The next day.
Before dawn even broke, Hermes woke up in a cheap inn. As he approached the Marine base, he shrank down to five millimeters, then carefully slipped through the grass until he reached a massive training field.
Workout equipment was scattered all around—barbells, stone weights, iron blocks…
It was still early. The field was empty.
Hermes paused, then looked toward a building in the distance.
He wanted to take a peek into Bastan Yoger's office—or his living quarters. If his luck was good, maybe he'd find information on Rokushiki.
To be honest, this plan was equal parts guts and insanity.
If Captain Bastan Yoger decided not to "play by the rules" and actually had Observation Haki, Hermes would be walking straight into a trap.
And even the "Rokushiki manual" idea was pure wishful thinking. Who said the Six Powers were written down like martial arts secret scrolls? Even if they were recorded, there was no guarantee Bastan had them.
Hell, there was even a chance he didn't know Rokushiki at all.
Too many variables.
Yet… the infiltration went absurdly smoothly.
Bastan's office was on the first floor, and the window faced the training field—perfect for keeping an eye on the troops while working. The sign on the door—CAPTAIN'S OFFICE: BASTAN YOGER—was visible from far away.
Hermes slipped in through the door crack, then returned to normal size.
The office was plain: a desk, a bookshelf, stacks of paper, plenty of books.
Hermes didn't have some system-style cheat… but being a transmigrator still came with a few "basic perks."
For example: he could understand the language and writing of this world effortlessly.
And his physical condition and mental resilience had clearly improved too—small mercy, but mercy nonetheless. Otherwise he'd be a truly pathetic transmigrator.
He searched the desk first.
Most of it was boring administrative paperwork. A few newspapers. He checked the drawers too—nothing he wanted.
Then he moved to the bookshelf.
Books. Newspapers. Government files. And—bounties. Pirates, bandits, underworld types.
He'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed.
But it wasn't a total loss. Those wanted posters were basically a list of future stepping stones—more importantly, future income.
Before long, noise rose outside.
Marines began waking up, washing up, then assembling on the field for morning training.
Hermes immediately shrank back to five millimeters and found a spot with a wide view.
As the sun climbed higher and higher…
His disappointment only grew.
The training was all basic physical conditioning—push-ups, sit-ups, weightlifting, running.
The instructor was just a Second Lieutenant.
He did spot Bastan Yoger himself—an absolute beast of a man, thick muscles piled over a broad frame. He looked intimidating as hell… and yet he just sat at his desk, head down, grinding through paperwork.
The contrast was almost funny.
More importantly—
Hermes confirmed it.
Bastan didn't have Observation Haki. At least, not the kind that would casually "sense" Hermes.
So Hermes made his way to the living quarters.
Maybe there'll be something there.
Clinging to his last bit of hope, Hermes wandered around for quite a while before he finally found Bastan's room.
It was normal. Almost boring.
Except for what was under the bed.
Several stacks of gravure photo albums—so many they practically screamed for attention.
Half an hour later, Hermes stood there with an expression so ugly it looked like he'd swallowed a live bug.
His last hope had died.
Damn it.
This was a man commanding a whole region—maybe even originally from Marine HQ—and he didn't know even one Rokushiki technique?
Couldn't he at least leave behind a diary? Training notes? Something to benefit future generations?
No vision. No ambition. Zero "big picture."
Just…
Crates.
After crates.
Of gravure albums.
"…Fuck."
Cursing under his breath, Hermes left the room. Still at five millimeters, he returned to the field, found a concealed spot, and began doing basic physical training himself.
He'd camp here for a while longer.
If he still got nothing, he'd execute Plan B.
Plan A was gambling on the Marine branch—steal a glimpse of Rokushiki, maybe even Haki.
Plan B was heading to the royal capital. A kingdom's royal family had resources. Techniques. Connections.
And Hermes had his eye on Elizabello II's King Punch—the so-called "one-hour warm-up, one punch that can kill a Yonko."
Whether that was bragging or not didn't matter.
Right now, Hermes desperately needed real offensive options, even if they came with serious flaws.
Because his current fighting style was too narrow.
His "finisher" was basically: shrink, slip inside the enemy's body, then expand to kill from within.
It was lethal… but it had weaknesses.
If his body wasn't agile enough, someone might just swat him like a fly.
And then his death wouldn't just be ugly—it'd be humiliating.
One day.
Ten days.
A month.
Hermes's mentality cracked.
He stayed inside the Marine base for an entire month.
Hungry? He stole from the kitchen.
Tired? He slept in the storage room.
Then he squatted by the training field and followed the troops' conditioning every day.
Not once did anyone notice his existence.
That shrinking ability was simply too convenient.
The only ones who ever looked confused were the cooks—because the kitchen kept "mysteriously" losing huge amounts of food.
They even tried staking the place out.
Didn't work.
Hermes was just better at it.
By now he had the entire base memorized. Every bump in the ground, every water barrel, every blind spot—he knew it all.
"Damn it… one more day."
This month wasn't a total waste.
Even the "basic training" the Marines used had countless small tricks. Their conditioning was systematic, refined across generations. Every movement had been optimized.
The results were way better than random self-training.
Even a tiny adjustment to posture or breathing could change the effect completely.
It was the difference between a noble clan's inherited methods and a commoner flailing around in the dark.
Hermes just had to copy what he saw, and he'd build an excellent foundation.
That would make learning any future martial arts far easier.
Today, he'd wait one last day.
Tomorrow, he'd leave for the capital.
He couldn't afford to waste more time.
The day passed like always—dull, repetitive, miserable.
Hermes couldn't stop cursing.
But then—right when he expected nothing—
The Marines didn't form up like usual.
Hermes blinked, confused, then immediately felt his pulse spike.
He started praying.
About ten minutes later, seven figures appeared on the field.
Five Second Lieutenants.
Two First Lieutenants.
And Captain Bastan Yoger.
The core leadership of the entire base.
If someone wiped out these seven, the base would be leaderless overnight.
Hermes had seen all of them before.
Some were in charge of training. Some handled patrols. Some led operations against nearby pirates and bandits.
But in this entire month—
He'd never once seen them train.
Now?
This formation could only mean one thing.
They were about to do it.
Hermes's instincts screamed:
This is it.
Sure enough, the seven started with basic conditioning—then moved into one-on-one sparring.
The combat instantly turned dazzling.
Fluid footwork. Explosive bursts. Clean counters. Efficient strikes.
Hermes's mind lit up like fireworks.
This wasn't what ordinary Marines could do.
This was the difference between a rookie and an expert.
Anyone who climbed into officer ranks—setting aside the ones who got there through connections—wasn't normal.
The only pity was that they weren't going all-out. It was sparring, not killing.
If it were real battle, their methods would look completely different.
Even so, it was like watching a blockbuster up close.
Not a movie.
Real impact.
Fist to flesh. Wind cracking.
Weapon clashes throwing sparks—
beautiful, hypnotic sparks.
This violent charm…
This was the romance men chased.
Hermes absorbed everything like a sponge.
Just watching made his blood boil.
And this was only officer-level sparring.
He couldn't even imagine what a true monster at the top of the pyramid looked like in battle.
Holy shit.
Holy shit!!!
This kind of romance and beauty—