Deep in the forest, where sunlight broke through the canopy in scattered golden beams, a herd of deer grazed quietly. Their heads dipped low, pulling at grass and tender shoots, while every few seconds an ear would twitch or a head would lift, scanning the surroundings.
They were always alert, always careful. Generations of survival had taught them to eat in silence, move softly, watch constantly, and run the moment something felt wrong. Those instincts had kept them alive this long.
But instincts could only do so much.
Thwip!
An arrow sliced through the air—silent, fast—and buried itself deep into the neck of a young buck. The deer made a choked sound and collapsed, legs kicking reflexively as it tried to stand, struggled, fought against the weight of death pressing down. Once, twice, a third time. But it was no use.
For a moment, the rest of the herd didn't even notice. They kept grazing, heads down, oblivious. Then one of them saw the blood, the motionless body, and the scent of sudden death hit them all at once.
They ran.
In seconds, the peaceful clearing was empty—just trampled grass and scattered leaves. Only the fallen deer remained, breathing shallow, life draining away like water through fingers.
Footsteps crunched softly on the forest floor. From behind a thick bush, Elric emerged, bow in hand, his sharp, calm eyes locked onto the wounded animal. No hesitation, no mercy.
He nocked another arrow and drew the string back. "Sorry, buddy."
The arrow struck cleanly between the eyes. The deer stopped moving.
Elric lowered his bow and exhaled slowly, walking over to stare down at the blood pooling on the leaves.
"Hunting looks cool in movies," he muttered. "But the first time I tried this?" He let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, the deer almost gutted me. Note to self—don't trust anything Hollywood shows you about finishing off wild animals with a knife."
Back then, like an idiot, he'd charged in with a blade thinking it would be quick and clean. It wasn't. It was brutal, chaotic, painful for both of them. He'd learned a very important lesson that day: never underestimate anything, especially not a dying creature. When an animal knows it's not going to survive, it stops caring about escape. All it wants is to take you down with it.
Kneeling beside the carcass, he gripped the embedded arrows and pulled them free with practiced efficiency, wiping the shafts clean on his sleeve and inspecting them for damage. Good—still usable.
With a grunt, he hoisted the deer onto his shoulder. The weight pressed into his muscles, but he barely noticed anymore. Six months of this had made him strong, stronger than he'd ever been in his old life.
He started walking toward the river, moving through the trees with steady steps. The forest whispered around him—wind rustling through the branches, birds gone silent after the hunt. Nature's way of mourning, maybe, or just waiting for the danger to pass.
When he reached the riverbank, he set the deer down and pulled out his knife. Small, well-worn, but sharp. He'd done this dozens of times now, and his hands moved automatically, cleaning the carcass with practiced precision. The blood washed into the stream, carried away by the current—red mixing with clear, life becoming water.
When he finished, he rose, lifting the cleaned deer back onto his shoulder, and began the trek home.
By the time he arrived, the sky had changed—orange, violet, deep blue creeping in from the east. The sun had set while he was working. He hadn't even noticed.
"Already dark, huh..."
He clicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting through the gathering shadows and guiding him toward his cabin. The firewood was already stacked neatly beside the wall—he'd prepared it earlier in the week. He grabbed a handful of kindling, arranged it carefully, and struck a match. The flame caught immediately, spreading warmth and light across the clearing.
His home didn't have electricity. No lights, no refrigerator, no modern conveniences. He'd thought about solar panels once, seriously considered it. But out here, in a country where people struggled just to eat, nobody was selling solar panels—not in stores, not even on the black market.
Still, he didn't mind.
His body was different now, fused with the strength of his One Piece self. Stronger than any normal human. His eyes could see clearly in the dark, almost like a cat's, and his body didn't suffer from cold winters or hot summers the way it used to. Even without electricity, without running water, without any of the comforts of modern life—this was better. Much better.
He salted portions of the deer meat and stored them carefully for the days ahead. The skin, scraped clean, was stretched out on a wooden frame to dry beneath the stars. Once it was properly tanned, he'd sell it. Selling hides had become his main source of income, and honestly, it was enough. He didn't buy much, didn't need much—salt, the occasional tool, sometimes rope or cloth when his supplies ran low. That was it. Everything else, he made himself or found in the forest.
As the fire crackled beside him, casting dancing shadows across the clearing, Elric sat down on the wooden bench outside his cabin. He leaned back, stretching his legs out, and looked up at the stars.
Thousands of them. More than he'd ever seen back in the city, where smoke and light pollution blocked everything out. Out here, the sky was clear, endless, beautiful.
"A hundred times better than before..." he whispered.
This life—simple as it was—was finally his. No scrambling for scraps in the slums, no gunfire keeping him awake at night. Just him, the forest, the stars.
He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sounds around him. The crackle of the fire. The rustle of leaves in the wind. The distant call of an owl somewhere deeper in the woods.
Peace.
He'd forgotten what that felt like. For sixteen years, his life had been chaos, survival, fear. And now he could sit outside his own home, under his own roof, and just... exist. No threats, no danger. Just quiet.
He opened his eyes again, staring up at the stars. Somewhere out there, in other worlds, other versions of himself were living their own lives, fighting their own battles, growing stronger. And one day—maybe soon, maybe not—they'd meet again. And when they did, he'd become something more. Something unstoppable.
But until then, he could wait. He had food, shelter, safety.
The fire burned low beside him, embers glowing softly in the dark. Elric sat there a while longer, just watching the stars.
Eventually, he stood, stretched, and headed inside.
Tomorrow, he'd wake up and do it all again. Hunt, clean, store, rest. Simple, repetitive.