《One Piece Simulation: Rise of Strongest Admiral》


 Chapter 1:

    The salt spray kissed my face, a familiar sting that always dragged me back. Back to the screams, the flames, the day the black sails stole my childhood. Six years old. A lifetime ago, yet the phantom scent of burning wood still clung to my memories.


    The laughter of my friends¡­ gone. The smell of Mama¡¯s cooking¡­ gone. The gentle lullaby of the waves¡­ replaced by the guttural roars of those¡­ those monsters.


    I remember the terror, a cold fist clenching my small heart. The black flags, skull and crossbones mocking the clear morning sky as they grew larger, closer.


    ¡°Papa, what are those?¡± I had asked, tugging at his worn fishing tunic, pointing a trembling finger.


    His smile had vanished, replaced by a grim line around his mouth. ¡°Pirates, Lazarus. Go inside, now. Go to your mother.¡±


    His voice, usually so warm and comforting, was tight with fear. I didn¡¯t understand then, not really. Pirates were just stories, weren¡¯t they? Scary tales to make children behave.


    But they weren¡¯t stories. They were real. And they were here.


    The chaos erupted like a storm unleashed. Shouts ripped through the peaceful air, the clash of steel a horrifying symphony. Our wooden gates splintered under the force of their attack. I huddled with Mama behind the flimsy table, her arms wrapped tightly around me, her body trembling.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be alright, Lazarus,¡± she whispered, her voice shaking, tears welling in her eyes. But her gaze held a fierce protectiveness, a mother¡¯s unwavering love even in the face of death.


    Then, the door burst open. A hulking figure stood silhouetted against the fiery glow outside, a rusty cutlass dripping crimson in his hand. His eyes, wild and greedy, swept over us.


    ¡°Well, well, what have we here?¡± he growled, a cruel smile twisting his lips.


    That face¡­ I still see it in my nightmares. The glint of his gold tooth, the scar that bisected his left eyebrow¡­


    Mama screamed, pushing me behind her. ¡°Leave us alone! We have nothing!¡±


    He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. ¡°Everyone has something, little woman. And we¡¯ll take it.¡±


    I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face in Mama¡¯s skirt, the scent of her familiar perfume a last vestige of safety. Then, a sharp cry, a sickening thud. The warmth of her embrace vanished.


    No¡­ Mama¡­


    I don¡¯t remember much after that. Just the screams, the flames licking at everything, the overwhelming smell of blood and smoke. I was running, stumbling through the burning wreckage of my home, the faces of my neighbors ¨C old Man Alex, little Tilea with her bright ribbons ¨C flashing before my eyes, contorted in pain.


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    Then, strong arms lifted me. A gruff voice, edged with authority, cut through the din. ¡°Marine here! Secure the perimeter! Is anyone else alive?¡±


    I clung to the blue uniform, my small body wracked with sobs, unable to speak, unable to comprehend the enormity of what had happened.


    ¡°Poor lad,¡± another voice murmured, gentler this time. ¡°He¡¯s seen too much.¡±


    I was taken aboard their ship, away from the burning remnants of my life. Away from everything I knew.


    The orphanage was a cold place, despite the well-meaning intentions of the Marines. Rows of identical cots, the air thick with unspoken grief. Children with hollow eyes, mirroring the emptiness in my own chest.


    ¡°Another one?¡± a wiry boy with a bandaged arm asked, his voice flat.


    A kind-faced woman with tired eyes nodded. ¡°This is Lazarus. He¡­ he lost his village.¡±


    The boy just stared at me, his gaze knowing, understanding. ¡°Pirates?¡±


    I could only nod, a lump forming in my throat. What words could describe the horror?


    He knew. They all knew. Each child here carried their own invisible scars, their own tales of loss and terror.


    I saw a little girl huddled in a corner, clutching a tattered doll, her eyes vacant. They said pirates had taken her entire family as slaves. A younger boy flinched violently when a door slammed, a raw wound on his cheek a permanent reminder of a pirate¡¯s blade.


    One evening, as we sat in silence during a meager meal, the wiry boy spoke again. ¡°They¡­ they killed my father. Took everything we had.¡± His small fists clenched on the wooden table.


    ¡°They burned our farm,¡± a girl with tear-stained cheeks whispered. ¡°My mother¡­ she tried to fight them¡­¡± Her voice trailed off, choked with emotion.


    Their pain¡­ it was a mirror reflecting my own. But it was also something more. It was a shared burden, a collective wound inflicted by the same cruel hand.


    That night, lying on my hard cot, staring at the ceiling, the vow formed. It wasn¡¯t a shout, but a silent, steely resolve hardening within me.


    I will not let this be for nothing. Their deaths¡­ my loss¡­ it cannot end here. I will find them. All of them. Every single pirate. And I will kill them all.


    I closed my eyes, the faces of the orphaned children filling my mind. The vacant stare of the little girl, the flinch of the scarred boy, the tear-streaked cheeks of the farmer¡¯s daughter.


    I swear¡­ I will find every last one of them. Every single pirate who preys on the weak, who steals innocence and leaves only ashes behind. I will hunt them down. And I will kill them all.


    The years that followed were shaped by that vow. I trained with the Marines, their drills harsh, their discipline unyielding. But my own inner drive was fiercer. Every push-up, every sword swing, every lesson in strategy was fueled by the burning memory of that day and the unwavering promise I made.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got fire in your eyes, Lazarus,¡± a grizzled Marine captain once remarked, watching me during a particularly grueling training session. ¡°What drives you so hard?¡±


    I didn¡¯t tell him about the screams, the flames, the faces of the dead. I simply said, my voice low, ¡°I will make the seas safe, sir. I will kill every pirate I find so no one else should suffer like¡­ like they have.¡±


    This isn¡¯t just about revenge anymore. It¡¯s about them. It¡¯s about the children in the orphanage, their stolen futures. It¡¯s about the countless others who have fallen victim to these monsters. I will be their sword, and that sword will taste pirate blood.


    The salt spray still stings, but now it¡¯s not just a reminder of loss. It¡¯s a call to action. The black sails may still appear on the horizon, but one day, they will be met with a force that will not yield, a force driven by the ghosts of the past and the burning desire to extinguish every single pirate life. My name is Lazarus, and I will not rest until every pirate draws their last breath.

 Chapter 2

    The abrasive brush scraped against the stubborn grime on the deck, its familiar rhythm a dull counterpoint to the ceaseless cries of the gulls overhead. For five years, I, Lazarus, had been the chore boy under Marine Captain Darius here at G-3, this staunch Marine base planted firmly in the unpredictable soil of the Grand Line. My world was a landscape of scrubbed floors, polished brass, and the endless, often thankless, tasks that kept this vital cog in the Marine machine turning.


    ¡°Lazarus!¡± Captain Darius¡¯s voice, a gravelly rumble that could cut through the strongest sea squall, echoed from the upper deck. My spine straightened instinctively.


    ¡°Aye, Captain!¡± I called back, dropping the brush and wiping my calloused hands on my worn trousers. My heart gave a familiar little thump of anticipation, a mixture of apprehension and a strange, burgeoning hope.


    He stood at the railing, his silhouette framed against the vast expanse of the Grand Line¡¯s shimmering surface. ¡°Report to my quarters. Now.¡±


    My mind raced. What could it be this time? Another stack of reports? Polishing boots? I hurried below deck, the familiar scent of salt and engine oil filling my nostrils. His quarters were spartan but neat. He stood by the window, gazing at the horizon.


    ¡°You wanted to see me, Captain?¡± I asked.


    He turned, his flinty eyes assessing me. ¡°Five years, Lazarus.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain.¡±


    ¡°For five years you¡¯ve served under my command. You¡¯ve cleaned, you¡¯ve carried, you¡¯ve¡­ tidied.¡±


    A wry smile almost escaped me. ¡°I¡¯ve done my best, Captain.¡±


    ¡°Diligence is a virtue. The pirates¡­ they¡¯re bolder. We set sail at dawn.¡±


    My stomach clenched. Another hunt. I¡¯ll be scrubbing while they fight. ¡°Aye, Captain. I¡¯ll ensure everything is in order.¡±


    He turned back, his gaze direct. ¡°No, Lazarus. You¡¯re coming with us.¡±


    My breath hitched. ¡°Me, Captain?¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is your hearing failing? You¡¯re coming. Prepare yourself.¡± He picked up a Flintlock Pistol, checked it, and handed it to me. ¡°For your defense. Keep it loaded.¡± He turned back to the window.


    I stood there, the pistol¡¯s weight comforting. Me? On a pirate hunt, armed? This is¡­ unexpected.


    What is he thinking? Five years of chores, now this? Maybe he trusts me a little? I¡¯d trained in secret, but I was weaker than the others. This felt like a chance.


    The next morning, the Ironclad Resolve cut through the waves. I clutched the pistol. Sergeant Major Gigby chuckled beside me. ¡°Lost, Lazarus?¡±


    ¡°No, Sergeant Major. Just¡­ the view.¡±


    He eyed the pistol. ¡°That¡¯s new.¡±


    I shrugged.


    He probably thinks it¡¯s a joke.


    My duties were the same, but harder on the rolling ship. Messages, meals, cleaning. But now, the pistol was there.


