"Finger Pistol."
A sharp gust of wind exploded outward.
The two Second Lieutenants clashed once and immediately disengaged. In the next instant, one of them charged like a tiger descending the mountain—index and middle fingers pressed together, muscles tensing as some kind of force gathered.
The thrust came like lightning.
Clang!!!
Sparks burst into the air.
The other Second Lieutenant barely managed to raise his saber in time, blocking the strike by a hair's breadth.
The ground beneath their feet caved in slightly. Their knees collided once more before they sprang apart.
Holy shit—holy shit—holy shit!
Hermes, watching from almost point-blank range, was screaming internally.
Rokushiki.
Not just Rokushiki—but the kind with terrifying killing power and pure offensive focus.
Exactly what he lacked the most right now.
"It's been months, and it's still like this…"
The Second Lieutenant who'd used Finger Pistol sighed, staring at his own fingers with frustration.
He'd been learning Finger Pistol from the Captain for nearly three years. Early on, his progress had been rapid—but after a while, every step forward became painfully slow.
To reach the level where finger force could be fired like bullets, like the Captain did… who knew how long that would take?
"At least you've touched the threshold," the other Second Lieutenant said with a long face. "I still don't even know where to start."
Opportunities to learn Rokushiki weren't given to just any Marine.
They required seniority, connections, merit.
The Marines were a massive organization—everything followed layered rules and procedures.
To put it bluntly: anyone at the rank of Second Lieutenant who could even touch Rokushiki was already special.
There were exceptions, of course.
If a superior wanted to groom a subordinate… or simply took a liking to someone, private guidance wasn't impossible.
But anyone with that authority was usually a Marine HQ Major or above.
"I think you're doing just fine," a deep, rough yet gentle voice said as it approached.
It was Captain Bastan Yoger, the highest-ranking officer of the base.
"Captain!"
The Second Lieutenants and First Lieutenants snapped to attention, saluting.
Respect—and a hint of admiration—shone clearly in their eyes.
"Captain only needed a little over two years to grasp Finger Pistol…"
"If only I had Captain's talent."
The two Second Lieutenants sighed.
But what they didn't realize was that their admiration mirrored Bastan's own thoughts.
There was always someone stronger. Always a higher sky.
Here, he might be the strongest.
But within the Marines as a whole?
He was nothing more than a grain of sand—not even enough to stir a ripple.
Let alone the entire world.
"It's getting late," Bastan said calmly.
"The monthly training session begins."
Unlike ordinary Marines who trained daily, these officers gathered once a month to spar, verify their progress, and then receive guidance from Bastan.
Including instruction on one of the Rokushiki—
Finger Pistol.
A private lesson.
As usual, the two First Lieutenants teamed up to fight Bastan.
The spectacle instantly jumped to another level.
Fluid movements. Explosive power. Clean, decisive exchanges.
Pure, dazzling violence.
Afterward, they all sat cross-legged on the ground while the Second Lieutenants asked questions.
"Captain, why does my Finger Pistol always feel… uncoordinated?"
"Both strength and speed feel lacking."
Bastan pondered for a moment, then spoke slowly.
"Finger Pistol is Rokushiki's offensive technique. It carries the destructive power of gunfire. You condense your entire body's strength into a hardened finger and release it in a lightning-fast strike.
"At a basic level, it can pierce the human body. At a deeper level, even steel becomes as fragile as tofu.
"The focus isn't limited to the index finger. Middle finger. Pinky. All ten fingers. Some can even use their toes to generate terrifying penetrating force.
"That's just the foundation.
"The true terror of Finger Pistol lies in projected finger force—a strike that leaves the body. At advanced levels, you can pierce a man's skull from hundreds, even thousands of meters away.
"Some officers at Marine HQ can fire a finger strike with cannon-like explosive force.
"But beginners must be careful. Finger Pistol easily damages the fingers. Severe cases can leave permanent disability.
"So don't rush it. You must be patient."
Every word Bastan spoke was burned into Hermes's mind.
The excitement from earlier had vanished.
What remained was absolute focus.
Stealing techniques wasn't just something Hermes did—
It was what he was best at.
Just as Bastan said, every Rokushiki technique was terrifying when mastered. Any single one was enough to secure a foothold in this world of survival of the fittest.
If all six were learned…
If one even reached Life Return—
The thought alone was intoxicating.
That night, Bastan didn't just explain Finger Pistol from start to finish.
He personally demonstrated it several times.
A finger tapped a stone—
Pop.
A clean hole straight through, like paper.
If that hit flesh?
Blood would spray everywhere.
"Condense your entire body's strength into the finger…"
3:00 a.m.
Hermes stood outside town under the moonlight, practicing Finger Pistol alone.
After the instruction session ended, the officers trained a few more hours and dispersed. Hermes returned to his hiding place but couldn't sleep at all.
So he came here.
"To calm the mind. No impatience. No rush."
Reciting Bastan's words verbatim, Hermes tensed his index finger and stabbed at the air.
Again.
And again.
And again.
It was hard.
Condensing full-body power into a finger was a massive hurdle.
Fingers were fragile. So the first stage could only be practiced against empty air—finding the sensation.
No feedback.
No satisfaction.
Bone dry.
Before he realized it—
The sun was high.
Hermes wasn't tired at all. His spirit was blazing.
But his arms felt like lead. His waist ached. His back screamed.
He even felt a strange twitch in his lower back.
That was bad.
"I can't keep going."
He knew his body needed rest.
Since Finger Pistol had appeared, Plan B was suspended.
The capital could wait.
The next day.
Hermes returned to the training field as usual, staying at five millimeters, following the Marines through basic conditioning.
In between, he tracked the Second Lieutenants, First Lieutenants, and Bastan.
Even if they only gathered monthly, they definitely trained on their own the rest of the time.
That made them perfect learning targets.
Days blurred into nights.
Time vanished.
Before he realized it—
Hermes had been squatting inside the base for seven months.
They were seven incredibly full months.
Days spent copying Marine conditioning.
Nights spent secretly observing officers' private training.
Monthly instruction sessions—never missed once.
For the first two months, Hermes only stabbed air, focusing on force convergence.
The next month, he moved to sand.
Then animals.
Then trees.
Stab, stab, stab.
Absolutely indiscriminate.
Utterly thirsty.
Honestly, if he had the choice, he'd really like to stab a person right now.
Not to kill—just to feel something… wet.
But regardless—
After half a year, results finally appeared.
His fingers were no longer fragile.
If anything, they'd become… distorted.
Especially when stabbing solid objects—the pain and torment shook his soul.
Finger Pistol was officially beginner-level mastered.
He finally possessed real killing power.
A single finger strike could reliably pierce thin wooden boards.
Compared to that—
Human organs were far softer.
Beyond Finger Pistol, his Mini-Mini Fruit development also advanced.
He never neglected it.
Originally, he only had two forms: 5mm and 30cm.
Now, he'd unlocked new stages:
10cm.
50cm.
5 meters.
Yes.
Five meters.
He'd successfully developed the enlargement direction.
These months were spent grinding like hell.
Honestly?
It was pathetic.
Half a year, and this was all he had.
If he were another transmigrator, he'd already be punching Admirals and kicking Yonko by now.
Devil Fruit awakening in three months would've been the bare minimum.
Damn it.
Late at night, Hermes often questioned his life.
Why did every other transmigrator get a cheat—
And he didn't?
Was this discrimination?
Screw it.
But the biggest gain of all was his body.
Strength. Speed. Jumping power. Appetite.
Current Hermes could beat a hundred versions of his past self.
The compact, solid muscles and clear six-pack on his body were proof enough.