"Pop!"
Under the dazzling sunlight, a colorful bubble slowly floated to its peak—then burst.
Beneath a large tree, Zayle knelt on the ground, his hands bound behind his back. His head was lowered in silence, and the dark barrel of a rifle was pressed firmly against the back of his head.
"Execute him!"
Rear Admiral Karrens gave a low command, withdrawing his gaze from the black-haired youth. A flicker of regret flashed deep in his eyes.
Everyone knew the boy wasn't at fault—yet he still couldn't escape death.
"Damn Celestial Dragons," Karrens cursed inwardly.
If it weren't for them, a talent like this youth would have had a promising future under his command. But there was nothing he could do. If the Celestial Dragons didn't see this boy's corpse, it would be his own on the ground instead.
"Bang!"
As the thought crossed his mind, the gunshot rang out.
It was over. Just another youth who had angered the Celestial Dragons. Offending nobility—whether it was one in a hundred, a thousand, or even ten thousand—it all led to the same fate: death.
Karrens sighed and turned to leave.
Serving on the Sabaody Archipelago, one could rarely refuse this kind of order.
This, too, was part of his fate.
Karrens was a man who believed deeply in fate.
But just as he stepped forward, he noticed something strange. His marines hadn't followed.
"What are you all standing there for? Pick up the body and dispose of it—now!"
He frowned and turned back.
The moment he did, his pupils contracted sharply at the sight before him.
Shock. Disbelief.
His already stern face turned pale with confusion.
Beneath the black-haired youth was a small bullet hole in the ground. The air still held a faint trace of gunpowder—the scent of a standard Navy-issued rifle.
"He… isn't dead?"
"How's that possible?"
"The bullet clearly passed through the back of his skull and came out his forehead!"
The voices were trembling, a hint of panic creeping in.
Karrens quickly regained his composure and stared at the black-haired youth, who had now lifted his head.
From the moment of his capture, the youth had remained unnervingly calm—completely unafraid of death.
Even now, after being shot in the head, he remained unharmed.
His eyes were dark as ink, disturbingly serene—as if he had expected this all along.
Then Karrens noticed something else: not a single mark between the youth's eyebrows. It was as if the bullet had never hit him at all.
His pupils narrowed again. "Use a blade," he ordered.
The marine behind the youth hesitated for a moment, then drew the military sword from his waist.
He understood what Karrens meant—they were switching to a beheading.
This boy was too strange. Not even bullets could kill him.
The next second, the blade sliced through the air and struck the youth's neck with full force—clean, precise, without resistance.
Everyone saw it clearly. The execution was flawless.
And yet, to their shock, the boy remained completely unharmed. His head didn't fall. His face and eyes were as calm as still water.
In fact, within those eyes staring at Karrens... was a hint of mockery.
"What the hell are you?" Karrens shouted.
Something was definitely wrong. Neither the bullet nor the blade had any effect.
This kid was like some kind of monster.
Zayle didn't answer. His thoughts were elsewhere. After two deaths, he'd gained two new points on his interface—and he was now deep in thought.
Roughly ten days ago, he had arrived in this world and become a gardener for a noble on the Sabaody Archipelago. He'd even made a few good friends.
As long as the noble family was away, life had been relatively peaceful.
Until that day. The master of the house—a fat man in fine clothes—stormed home in a rage. He must've been humiliated outside, and he took it all out on his servants.
Four of Zayle's friends were beaten to death. One female friend… died to the noble's twisted desires. He made her enter a boiling cauldron naked—steamed her—then burned her.
Zayle had never imagined such cruelty could exist in this world.
Though he had been reborn as a servant, his friends had been kind—especially that girl. She used to sneak him extra food, and when their eyes met, her pale cheeks would blush faintly.
When it was finally his turn, Zayle snapped.
He fought back with everything he had, and the noble shot him in the heart.
That was the moment he discovered his first ability in this new world:
He couldn't die.
Any attack that would normally be fatal simply didn't work.
He could be hurt—but never killed.
Using this undead trait, Zayle experienced death 23 times—and in the end, he slaughtered the noble and all 32 of his guards.
He escaped.
But today, he clashed with a Celestial Dragon and was captured by Rear Admiral Karrens.
Sometimes he couldn't help but mock himself. Others transmigrate and become admirals at eight, challenge the Four Emperors at ten, and conquer the world. And him? He became a noble's slave.
And still, he didn't know what the points on his interface were for. They only increased when he died.
"A Devil Fruit user?"
Seeing the boy remain silent, Karrens made his own conclusion.
Such bizarre phenomena could only be explained by Devil Fruit powers.
He ordered more tests—five more gunshots, three more beheadings.
The black-haired youth remained perfectly unharmed.
No method could kill him.
"Take him back to the base," Karrens said, frowning. "Use Seastone cuffs—or seawater."
The marines obeyed at once, hauling Zayle to his feet and dragging him forward.
"Run a full background check," Karrens added. "I want to know exactly what this kid is."
An immortal youth was too strange. Karrens had never seen a Devil Fruit user like this before.
He was even curious now—what else could they try to kill him?
How could anyone be truly unkillable?
Just as they reached the base, the gate guard saluted and whispered:
"The Vice Admiral is here."
Karrens froze, suddenly tense.
To him, there was only one person that title could refer to.
"Burn him!"
"Drown him in seawater! Use poison! Blast him with cannons! Try every method!"
"Let's see if this brat can really survive it all!"
He waved and ordered the marines behind him.
Then, gathering himself, he strode quickly into the base toward the command office.
Zayle, still silent, was only focused on one thing:
The points on his interface.
Each death added one.
And now, he was truly wondering—
Could he really never die?