    During a long watch, Captain Darius stood near me. ¡°You¡¯re observant, Lazarus.¡±


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    I froze. ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve watched you. Persistent. You finish what you start.¡±


    He¡¯s been watching? He¡¯s seen my weakness¡­ and yet¡­


    ¡°Thank you, Captain.¡±


    ¡°Out here, everyone has a role. A clean ship is disciplined, and discipline keeps us alive. Have you practiced with that?¡±


    ¡°A little, Captain.¡±


    ¡°Be ready.¡±


    Days passed. We encountered a few pirate vessels, swift, menacing shadows on the horizon. I witnessed the controlled chaos of a naval engagement firsthand ¨C the roar of the cannons, the sharp cracks of rifles, the shouted orders, the grim determination on the faces of the marines. I wasn¡¯t in the thick of the fighting, but I was there, a part of the larger effort, carrying ammunition, tending to minor injuries, my heart pounding in my chest with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. And the Flintlock Pistol remained tucked in my belt, a tangible symbol of the Captain¡¯s unexpected trust.


    Then, the unexpected happened. A young Marine, his face pale and sweat-drenched, sprinted towards Captain Darius, his boots thudding urgently on the deck.


    ¡°Captain! Captain!¡± the Marine gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts.


    Captain Darius turned sharply, his hand instinctively moving towards the saber at his hip. ¡°What is it, Private?¡±


    ¡°Sir! We¡¯ve sighted a pirate ship bearing down on us fast!¡± The private pointed towards the horizon, his arm trembling. ¡°From the logo¡­ Captain¡­ it¡¯s the Bloodsucker¡¯s ship!¡±


    A collective murmur of unease rippled through the nearby Marines. Even Sergeant Major Graves¡¯s usual gruff demeanor seemed to tighten.


    ¡°Bloodsucker?¡± Captain Darius¡¯s voice was low, dangerous.


    ¡°Yes, sir! The skull with the crossed fangs¡­ unmistakable! His bounty is fifty million berries, Captain! They say his crew is ruthless!¡± The private¡¯s eyes were wide with fear. ¡°Sir, with all due respect, we should retreat! Request backup from G-3!¡±


    Captain Darius¡¯s gaze narrowed, his jaw clenching. He stared in the direction the private had indicated, his expression unreadable.


    Bloodsucker¡­ fifty million berries¡­ that¡¯s a monstrous bounty, I thought, my own heart pounding in my chest. Even the seasoned marines look worried. Should we really try to fight him? The private is right; we should turn back, get help.


    Captain Darius remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The wind whipped his coat around him, adding to his imposing figure. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm but firm, though I could sense a steel edge beneath it. ¡°Retreat? Request backup?¡± He let out a short, mirthless laugh. ¡°Private, look around you. Do you have any idea how far we are from G-3? By the time a message even reaches them, and by the time any reinforcements could possibly arrive¡­ well, let¡¯s just say the Bloodsucker would be long gone, likely after painting these very decks with our blood.¡±


    He turned to Sergeant Major Graves, his earlier contemplation replaced by a decisive glint in his eyes. ¡°Prepare the cannons! Sound the alert! All hands to battle stations! We will not run. We will stand and fight!¡±


    ¡°Aye, Captain!¡± Sergeant Major Graves barked, his earlier unease replaced by a grim determination. He bellowed orders, his voice echoing across the deck.


    The ship sprang to life, the earlier calm shattered by the urgent shouts of commands and the hurried footsteps of the Marines preparing for battle. The air crackled with tension.


    Captain Darius turned to me, his gaze sharp. ¡°Lazarus!¡±


    ¡°Captain?¡± I replied, my own fear rising with the adrenaline pumping through the ship.


    ¡°You are not a combatant,¡± he stated, his voice firm but not unkind. ¡°Your strength lies elsewhere. When the fighting begins¡­ I want you to hide. Find a safe place below deck. Stay out of sight until it¡¯s over. That is your order.¡±


    ¡°But Captain¡­¡± I started, a protest forming on my lips. I wanted to help, to prove my worth, especially now.


    He cut me off with a stern look. ¡°That pistol is for your last resort, Lazarus, should you be discovered. Your priority is to survive. Understand?¡±


    Hide? He wants me to hide? After all this? A wave of disappointment washed over me, quickly followed by a stark understanding. He was right. I would be more of a liability in a direct fight against pirates of the Bloodsucker¡¯s caliber. My training, my strength¡­ it wouldn¡¯t be enough.


    ¡°Understood, Captain,¡± I said, my voice low.


    ¡°Good. Now go. And stay safe.¡± He turned his attention back to the rapidly approaching pirate ship, his face a mask of grim determination.


    I tucked the Flintlock Pistol securely into my belt and moved quickly towards the hatch leading below deck, the sounds of the Marines preparing for battle echoing around me. Hide. Survive. That¡¯s my role in this fight. The thought was bitter, but I knew Captain Darius was giving me the only order he could, the one that would hopefully keep me alive in the face of the terrifying storm that was about to break.

 Chapter 3

    The chilling laughter of Captain Haimon, Bloodsucker''s leader still clawed at the silence in the timbers above. "The King''s dogs are weaker than I thought!" he had bellowed, the sound vibrating through the very planks beneath my feet. And the sounds that followed¡ªthe ragged, desperate cries of the fallen marines¡ªwere a fresh wave, washing over the fear already churning in my gut. My gaze dropped, finding the cold, familiar comfort of the flintlock pistol clutched in my hand.


    "Captain Darius," I whispered, the sound swallowed by the gloom. The sounds of the remaining skirmish were fading towards the bow, a messy, uneven rhythm of clashing steel and desperate shouts. But directly above, a different rhythm persisted: heavy, rhythmic blows, punctuated by guttural grunts of exertion. Captain Darius was still locked in combat with Haimon.


    A stalemate, I thought, a fragile tendril of hope unwinding within me. He''s holding him. He''s still fighting.


    But even as the sharp clang of steel rang out, a grim counterpoint to my fleeting optimism settled in my mind.


    It''s a tenuous stalemate, though. A matter of time. Captain Darius, likely wounded, certainly outnumbered in terms of crew support, would eventually succumb to Haimon¡¯s brutal strength.


    I edged closer to the narrow stairwell, each creak of the damp wood a potential betrayal. I strained my ears, trying to decipher the brutal ballet unfolding above. The distinct sounds of two powerful figures locked in mortal combat were unmistakable: the heavy clang of steel on steel, the furious, guttural roars. It could only be Captain Darius and Haimon. But the sheer ferocity in Haimon¡¯s cries, the increasingly strained grunts that escaped Captain Darius¡¯s lips, painted a clear, horrifying picture. The stalemate was about to break, and not in the marine captain¡¯s favor.


    "Wait," I told myself, my muscles tensing with the urge to recklessly charge into the fray. "Wait for the only right moment left."


    I won''t let it happen again. I won''t just watch.


    The memory, unbidden, flashed in my mind: a helpless figure, a cruel end, and my own frozen terror.


    This time would be different.


    An ambush was no longer just a possibility; it was the only viable option. If Captain Darius fell, all hope for any of us was lost. I had to act, and act soon.


    Peering cautiously through a narrow crack in the deck planks above, my breath hitched in my throat. I could make out fleeting glimpses of the brutal dance. Captain Darius, his movements growing sluggish, his parries less certain, desperately trying to fend off Haimon¡¯s relentless attacks. The pirate captain, sensing victory in the air, pressed his assault with renewed vigor, his cutlass a silver blur aimed at ending the fight once and for all.


    "He''s weakening," I breathed, the words catching in my throat, a cold dread gripping me like icy fingers. "It''s only a matter of time."


    But I won''t freeze. Not this time.


    The other pirates were focused on mopping up the remaining marines, their attention, thankfully, diverted by the ongoing, but clearly nearing its end, clash between their captain and Captain Darius. This was the last sliver of opportunity, a fragile window in the storm.


    Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I cocked the flintlock. The loud, sharp click seemed to echo ominously in the tense air, a stark announcement of my desperate intent. It was a clumsy movement, my hands slick with sweat, but the pistol was ready. One shot. That was all I had. One shot to make up for all the shots I didn''t take before.


    "For Captain Darius," I whispered, a desperate resolve hardening my will, pushing back the terror that threatened to consume me. "Before it''s too late."


    I won''t be a ghost watching another fall.


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    Clutching the pistol as if it were a lifeline, my heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence I desperately needed. I started to ascend the creaking stairs, each step a groaning complaint that felt deafening. The smell of blood and sweat was thick in the air, a nauseating reminder of the carnage. The sounds of the duel were deafening now, just above me, a desperate rhythm counting down the seconds.


    My hand trembled on the rough hilt of the pistol.


    Just one shot. Make it count. This is for them. For him. For the me who couldn''t act.


    "Now," I muttered, my eyes fixed on the scene unfolding through another, slightly wider crack in the deck. Captain Darius stumbled, his leg buckling beneath him. Haimon¡¯s blade flashed dangerously close to his throat. The pirate captain roared in triumph, a guttural bellow of impending victory, raising his bloodied cutlass for the final, killing blow.


    That was the moment.


    With a surge of adrenaline-fueled desperation, I shoved the plank aside, the sudden splintering sound a violent punctuation to the tense silence. I burst onto the deck, the flintlock pistol raised in both trembling hands.


