"Armament Haki exists in everyone—every person, even every living creature," the sword-bearing CP0 agent explained in a calm, detached tone. "It's something you're born with. Most people just don't know how to use it."
He raised a hand as he spoke, guiding Chenos with simple, almost lazy instructions.
"Try this. Open your palm, then focus your attention on it. You'll clearly feel heat building in your palm—that's Armament gathering there."
"What we do is sense that energy. Once you can sense more and more of it, you start controlling it—moving it through your body, gathering it, dispersing it."
Chenos stared at him, half in disbelief.
That's it?
The method sounded ridiculously crude. Almost… too ordinary.
It wasn't like the "internal cultivation" techniques from his old world—no meridians, no complicated circulation patterns, no mysterious breathing routines.
Here, it was basically:
Feel it. Move it. Compress it.
And yet, the logic made sense.
When Armament gathered in one place—say, a fist—if the energy became dense enough, it could protect the fist and amplify its striking power.
Chenos frowned thoughtfully.
"Then how do you make Armament stronger?"
The CP0 agent answered like it was obvious.
"Simple. Use it repeatedly."
"Practice makes perfect. The more you use it, the more familiar you become with it, and the more Armament you can draw out."
He glanced at Chenos's frame, unimpressed.
"Once you can circulate it through your whole body, further improvement depends on physical conditioning. The stronger your body, the stronger your Armament."
"Right now, your body is far too weak. You'll need serious training."
Then he clapped his hands once.
"Alright. That's enough for today. Practice here. I'm going to rest under that tree. If you don't understand something, come ask."
Chenos: "???"
The CP0 agent actually walked away and sat beneath the tree, closing his eyes—completely ignoring Chenos's training.
So much for "teaching."
Of course. Someone forced to teach by orders was never going to be passionate about it.
Chenos had still been clinging to a sliver of hope that this CP0 agent would take him seriously and help him master Haki quickly.
Now reality slapped him awake.
He might be a transmigrator, but he wasn't some chosen protagonist with mentors lining up to hand him power.
No one would help him for free.
If he wanted to survive, he had to claw his way forward himself.
So Chenos began practicing in earnest.
He opened his palm.
Stared at it with fierce concentration.
Within seconds, he felt warmth spreading through his hand—like someone had placed a hot egg right in his palm.
The sensation was strange… but undeniably real.
His spirits lifted instantly.
He focused harder.
As his concentration deepened, the warmth spread upward from the center of his palm, and his hand began to change.
A tiny black dot slowly appeared at the center.
Under the tree, the CP0 agent's eyes snapped open.
He stared.
"…That fast?"
For most people, simply sensing Armament Haki took ten days—half a month—before they reached the kind of focus needed to show even the hint of gathering it.
But Chenos had just touched Armament for the first time.
The total time spent?
Less than half an hour.
And twenty minutes of that had been explanation.
Meaning Chenos had achieved visible gathering in about ten minutes—something that took ordinary people roughly two weeks.
The CP0 agent's excitement rose… then died instantly when his gaze dropped to Chenos's chest.
The Hoof of the Soaring Dragon.
It was like being splashed with ice water.
He sighed and shook his head.
"If this kid weren't a Celestial Dragon's slave… how good would that be?"
"With this talent, he could enter a Cipher Pol training program and become special selection."
"But… what a waste."
Cipher Pol would never accept someone branded with the Hoof.
Most people with that mark carried deep hatred toward the Celestial Dragons—and Cipher Pol existed to serve the Celestial Dragons.
Let someone like that into the organization, and sooner or later they could assassinate a noble.
No matter how talented, it was forbidden.
The CP0 agent closed his eyes again and stopped watching.
By the end of the day, Chenos had a basic grasp of how to use and train Armament.
He could coat his palm with it.
But applying it smoothly in real combat?
That would still take time.
And time was the one thing he didn't have.
In this place, Saint Charlos could throw him into another death match at any moment.
If he didn't stack up more skills quickly, he could very easily die.
Chenos let out a frustrated breath.
"Still too slow…"
As they walked back toward the cells, the CP0 agent heard that and nearly rolled his eyes so hard they might've fallen out.
He'd never heard of someone who could gather Armament in a day.
He considered himself a genius too—otherwise he wouldn't be here guarding Celestial Dragons. To be assigned this role, your strength was at least around the level of a Marine Vice Admiral.
And even then, he'd needed an entire month to reach what Chenos had done in one day.
And this brat had the nerve to say it was slow?
Still—envy didn't twist him into hatred.
Instead, it made him curious.
He wanted to see just how far Chenos could go.
He wanted to understand the difference between himself and a true monster of talent.
So when Chenos asked questions afterward, the CP0 agent answered.
Patiently.
Thoroughly.
He even shared his own experience, helping Chenos avoid many unnecessary detours.
One question, one answer.
By the time they returned to the slave cells, it felt like the day had ended in a blink.
The moment he stepped inside, Chenos noticed it.
Whip marks.
Fresh ones.
Several new red welts streaked across Hancock's skin.
He strode over instantly.
"What happened?"
Hancock hurriedly pulled her cloak tighter, trying to hide the injuries from him.
"I… I'm not used to working," she said softly. "I was clumsy. I broke a plate by accident."
She forced a weak smile.
"It's okay. It was only a few lashes. I'm fine."
Chenos's fists clenched until his knuckles whitened.
Rage surged through him—hot, violent, powerless rage.
Because right now… he couldn't do anything.
He was too weak.
He couldn't fight the Celestial Dragons.
He couldn't even protect Hancock properly.
I need strength.
Fast.
He frowned, his thoughts spiraling darker.
Where is that fish-man?
When is Fisher Tiger going to climb up into Mary Geoise?
When do we get out of this hell?