Hic—hehe, not bad at all. I'll be back for more next time," he quipped, his tone darkly amused as he teased the horse.

After his playful banter, Burs strolled back toward the house, leaving the stallion watching his retreat with wide, trembling eyes.