    "Haimon!" The words ripped from my throat, a raw, desperate cry against the backdrop of impending doom. Haimon¡¯s hulking frame swiveled with surprising speed, his bloodshot eyes narrowing on me. A stowaway. A nobody. Wielding a pathetic-looking flintlock. For a heartbeat, disbelief flickered across his brutal features, a momentary lapse in his murderous focus. But it was quickly replaced by a murderous fury, a promise of a swift and agonizing end etched on his scarred face.


    But that heartbeat was all I needed.


    My finger tightened on the trigger. The pistol bucked violently in my hand, the roar deafening in the sudden, stunned silence that had fallen amongst the remaining pirates. A cloud of acrid smoke obscured my vision for a fleeting moment, but when it cleared, I saw Haimon stagger back, his hand clutching at his chest. A dark, crimson stain was blooming rapidly on his already bloodied coat.


    A collective gasp rippled through the pirate crew. Their invincible captain, the terror of the seas, wounded? By a mere stowaway?


    Instinct took over, a primal surge of survival.


    This is it. I''m doing it.


    I worked the flintlock with a speed I didn''t know I possessed, my fingers fumbling but determined, frantically priming and re-aiming the single-shot weapon. Another deafening roar erupted from the pistol, and this time I saw the impact clearly, another dark blossom appearing on Haimon''s already saturated coat. He roared in pain, a bellow of disbelief and fury, clutching harder at his chest.


    The pirates, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of my attack and the apparent wounding of their seemingly untouchable leader, began to surge forward, a wave of cutlasses glinting menacingly in the harsh sunlight. "Get him!" one roared, his face contorted with rage. "Kill the little rat!"


    Ignoring the advancing threat, my focus remained solely on Haimon. My hands worked feverishly, reloading the cumbersome single-shot pistol again and again, driven by a desperate, unwavering resolve. Each shot was a desperate prayer, a tiny spark of defiance against the overwhelming darkness that threatened to engulf us all. The pistol roared repeatedly, each discharge accompanied by a fresh stain appearing on Haimon''s massive frame. He staggered, his movements becoming less certain, his furious gaze losing some of its sharp focus, replaced by a dazed incomprehension.


    I''m not watching. I''m acting.


    By the time the pirates were mere steps away, their bloodstained blades raised to strike me down, Captain Haimon was lying still. His massive form was riddled with dark wounds, crimson blooming across his chest and abdomen, staining the deck a sickening red. He hadn''t just staggered; he had collapsed, his lifeblood pooling around him.


    A stunned, absolute silence descended upon the chaotic scene. The advancing pirates faltered, their bloodthirsty charge abruptly halted by the unbelievable sight of their fallen leader. Their faces, moments before contorted with rage and bloodlust, now held a mixture of utter disbelief and dawning, palpable fear. Their seemingly invincible captain, the terror of the seas, felled by a desperate stowaway with a single flintlock he had somehow managed to fire repeatedly.


    Captain Darius, leaning heavily against the blood-splattered mast, his own bloodied face etched with shock and exhaustion, watched the scene unfold as if in a dream. He blinked slowly, as if unable to comprehend the impossible sight before him.


    I stood there, breathless and trembling, the empty flintlock still clutched in my shaking hands, the acrid smell of gunpowder thick in the air, stinging my nostrils. Against all odds, the seemingly impossible had happened. Haimon, the Bloodsucker pirate''s captain, the terror of the seas with a 50 million bounty, lay dead at my feet, a gruesome testament to the many desperate shots I had somehow managed to unleash. The reign of the Bloodsucker pirates had just suffered a mortal blow. This time, I did something.


    Ding! Congratulations, host; the Simulation system has been activated.

 Chapter 4

    The metallic tang of salt spray and blood clawed at my nostrils, a grim perfume clinging to the humid air of the Sea Serpent here.


    "Clear the aft deck!" Captain Darius'' voice, though raspy with pain, still held its authoritative edge. He leaned heavily against a stanchion, a makeshift bandage staining crimson on his left arm, but his eyes, sharp and unwavering, scanned the carnage.


    Gods, that was close, I thought, my heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The initial, frantic struggle with the Bloodsucker pirates had been fierce, their reputation for brutal strength preceding them. Yet now¡­ now it was a chillingly efficient cleanup.


    Their captain, that hulking brute whose reign of terror I''d personally ended with a well-aimed shot from the flintlock pistol Captain Darius had gifted me before, lay sprawled near the mangled remains of a supply crate. I could still feel the solid weight of the weapon in my hand, the smooth, polished wood a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding us. Darius trusted me with this, I thought, my fingers instinctively tightening around the grip. The roar it had unleashed, so powerful for such an old design, still echoed in my memory as the lead ball found its mark, dropping the formidable pirate leader instantly.


    Captain Darius had taken a nasty cut in the melee, a testament to the enemy''s initial power, but my shot, with his generous gift, had been the decisive blow, the one that had broken the back of their surprisingly strong attack. With their leader gone, the rest of these once-daunting pirates had become pathetic. Like rats scurrying from a sinking ship, I thought grimly, my gaze sweeping over the fallen forms. And miraculously, despite the ferocity of their assault, every marine was still breathing. Bruised, battered, but alive.


    "Anything moving, Lazarus?" Corporal Davies called out, his face smudged with soot and grime, his voice tight.


    "Just the tide pulling at their little boat," I replied, my gaze fixed on the damaged vessel bobbing precariously alongside. A few mangled shapes lay sprawled across its deck too, courtesy of the marines'' sharp shooting, likely following Captain Darius'' initial, decisive orders even while wounded. Good lads, I thought, a flicker of pride warming the cold knot in my stomach.


    One of them, a skinny kid with a desperate look in his eyes, made a suicidal dash for the railing. He actually thought he could leap across the churning water to their pathetic excuse for a ship. Fool''s hope, I thought, the memory of my own desperate leaps in life flashing unbidden. A sharp crack from Sergeant Max''s rifle ended that fantasy in an instant. He crumpled like a discarded puppet, another body adding to the gruesome tableau on the deck.


    It wasn''t a fight anymore. It was¡­ pruning. The marines, their movements still reflecting Captain Darius'' earlier strategy despite his injury, moved with a cold, almost clinical efficiency, their boots thudding softly on the blood-slicked steel. Each controlled burst of gunfire, each swift, brutal takedown was a punctuation mark in this grim sentence they were writing. There was no bravado, no shouting, just the methodical elimination of a threat that had already been broken.


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    They''re good, I acknowledged silently.


    Captain Darius has instilled a discipline that even his own injury can''t shake. And I¡­ I used his gift to put down their leader.


    And against all odds, we haven''t lost a single one of our own. A grim satisfaction, mixed with a profound relief, settled in my chest.


    "All clear in Sector Four, Captain!" a voice crackled over the comms.


    "Roger that, Ronald," Captain Darius replied, his voice strained but firm. "Lazarus, check those supply crates again. Wouldn''t put it past these scavengers to hide something."


    His focus, even while clearly in pain, remained on securing the ship after the chaos I had helped quell with his generous gift, and ensuring his men were safe.


    "Aye, Captain," I said, nodding. I pushed aside the lingering images of the fallen. The deck was a macabre mosaic of spilled blood and discarded weapons.


    The setting sun cast long, distorted shadows across the carnage. The air was heavy with the silence that follows a storm, broken only by the rhythmic clink of spent casings and the quiet, purposeful movements of the marines as they secured the ship under Captain Darius¡¯ watchful, albeit injured, eye.


    Those few Bloodsuckers foolish enough to try and reach their own vessel were met with a relentless barrage, their desperate leaps ending in a splash or a final, shuddering collapse on their own blood-stained deck.


    "Anything, Lazarus?" Davies asked again, his eyes scanning the shadows.


    "Just rats," I muttered, kicking at a loose plank.


    Rats with sharp teeth and greedy eyes.


    My flintlock silenced their alpha. Now the pack scatters. And by some miracle, we all survived. It was over. The Bloodsucker pirates, for all their fearsome reputation, were nothing more than corpses scattered across the deck of the Sea Serpent.


    Now, all that remained was the grim task of cleaning up, a stark reminder of the brutal cost of piracy here. I turned away, the metallic taste of blood still lingering on my tongue, and the hollow ache of loss a constant companion in the sudden, heavy silence.


    Another day lived. Another battle won. I used Captain Darius'' gift well, and against a stronger foe, we all made it through.


    Captain Darius, his arm still bleeding through the makeshift bandage, gave the order. "Helm, set course for base. Get these lads patched up." The deck, slick with pirate blood, shifted beneath my boots as the Sea Serpent turned, leaving the carnage behind.


    "System?" I muttered, a hopeful yet uncertain tone in my voice.


    Ding! Host now have 50 point simulation.


    A soft Ding! echoed in my mind. Okay, 50 points. Let''s see what I can do with that.


    The options flickered before my eyes:


    Bronze Simulation ( 10 point)


    Silver Simulation (50 point)


    Gold Simulation (100 point)


    Diamond Simulation (500 point)


    Right now, silver was my limit.


    My stats also appeared:


    Endurance (20), Strength (9), Agility (7),  Spirit (12)


    Note: Everage no of normal human (10)

 Chapter 5

    The low murmur of the other marines, finally catching some rest, was a welcome sound. My back still ached a little from scrubbing the mess hall, but it was a good kind of ache, the kind that meant the work was done. And for now, at least, it was.


    My gaze drifted over to the simulation system, a hulking piece of tech that usually just sat there, silent and imposing. I''d been poring over the manuals in my scant free moments, trying to decipher its purpose, its potential. Ten points. That''s what the faded text had indicated for a bronze-level simulation. Ten of those nebulous ''points'' the system seemed to track.


    It feels like a small gamble, a tiny investment in understanding this strange power that has somehow become a part of me.


    Alright, let''s do this. With a mental nudge, I focused on the system, willing it to activate, to take those ten points. A faint, almost imperceptible chime resonated somewhere within the recesses of my mind. Then, clearer, sharper, a direct question echoing in my thoughts.


    Ding! Host wants to use bronze simulation?


    It startled me, even though I''d been expecting some kind of confirmation. The system¡­ it speaks directly to my mind.


    A shiver of something akin to excitement, mixed with a healthy dose of the unknown, ran down my spine.


    This is it. No turning back now. Let''s see what you''ve got, you mysterious piece of technology. Let''s see what a bronze simulation can show me. What kind of world, what kind of challenge, awaits on the other side of this mental prompt? I just hope those ten points are worth it.


    Yes, use bronze simulation.


    Ding! Host use bronze level simulation opportunity, life simulation started.


    Suddenly, the screen appeared and test begin emerge.


    On the first year, Captain Darius''s ship arrived at Marine G-3 after three days, reporting the elimination of the Bloodsucker Pirate and Haimon''s death by you. Vice Admiral Tokikake then met with you, awarding you 30% of Raimon''s bounty for the kill. Recognizing your achievement and potential, you were also promoted to Lieutenant and assigned to Captain Darius''s command.


    On the second year, pirates, alerted by Captain Darius''s investigation into the coastal towns'' destruction, retaliated ruthlessly. Under the cover of night, a lone pirate infiltrated Darius''s ship. A fierce but desperate battle ensued, leaving a grim toll. Only Captain Darius and you survived the onslaught; the rest of the marines were lost. The physical cost for Darius was immense: the loss of his right hand forced his resignation, his decorated career abruptly ended by the pirate''s attack. You transferred to Vice Admiral Tokikake.


    On the third year, you chafed under the Vice Admiral''s command, yearning to hunt pirates instead of being confined to base. The Vice Admiral, unconvinced of your strength despite your Lieutenant rank, initially refused your requests to go to sea. Undeterred, you persisted. Finally, Vice Admiral Tokikake relented, agreeing to let you pursue your ambition, but with a condition: you must first undergo three years of rigorous training at an elite camp under the tutelage of Marine Instructor Zephyr, commencing the next year.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    On the fourth year, after a year in the elite camp, your strength surged beyond old limits. Weapon training and basic Rokushiki (only two techniques mastered at a basic level) became ingrained. Though dramatically improved, you remained the camp''s weakest. The others wielded Rokushiki with terrifying skill, their movements fluid and powerful. You trained relentlessly, the gap a constant reminder of how far you still had to go in this brutal, superhuman world.


    On the fifth year, despite two years in the elite camp, you were still the weakest. Instructor Zephyr occasionally took some students on real pirate hunts, aiming to provide genuine experience with his division. These dangerous excursions tested their skills and courage, highlighting the gap between your abilities and the demands of the elite training.


    On the sixth year, Zephyr''s arm was cut off by an unknown pirate with a Devil Fruit power, and his entire division and the elite camp who followed him were massacred, with only Ain and Binz surviving. You also died in this incident.


    The cold, suffocating grip of finality tightened, then abruptly released. The simulation, whatever twisted purpose it served, had ended.


    Ding!, your Attribute before death:  Endurance 22, Strength 30, Agility 20, Spirit 25.


    Then, a single instruction pulsed beneath the attributes, a stark command in the digital void:


    Choose one attribute to retain.


    My gaze flickered across the values. Twenty-two for Endurance¡­ could that mean I was easily worn down? Twenty for Agility¡­ slow, perhaps? Twenty-five for Spirit¡­ some inner resilience I couldn''t feel? But then there was Strength. Thirty. The highest.


    Thirty¡­ that feels¡­ significant.


    Even without a past to draw upon, a primal understanding resonated. Strength implied force, the ability to overcome, to push back against whatever this¡­ this is.


    "What do these even mean?" I muttered, frustration bubbling within me. The system remained impassive, offering no answers, only the stark choice.


    Agility¡­ quickness, maybe? Useful for dodging, but what if I couldn''t withstand a blow? Endurance¡­ lasting longer in a fight? But what if I lacked the power to end it? Spirit¡­ an inner fortitude? Perhaps important, but too abstract, too reliant on a self I didn''t know.


    My eyes kept returning to the bold "30" beside Strength. It felt tangible, real. A concrete advantage in an incomprehensible situation.


    If I''m going to face whatever comes next, I need to be able to¡­ to act. To make things happen.


    Strength felt like the key, the fundamental building block.


    "Why only one?" I demanded of the silent screen. "Why not¡­ anything else?" The digital display remained stubbornly fixed, the single instruction blinking insistently.


    There was no guidance, no explanation, only the raw data and the stark choice. Driven by an instinct born solely from the presented information, a gut feeling that resonated deep within my nonexistent memories, I focused on the "30."


    Strength, I decided, the word forming silently in my mind.


    That''s what I need.


    With a mental nudge, a decision made without conscious thought or emotional baggage, I selected Strength. The screen flickered once, a silent acknowledgment.


    "Is that it?" I asked the empty space, a sense of finality settling over me. This single, potent attribute, detached from any personal history, was now mine. My sole inheritance.


    The translucent screen dissolved, the digital "Ding!" fading into the echoing silence. I was left with nothing but the abstract concept of Strength, a single point of data in the vast emptiness.


    Thirty Strength, I thought, a flicker of something akin to determination igniting within me.


    Let''s see what that can do.


    The simulation had ended, but something else, something unknown, was about to begin. And all I had was a number. Thirty. Strength. It would have to be enough.

 Chapter 6

    "System, can I see my attributes?" I asked, a familiar urge to check my progress surfacing. There was the usual digital hiccup.


    Ding! Error: Did you mean your profile?


    Honestly, it felt like talking to a particularly literal rock.


    "Yes, my profile," I clarified, a touch of impatience in my mental tone. Then, a soft shimmer began to coalesce in the air before me. It solidified, growing brighter until a translucent screen hung in my vision, displaying my stats.


    Processing request... Ding! Displaying profile now.


    Host Profile


    Simulation Points: 40


    Name: Lazarus


    Marine''s Rank: Chore Boy


    Attribute: Endurance (20), Strenght (30), Agility (7), Spirit (12)


    Ability: no


    Battle Skill: Shooting (Basic)


    Forty simulation points. Forty burning embers in the hearth of my mind, each one a potential leap forward. I stared at the attributes shimmering on the screen, each a silent testament to untapped power. Strength, agility, endurance¡­ and then there was that newcomer, that unexpected flicker of possibility: shooting skill. It was a complete surprise, something I hadn''t even considered, and yet¡­ the idea sparked a fresh wave of curiosity, a new path to explore.


    Three more Bronze Simulations. Thirty points. A significant chunk of my current reserves, but the thought of waiting, of letting this potential lie dormant for the three days it would take to travel back to base¡­ it felt like a waste. A frustrating stagnation when every fiber of my being screamed for progress.


    The memory of those fifty hard-earned points from the pirate flickered in my mind, so tantalizingly close to the Silver Simulation.


    Fifty points for a Silver upgrade¡­ but I only had forty now, thanks to that initial, crucial Bronze investment. Ten more points. Another bounty head, another risky hunt. And with the state of the crew, the injuries¡­ it could be days, maybe even longer, before another opportunity arose.


    Impatience, that familiar shadow, began to stretch its tendrils through my thoughts. Waiting felt like a weakness, a luxury I couldn''t afford. I needed to be stronger, faster, more capable. And I needed it now.


    Thirty points it is. Three more Bronze Simulations. Ten points left. A small reserve, a tiny cushion. But the immediate gains, the tangible improvements I could feel coursing through me after the last simulation¡­ that was the priority. I wouldn''t just blindly throw myself back into the digital void, though.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    That first surge of strength, the way my muscles had burned and then settled into a new level of power¡­ that was a lesson etched into my very being. I''d dissect it, remember the nuances, the way my body had responded. This time, I''d be smarter, more strategic. Maybe I''d focus on agility, try to sharpen my reflexes, or perhaps even dabble in that mysterious shooting skill, see what latent potential lay hidden there.


    Whatever I chose, it wouldn''t be a whim. It would be a calculated decision, informed by experience, driven by the relentless need to improve.


    The Silver Simulation¡­ it would still be there, a longer-term goal to strive for once we were back at base, once new missions presented themselves. But right now, here in this moment, the bronze glowed with the promise of immediate growth. And I wouldn''t let that opportunity pass me by.


    Ten points left.


    A reminder of what could be, but for now, the immediate future was bathed in the bronze light of potential, waiting to be unleashed.


    I''m trying to remember the summary of future events that was displayed as text on the screen during the simulation.


    Recalling those key indicators is crucial for understanding the overall success or failure of the simulated scenario and identifying areas for improvement.


    This is a devastating turn of events. To think that after all the progress, the hard-won promotion, and the grueling training, it all ends in such a brutal and senseless massacre¡­ It¡¯s difficult to process the suddenness and finality of it. Captain Darius, despite the tragic end to his career, survived the initial pirate attack, but now everyone, including myself, is gone.


    The information about Zephyr¡¯s fate and the annihilation of his division and the elite camp is particularly shocking. To lose so many promising marines, including the instructors, in such a violent manner underscores the unforgiving nature of this world.


    The fact that even the elite training wasn''t enough highlights the sheer power and unpredictability of pirates, especially those with Devil Fruit abilities.


    Reflecting on my journey, there are definitely areas where I could have focused more intently during Zephyr''s training. While the basic Rokushiki techniques were drilled, the information specifically mentions that I remained the weakest in the camp. This suggests a significant disparity in overall combat prowess.


    Knowing what I know now, if I were to relive those training years, my focus would be laser-sharp on identifying and addressing my weaknesses.


    While physical conditioning and basic Rokushiki are crucial, the mention of others wielding Rokushiki with "terrifying skill" implies a deeper understanding and application of those techniques.


    I would need to push myself relentlessly to bridge that gap, perhaps by seeking extra guidance from Zephyr or even observing the more skilled trainees to learn from their movements and strategies.


    Furthermore, the prompt specifically asks me to focus on my shooting. This is a critical point. In a world filled with powerful Devil Fruit users and masters of close-quarters combat like Rokushiki, having exceptional marksmanship could be a crucial advantage, allowing me to engage enemies from a safer distance and potentially neutralize threats before they get too close.


    I should have dedicated significant time to honing my accuracy, speed, and adaptability in various shooting scenarios under Zephyr''s tutelage. Perhaps I could have requested specific drills focused on engaging fast-moving targets or practicing shooting under pressure.


    Ultimately, the massacre highlights the need for well-rounded strength and adaptability in this world. While close-quarters combat is essential, ranged capabilities like superior shooting skills could be the difference between survival and death, especially against unpredictable and powerful foes.


    The tragedy serves as a stark reminder that even elite training provides no guarantee of safety, and continuous self-improvement and a keen understanding of one''s weaknesses are paramount.

 Chapter 7

    System use Bronze Simulation, I muttered, a familiar anticipation bubbling within me. Maximum agility, that''s the key this time. And at the elite training camp, I corrected myself, a thoughtful frown creasing my brow.


    Not just attending, but truly focusing on learning about shooting the marine''s gun. Every stance, every breath... No more fumbling with this weapon, I added, hefting an imaginary rifle. Precision and control, that''s what I need.


    Most importantly, I whispered, my gaze fixed on the shimmering screen, I need to live longer. Learn more.


    Ding! Host use bronze level simulation opportunity, life simulation started.


    The familiar Ding! echoed in my head.


    Another one begins, I breathed, watching as the words materialized. Let''s see what this new life can change.


    On the first year, Captain Darius''s ship arrived at Marine G-3 after three days, reporting the elimination of the Bloodsucker Pirate and Haimon''s death by you. Vice Admiral Tokikake then met with you, awarding you 30% of Raimon''s bounty for the kill. Recognizing your achievement and potential, you were also promoted to Lieutenant and assigned to Captain Darius''s command.


    On the second year, after a town near G-3 was destroyed, the Vice Admiral tasked Captain Darius''s squad with investigating. You opposed this, believing highly dangerous pirates were responsible and insisted on reporting to the Admiral. Months passed, and Vice Admiral Tokikake revealed the Donquixote Pirates were behind the destruction. Impressed, the Vice Admiral offered you a promotion, which you declined. Instead, you requested a quota to join the prestigious Elite Camp under the command of Zephyr next year. You prioritized training and development over immediate rank advancement.


    On the third year, the transition from outpost G-3 to Zephyr''s elite camp proved humbling. Despite possessing raw strength exceeding that of ordinary humans, you found yourself among the weakest after several months within their rigorous ranks; your inherent power was surprisingly below average here. Recognizing your aptitude with firearms, Zephyr directed your focus towards pistol practice. He personally instructed you in proper shooting techniques and relentlessly pushed your physical limits, demanding you run, swim, and climb until exhaustion claimed you. Occasionally, Zephyr himself would oversee your training sessions, investing his time in your development.


    In your fourth year, under Zephyr''s training, despite an average physique, you excelled with firearms, proven by your success in pirate hunts. Unsatisfied with your current strength, you relentlessly train to surpass your limitations. Your dedication to pushing beyond your limits makes you a formidable force despite your average physical build.


    On the fifth year, having participated in the Zephyr Elite Camp for three years and graduated above average, leading to your promotion to Marine Commander and transfer to G-2 Marine Base under Vice Admiral Comil, you encounter Zephyr on your last day. You ask him to be more careful during pirate hunts, but he merely laughs and hands you his flintlock pistol.


    On the sixth year, while returning from a mission to monitor the nearby islands from the G-2 base, you received news that Zephyr''s arm had been cut off by an unknown pirate with a Devil Fruit power, and his entire division and the elite camp who followed him were massacred, with only Ain and Binz surviving. You visit Zephyr, and you can see that he has changed.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    War was raging on Kuraigana Island, and your monitoring post was not far from the island. You wanted to stop the war, but you had been detained by your marine captain.


    On the seventh year, you focus on hunting pirate.....


    On the eighth year, because of your outstanding performance and for having defeated a pirate with an 80 million Berry bounty, you have been promoted to Marine Captain.


    On the nineth year, While performing your duty monitoring the sea, you noticed a fire breaking out north of the Sorbet Kingdom. You rushed there to stop the fire, but you were blocked by Sorbet''s king. Out of anger, you killed him. While you and your squad were helping the victims there, you befriended a pastor and nominated him to become the new king. Several days later, while on your way back to base, your ship was attacked by the Donquixote Pirates, and you and your entire squad died.


    Ding!, your Attribute before death: Endurance 45, Strength 35, Agility 36, Spirit 52.


    Choose one attribute to retain.


    The Donquixote Pirates¡­ even a low-rank like me knows they''re bad news. Quiet, sneaky, dealing in those black market guns.


    The first time in the simulation, the scenario¡­ it was because Captain Darius''s squad was trying to dig up info on them, though we didn''t know they were behind the town''s destruction.


    But the second time¡­ that¡¯s what gnawed at me. One minute, clear horizon. The next, that twisted, grinning flag. Cannons booming, right at our little ship. What in the blazes had we done? Just a routine patrol. We weren''t sniffing around their business. It felt¡­ wrong. Like a switch flipped for no reason. They''re supposed to be calculated, Doflamingo''s crew. Not just randomly blasting marines. It didn''t sit right. This whole thing¡­ it just doesn''t make any damn sense.


    "Alright," I murmured, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling in. Thirty-six. It''s not the peak I was aiming for, but it''s a definite improvement from where I started. I''ve made progress in my agility, and that''s something. My gaze then lifted to the clear leader. Fifty-two. Spirit.


    Spirit, I mused, a knowing smile touching my lips. I understand its weight now. It''s the unyielding core, the inner fortitude that underpins everything else. A good agility score is valuable, but without the will to push, to persevere, it can only take you so far.


    My eyes traced the numbers once more. Endurance, the capacity to endure hardship. Strength, a familiar choice from the first simulation ¨C one I wouldn''t be repeating. Agility, the improved swiftness and dexterity. And Spirit¡­ the wellspring that would fuel them all.


    Fifty-two¡­ The number resonated with a quiet strength. I''ve learned that true power isn''t just about physical prowess. It''s about the resilience of the mind, the unwavering determination that allows you to rise above challenges. While a higher agility would have been welcome, the progress I did make was a testament to my efforts. And now, this unexpectedly high Spirit¡­ it felt like a hidden reserve, a powerful ally I hadn''t fully tapped into.


    The simulation shimmered, the choice clear. Retain one attribute. Agility was a solid step forward. Strength, a path already explored. Now, the decision lay between Endurance and the surprisingly dominant Spirit.


    Endurance would keep me in the fight, a valuable asset. But Spirit¡­ Spirit was the foundation upon which I could build further improvements in all areas. It was the unwavering will that would drive future simulations, future training, and wouldn''t just dictate how long I could last, but how I would fight.


    A sense of certainty washed over me. The initial plan might have shifted, but the underlying goal remained the same: to become stronger, more capable.


    "Spirit," I stated, my voice firm and decisive.

 Chapter 8

    Host Profile


    Simulation Points: 10


    Simulation opportunity: 2(Bronze)


    Name: Lazarus


    Marine''s Rank: Chore Boy


    Attribute: Endurance (20), Strenght (30), Agility (7), Spirit (52)


    Ability: no


    Battle Skill: Shooting (Basic)


    The second simulation, I''m not just holding the rank of Marine Captain; I also embody the physical prowess expected of one. Furthermore, my expertise with firearms is exceptional. This combination of leadership, strength, and marksmanship makes me a formidable force within the Marines, a true asset to any operation requiring both tactical command and skilled combat.


    I looked at my battle skills on my profile. My shooting skill is still basic. In the simulation, it took me three years under Instructor Zephyr to reach captain-level shooting skill.


    Why can''t I gain shooting skill in the simulation?


    "System," I asked, "why the option to retain attributes but not battle skills?"


    Ding! Bronze Simulation grants attributes only. To gain Battle Skills, the host must use Silver Simulation or a higher tier. More advanced simulations offer greater rewards.


    A wave of relief washed over me when I finally understood.


    Silver Simulation.


    That''s the key to upgrading my Shooting Skill. The uncertainty had been a heavy weight, but now a clear path stretches before me. First, these two Bronze Simulations.


    Okay, my current focus is locked in on maximizing my Agility and Endurance.


    "System, initiate another Bronze Simulation."


    Ding! Host use bronze level simulation opportunity, life simulation started.


    On the first year, Captain Darius''s ship arrived at Marine G-3....


    On the second year, you requested a quota to join the prestigious Elite Camp under the command of Zephyr...


    On the third year, you joint Elite Camp...


    On the fourth year, you focus on training...


    On the fifth year, you graduated above average and promote to Marine Commander....


    You get new Doflamingo becomes a Warlord of the Sea.


    On the sixth year, you get bad news about Zephyr...


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    On the seventh year, you focus on hunting pirate...


    On the eighth year, you get promote as Marine Captain.


    On the nineth year, While performing your duty monitoring the sea, you noticed a fire breaking out north of the Sorbet Kingdom. You rushed there to stop the fire, but you were blocked by Sorbet''s king. Out of anger, you killed him. While you and your squad were helping the victims there, you befriended a pastor and nominated him to become the new king. To avoid the Donquixote Pirates on your way back to base, you and your squad spent a month on South Blue. Nevertheless, a few weeks later, you were dismissed from the Marines, and a 50 million bounty was issued for your capture. Subsequently, your friend, Sorbet''s new king asked you to join the Revolutionary Army, and you and your whole squad agree.


    On the ninth year, Despite the Revolutionary Army''s primary goal of overthrowing the World Government, your squad''s focus remained steadfast on eliminating pirates. While aligning with the larger rebellion, your unit''s ingrained sense of justice and combat expertise prioritized hunting down those who preyed on the innocent, even within the context of a broader revolution.


    On the tenth year, having become known as the Revolutionary Army''s finest marksman, your bounty now stands at 120 million Berry. Even with an offer from the Revolutionary Army''s Supreme Commander to become an army commander, you refused, your only desire being to concentrate on wiping out pirates. Your friend became a Seven Warlord of the Sea, a group you hate most.


    On the eleventh year, You meet your friend, but he doesn''t tell you why he joined the Seven Warlords. He just asks you to take care of his daughter and gives you a letter to give to her. You go to Sorbet Kingdom to see your friend''s daughter. After realizing a spy is watching you, you ambush and kill the spy. However, several days later, you are killed by the spy''s superior.


    Ding!, your Attribute before death: Endurance 57, Strength 40, Agility 42, Spirit 158.


    I''m surprised that the Spirit attribute has reached 158, a threefold increase from my current level. This significant rise suggests a much stronger inner power or magical capacity than initially perceived, and I''m curious about the cause of this dramatic surge.


    Choose one attribute to retain.


    Although I had retained the spirit attribute before, the value of 158 was very tempting, and without a second thought, I chose the spirit attribute.


    "System, show me my profile."


    Processing request... Ding! Displaying profile now.


    Host Profile


    Simulation Points: 10


    Simulation opportunity: 1(Bronze)


    Name: Lazarus


    Marine''s Rank: Chore Boy


    Attribute: Endurance (20), Strenght (30), Agility (7), Spirit (158)


    Ability: Observation Haki (lock), Armament Haki (lock)


    Battle Skill: Shooting (Basic)


    Looking at my attributes, everything except Spirit was under 30, and Agility was only 7. But when I saw that I got 2 abilities in my profile, I was surprised even though they were locked, and I immediately asked the system.


    "System why I get ability"


    Ding! Once an individual''s spirit attribute surpasses 100 in this world, they gain the potential to learn and unlock it, a process requiring training.


    Not only could I survive for eleven long years in this simulation, but something even more extraordinary happened. I gained an ability. It''s a strange sensation, a latent power humming beneath the surface, the specifics of which remain a mystery.


    Yet, as an ability, it must possess incredible potential, a purpose waiting to be unlocked. My mind races with possibilities. Perhaps Captain Darius, with his years of experience and understanding of the unusual, might shed some light on this newfound gift.


    He¡¯s the only one here who might understand the implications of such a thing. I must seek him out and learn more.Or I can learn from Elite Camp.


    But..


    The World Government wanted me gone for offing that tyrant? A king dead by my hand, a reign of cruelty ended. And Doflamingo, their lapdog, was supposed to handle it. Funny how things turn out. A bounty for survival. They protect the powerful, even in death. This world... it''s a twisted joke.


    Forget about it, what''s important now is another simulation.

 Chapter 9

    What are the possibilities if I join the Instructor Zephyr division after graduating?


    "System, use my last Bronze Simulation," I request.


    Ding! Host use bronze level simulation opportunity, life simulation started.


    On the first year, Captain Darius''s ship arrived at Marine G-3....


    On the second year, you requested a quota to join the prestigious Elite Camp under the command of Zephyr...


    On the third year, you joint Elite Camp, recognizing your skill with firearms and your untapped Haki potential, Zephyr gave you special training. After several months of hard work, you began to master and were able to effectively utilize Haki. You now one of strongest on Elite Camp.


    On the fourth year, Zephyr''s relentless personal training, though near fatal, triggered a profound physical transformation. You''re become the strongest at Elite Camp. You effortlessly killed a pirate with an 80 million Berry bounty, without using any firearms, while on a pirate hunt with Zephyr.


    On the fifth year, you graduated from Elite Camp as the top performer. Your rank was elevated to Marine Commodore, and you was assigned to Marine Headquarters. However, you requested to serve under Zephyr, and your request was granted.


    On the sixth year, The Zephyr division was attacked by a pirate during a pirate hunt. Although the pirate was nearly defeated, he managed to escape with the assistance of a hidden accomplice. However, you are displeased with this outcome, as the Zephyr division suffered the loss of nearly half its members and his right arm in the incident.


    On the seventh year, After last year''s incident, Zephyr has been training you with increased ruthlessness, aiming for you to take his place.


    On the eighth year, You have become a Marine greatly feared by the pirates of the Grand Line. Knowing what was about to happen in the Sorbet Kingdom, you went there alone. After your friend became the new king, you wanted to return to the Grand Line. However, you were attacked by the Donquixote Pirates. Even though your strength was comparable to Doflamingo''s, you were alone. Ultimately, due to exhaustion, you were killed.


    Ding!, your Attribute before death: Endurance 120, Strength 140, Agility 120, Spirit 203.


    Choose one attribute to retain.


    Agility...


    All of my attributes have gone over a hundred this time. I''m choosing to keep agility.


    This simulation, a condensed eight-year span, yielded exceptional results, defying conventional timelines. My trajectory within the Marine ranks was nothing short of meteoric. I achieved the rank of Commodore at the unprecedented age of 27, a result of the Elite Camp, shattering historical records and solidifying my position as the youngest to ever hold that title.


    Beyond mere rank, the simulation showcased a remarkable surge in physical prowess, reaching levels that allowed me to engage and contend with the formidable Seven Warlords of the Sea. This feat suggests a power level on par with, if not exceeding, that of a Vice Admiral.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The eight years, though brief, proved to be a crucible, forging a force capable of challenging the highest echelons of power in the world.


    I gambled my final ten points on the bronze simulation, a risky move, but I''m confident it will pay off.


    The simulation promises accelerated growth, and once I emerge stronger, I''ll turn the tables on the pirate scourge. Those simulation points, once scarce, will become plentiful as I hunt down these lawless seafarers. I envision myself, a formidable force, effortlessly dismantling pirate crews.


    Even those with bounties up to 80 million Berry, once daunting, will fall before me. The open sea, once a place of fear, will become my hunting ground, a testament to the power gained from simulation.


    "System use Bronze Simulation"


    This time, I''ll proceed as I did before. And now my agility is upgraded, I''m certain I''ll be able to defeat Doflamingo.


    Ding! Host use bronze level simulation opportunity, life simulation started.


    On the first year, Captain Darius''s ship arrived at Marine G-3....


    On the second year...


    ...


    ...


    ...


    On the eighth year, You have become a Marine greatly feared by the pirates of the Grand Line. Knowing what was about to happen in the Sorbet Kingdom, you went there alone. After your friend became the new king, you wanted to return to the Grand Line. However, you were attacked by the Donquixote Pirates. Even though your strength was comparable to Doflamingo''s, you were alone. Ultimately, due to exhaustion, you were killed.


    Ding!, your Attribute before death: Endurance 184, Strength 170, Agility 160, Spirit 210.


    My stats are way better this time, but I''m still getting the same result in battle. Doflamingo''s definitely hiding something. He''s seriously scary.


    Choose one attribute to retain.


    While endurance is my weakest attribute, I''m focusing on strength at the moment. It''s essential for pirate hunting and gathering simulation points.


    <hr>


    The ship rocks in my head, a constant, unsettling sway, even though I stand on solid ground. Three days since we docked, since the storm finally broke. The memory of him, Haimon, twists within me. I see his face, contorted in that final, furious charge¡ªa charge that never reaches me.


    They call me Lieutenant now.


    Tokikake, that old sea dog, pins the title on me like a medal. A reward, he says. For putting down a monster. A monster I end with a single shot. Just one. My pistol, the weight of it familiar in my hand, the click of the hammer, the recoil... and then, nothing. Just the roar of the storm, and the sudden, heavy silence.


    He offers me money too. Thirty percent of Haimon''s bounty. A fortune. Enough to buy a quiet life, a life away from the sea, from the screams and the blood. But I look at him, at the lines etched deep in his face, and I think of the men we lost. The wounded, lying in the infirmary, their faces pale and drawn. The families, waiting for news that will never come.


    What would I do with that money? Buy comfort while they suffer? No. That isn''t an option. It never is.


    "Vice Admiral," I tell him, my voice steady, "I can''t take it. Give it to them. To the wounded. To the families."


    He looks surprised, maybe even a little disappointed. But he doesn''t argue. He knows. He knows that some things, some debts, can''t be paid with gold. That some wounds run too deep for any kind of reward.


    So, I train. Marksmanship. Every shot precise, every movement clean. Because out there, on the open sea, there''s no room for mistakes. There''s only the storm, the enemy, and the single, clean shot that makes the difference between life and death. And I owe them that. I owe them everything.


    It same as simulation.

 Chapter 10

    "The Vice Admiral''s reaction, though subtly altered, still betrayed a significant shift. He didn''t outwardly express surprise at my fabricated ''coating'' experience, but a distinct, almost eager, enthusiasm crept into his demeanor when he spoke of the Marine Elite Camp. It wasn''t the shock of revelation, but rather the satisfaction of a confirmation, a knowing nod to an unspoken truth.


    "Prepare diligently," he reiterated, his voice now carrying a weight of expectation. "Next year, you''ll be joining the camp. It''s...essential for your development."


    Essential? I thought, the word echoing in my mind. Not just beneficial, but essential. He knows. He knows what I''m hinting at.


    The emphasis on "essential" hung in the air, a clear indication that the camp wasn''t just another training program. It was a crucial step, a necessary rite of passage for those who had displayed even a hint of the power I''d unknowingly described.


    It''s no longer a question of if the Elite Camp would reveal the secrets of Haki, but rather a certainty. The Vice Admiral''s carefully constructed facade couldn''t fully conceal his knowledge. He knew what I was hinting at, and he knew the camp was the place where I would learn to control it.


    The fabricated "coating" wasn''t a surprise, but rather a trigger. It was a catalyst that confirmed my potential, a potential the Marines clearly intended to cultivate. The Elite Camp, I realized, was less about discovering Haki and more about mastering it. They weren''t surprised I''d stumbled upon it; they were preparing me to wield it.


    "Vice Admiral," I continued, my voice firm, "I''ve noticed a significant increase in my strength, speed, and overall physical capabilities since...since this ''coating'' manifested. I feel stronger than ever." I paused, then added, "To better control this new strength, and to acclimate myself to these enhanced attributes, I request a transfer to another squad. Captain Darius''s recovery will take time, and I believe active engagement in pirate hunting would be the most effective method for me to adapt."


    My true motivation, however, was far simpler: I needed bounties. I held back the blunt truth, but the need was a burning ember within me. Every pirate I take down, I can get Simulation points.


    "I believe that actively pursuing and capturing pirates would be the best way to test and control my new abilities, and to get used to my new attributes before the Elite Camp," I added, making the excuse sound more reasonable.


    The Vice Admiral''s gaze sharpened, but he remained silent, considering my request. He''s weighing his options, I thought. He knows I''m not just asking for training. He sees the fire in my eyes, the hunger.


    He knew, I suspected, that the Elite Camp was still a year away. And a year, in the unpredictable world of the Grand Line, was an eternity. He also knew that bounties were a quick way to measure one''s growth and power, and that practical, real-world experience was essential for mastering such a volatile ability.


    After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "A transfer... is possible"


    And I was transferred to Captain Daigin''s Squad, which is known as the strongest squad on this base. Captain Daigin''s strength is comparable to a Marine Commodore; he''s just waiting for a vacancy to be promoted.


    Due to being the strongest squad, a wider monitoring area provides me with greater benefit, facilitating easier collection of Simulation Points.


    My luck''s turned, it seems. Captain Daigin''s setting sail, a long haul, over half a year, chasing big-name pirates. More plunder, more power, he says. Orders are orders, and mine came sharp. I''ve got to report today, before they weigh anchor tomorrow. A long, dangerous voyage... but a chance to get more points.


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    The report concluded, a strained silence settling over the room. Captain Daigin¡¯s jaw was tight, his eyes flicking over me with unconcealed disapproval. The rest of the crew, a sea of hardened faces, mirrored his sentiment. I could almost hear their thoughts: ¡°Lieutenant? Him? A chore boy yesterday, a hero today.¡±


    ¡°Dismissed,¡± Daigin¡¯s voice was clipped, sharp. He didn¡¯t even look at me.


    As they filed out, I clenched my fists. Five years. Five years I scrubbed decks, hauled ropes, and took orders. Five years they looked down on me. And now? They think I got lucky? That Haimon just fell into my lap?


    I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the lingering tension. ¡°Wait.¡±


    They turned, a collective frown etched on their faces. Daigin¡¯s eyebrow arched. ¡°Lieutenant Lazarus, is there something else?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain. I¡¯d like to challenge any of you to a fight.¡±


    A ripple of disbelief spread through the room. Someone snorted, another chuckled. Daigin¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°A fight? What are you trying to prove?¡±


    Prove? I¡¯m trying to prove I¡¯m not some lucky nobody. I¡¯m trying to prove I¡¯m more than just a chore boy who stumbled into a victory. ¡°I want to show you what I¡¯m capable of. All of you.¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± Daigin¡¯s voice was laced with condescension, ¡°I appreciate your¡­ enthusiasm. But I hardly think this is necessary.¡±


    ¡°It is to me, Captain. I know what you think. I know what they think.¡± I swept my gaze over the crew. ¡°You think I got lucky. You think I¡¯m just some kid who stumbled into a promotion. You don¡¯t see the hours I¡¯ve spent honing my shooting, the potential I¡¯ve kept hidden. You only see the chore boy.¡±


    A murmur ran through the ranks.


    "My shooting is my weapon, but my speed is my strength. And I¡¯m willing to bet that I¡¯m stronger than any of yours." I paused, letting the challenge hang in the air. "Including yours, Captain."


    Daigin¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°Are you challenging me, Lieutenant?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain. I am.¡± He¡¯s the only one who can truly test me. The only one who might even come close.


    ¡°This is absurd,¡± Daigin scoffed, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes ¨C a spark of interest, perhaps. ¡°Very well. If you insist. But don¡¯t come crying to me when you¡¯re on the ground.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t, Captain.¡± They¡¯ll see. They¡¯ll all see. I¡¯m not just a lucky chore boy.


    <hr>


    The air crackles, a harsh symphony of ozone and steel. My Flickloct pistol spits bolts of crackling energy, each shot a desperate, strategic retreat against Daigin''s relentless advance.


    He''s a master, but I''m faster.


    I dance back, my boots scuffing the stone floor, creating distance, buying time. Daigin, a whirlwind of polished metal and grim intent, lunges, his sword a blur. My basic shooting, though crude, is augmented by my superior speed. I weave, dodge, and fire, a constant barrage of energy, forcing him to defend. A bolt grazes his arm, a hiss of burnt cloth, a flicker of frustration in his eyes.


    I can wear him down, maybe.


    He parries, the sword a blur, deflecting a shot. He closes the distance. I sidestep, my speed a crucial advantage. He lunges, a swift, merciless strike, but I''m already moving.


    Almost got me.


    The fight stretches, a tense dance of speed and skill.


    Finally, the blade finds purchase, a searing line across my ribs.


    Damn it.


    The Flickloct pistol slips from my numb fingers.


    Daigin stands, his sword dripping, his gaze cold, but a flicker of respect. "You possess strength," he declares, "and an unusual speed. Strength and speed we can use." A rare smile touches his lips. "You will be my right hand in this mission."


    A wave of surprised murmurs ripples through the soldiers. "He''s fast," one mutters. "Welcome, comrade! Your speed will be vital."


    "He almost had the Captain," a younger soldier exclaims.


    "Indeed," Daigin confirms. "He has potential. And we particularly welcome a stronger comrade."

 Chapter 11

    The briefing room reeked of stale sweat and cheap tobacco, a fitting aroma for the grim news Captain Daigin was laying out. "Sky Pirates," he growled, his voice a rasping rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "Bulla the thief. Our target."


    Bulla. The name alone was enough to make my palms sweat. A hundred million Berry bounty. 100 simulation points! My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of avarice. I can exchange it with two Silver Simulation points.


    "He wields the Bubble-Bubble Fruit," Daigin continued, his eyes narrowed, as if daring us to underestimate him. "Blue bubbles for flight, red bubbles for sinking. A slippery devil, that one."


    "A hundred million, sir?" a young recruit squeaked, his voice barely a whisper.


    "Yes," Daigin confirmed, his gaze hardening. "But don''t be fooled. His strength is in his escape. He can make his ship vanish, like a ghost, into the sky or the sea."


    A year? He said this could take a year? My mind raced, calculating. A year of chasing a shadow, a phantom. But a hundred million Berry? That kind of reward was worth any risk, any hardship.


    "His ship," Daigin explained, "is his greatest weapon. It can shift between air and water. This will be a long, drawn-out hunt."


    Then, the bombshell dropped. "However," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl, "this isn''t just about capturing Bulla. It''s about recovering stolen property."


    Stolen property? My interest waned slightly. As long as I can kill Bulla, I don''t care about their trinkets.


    "The Sky Pirates stole treasure," Daigin continued, his eyes glinting with a dangerous intensity, "treasure belonging to the World Nobles."


    World Nobles? A flicker of unease danced across my skin. That complicates things. But only for a moment. A hundred million Berry is still a hundred million Berry. That sum overrides any fear.


    "This mission," Daigin emphasized, "is of paramount importance. Failure is not an option."


    Failure? I thought, a predatory grin spreading across my face. Failure isn''t in my vocabulary. Not when 100 simulation points are within reach.


    As the briefing ended, a dark determination settled over me. Bulla''s slippery tactics, his phantom ship, the World Nobles'' treasure ¨C they were all just obstacles, stepping stones to my fortune.


    I''ll find him, I vowed silently, my gaze locked on the map of the Grand Line. I''ll chase him to the ends of the earth. I''ll bring him down and kill him and get 100 simulation points.


    I left the briefing room, the salt-laced air now thick with the promise of riches. Tomorrow, the hunt begins. And Lazarus, driven by greed and ambition, would be ready. Ready to claim his prize.


    During the nearly seven months of hunting the Sky Pirates, the Marines had encountered them 5 times but they managed to escape, which made this mission difficult. But this time, the opportunity to catch them was very big, because Captain Daigin got the news that the Sky Pirates had stopped on a nearby island.


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    And only I was brought by the captain, because he didn''t want the Sky Pirates to know about the Marines'' presence. Our task was to defeat Bulla with an ambush and use the shackles made of seastone to seal the power of his devil fruit. My pistol was loaded with seastone bullets, in case one shot was not enough to kill him, it will weaken him.


    The skiff, a dark sliver against the moonlit sea, nosed into the shadowed cove. "Quiet," Captain Daigin hissed, his voice barely a whisper. "Remember, stealth is our advantage." The "Gale Rider" loomed, a black behemoth against the starlit sky.


    We slipped ashore, our boots sinking silently into the damp sand. On the deck, Bulla, impossibly tall and slender, stood silhouetted against the mast. His face, youthful and strikingly handsome, held an air of arrogant command. He looks barely out of his teens, I thought, yet he commands these pirates with an iron fist, and his physical strength is said to be remarkable, even for a pirate.


    Daigin drew his sword, the polished steel reflecting the faint light. "Now!" he whispered, and lunged.


    "Foolish Marines!" Bulla¡¯s voice, surprisingly deep, cut through the night. A stream of shimmering bubbles erupted from his hands, some large, some small, all moving with surprising speed and force, but he also moved with powerful, rapid strikes, his punches carrying a weight that sent Daigin stumbling back. "You think you can sneak up on me?" He moved with an almost fluid grace, the bubbles and his raw strength combining for a chaotic and dangerous offense.


    "Damn it," Daigin muttered, recovering his footing. "His Bubble Fruit isn''t the most combat-oriented, but his sheer strength is captain-level."


    Bulla grinned, a cruel twist of his handsome features. "You''ll never catch me, old man!" He launched a barrage of larger bubbles, some bursting with concussive force, and followed with a powerful kick that sent a wave of debris flying towards Daigin.


    Daigin parried, his sword flashing, deflecting the bubbles as best he could, and narrowly avoided the kick. "You underestimate me, pirate!" He pressed his attack, a whirlwind of steel and determination against Bulla''s shimmering, explosive offense and brutal physical strength.


    They''re evenly matched in raw power, I thought, my heart pounding. But Bulla''s devil fruit gives him an unpredictable edge. I saw my chance. Bulla, his attention fixed on Daigin, left his flank exposed. My hand tightened around the pistol, the cold steel a reassuring weight. This is it.


    I shoot him.


    The shot echoed through the cove, a sharp, decisive crack. Bulla staggered, his youthful eyes widening in disbelief. A crimson stain bloomed on his pristine white shirt. The bubbles surrounding him flickered and weakened. He looked down, his handsome face contorted in shock and pain, then crumpled to the deck, his devil fruit powers visibly diminished.


    Ding! Host gets 100 simulation points.


    "He''s down!" I shouted, the adrenaline still coursing through me.


    Daigin stared at the fallen pirate, his sword still raised. "Good shot," he said, his voice tight. "Very good." He sheathed his sword, a grim look on his face. "Well, it seems we won''t be needing those seastone shackles after all. The seastone bullet weakened him enough." He looked at the ship, and then back to me. "With their captain gone, the Sky Pirates are vulnerable. They''ll be disorganized, demoralized. Let''s move quickly and apprehend the rest of the crew before they scatter."


    The fight was swift and decisive. The Sky Pirates, lacking Bulla''s leadership and sheer strength, offered little resistance. Fear and confusion reigned on the deck. We moved with practiced efficiency, securing the ship and rounding up the remaining pirates. The mission, once fraught with difficulty, had turned into a clean sweep.


    Faced with Captain Daigin''s threat to expose their secret, the pirates confessed the stolen treasure was on their ship. A small, World Noble''s treasure box was found. Upon opening it, we were surprised to find an oddly shaped, green fruit. Captain Daigin''s eyes widened. "A Devil Fruit," he declared.

 Chapter 12

    Killing Bulla seemed easy, and so was Lazarus''s task, because it had been meticulously arranged by Captain Daigin. Even though he still held the rank of Captain, Daigin truly deserved to be a Commodore.


    Captain Daigin''s plan was a delicate dance, a performance I watched with bated breath. He''d told me Bolla wasn''t Haimon, that he could take him. But Daigin wasn''t after a clean win. He needed Bolla trapped, no escape route. That''s where I came in.


    He held back, I could see it. Every parry, every strike, was measured, restrained. He was playing the fool, letting Bolla think he had the upper hand. I saw Bolla''s arrogance grow, his movements becoming sloppy, predictable. Just as Daigin intended. He was baiting him, letting Bolla underestimate him, drawing him into a false sense of security.


    My heart pounded in my chest. I was the hidden blade, the shadow waiting in the wings. Daigin''s feigned struggle was my cue. I watched Bolla, his focus entirely on Daigin''s apparent weakness, his guard dropping with every passing moment. He was so convinced he was winning, he didn''t see me.


    That was the point. Daigin''s calculated weakness was my opportunity. While Bolla was busy basking in his imagined superiority, I prepared to strike, to end this charade and secure our objective. My ambush, the culmination of Daigin''s careful manipulation, was about to begin.


    The salt spray stung my face, a constant, gritty reminder of the endless, monotonous patrols. Day in, day out, the same stretch of sea, the same empty horizon. Near this base, it''s like the pirates have vanished, taken to hiding like rats in the face of a flood. Or maybe, they''ve just realized the pickings are too slim here, too well-guarded.


    Seven months of Bulla, and now, this? A desolate, pirate-free zone. Two months, dwindling to one, before Elite Camp, and I''m stuck babysitting calm waters. It''s a cruel joke. I joined the execution team, thinking I was being smart, efficient. Cut out the middleman, deal with the scum directly, and rack up the points. But the system''s a trap, a rigged game. Bounties nullified, efforts wasted.


    I can feel the pressure building, a cold, hard knot in my chest. Each passing wave is a reminder of the precious time slipping away. Elite Camp. They say it''s where legends are made, where the weak are broken. I was supposed to be ready. I thought I was ready. But how can I prepare for the crucible when I''m stuck in this stagnant pond?


    One month. One month left, and a week of that gone, swallowed by the journey to Marine Headquarters. A week of enforced idleness, of watching the clock tick down, of feeling the gap widen.


    It''s not just the lost points, the wasted effort. It''s the feeling of helplessness. The knowledge that I''m going in blind, unprepared, like a lamb to the slaughter. I need to find pirates, even a 10 million bounty would be fine, anything to get simulation point. But here? Near a marine base, it''s nearly impossible to find them. Just the endless, mocking expanse of the sea.


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    "One hundred points," I muttered, staring at the glowing number on my interface. "Still one hundred. Silver or Gold... that''s the question."


    If I want Gold, I thought, I need to boost my endurance first. Ten points. Ten points for a chance at a real edge.


    "But where am I going to get ten points now?" I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "The elite camp starts soon. I need a simulation, and I need it now. To upgrade my battle skill, or unlock my ability, anything to give me an edge."


    "The stronger I am..." I whispered to myself, "...the more Zephyr will notice. The more they''ll invest in me. That''s the logic, right?"


    I paced the room, my mind a whirlwind of calculations and what-ifs. "Endurance... it''s important, yes. But time..."


    "Time is running out."


    A sudden wave of clarity washed over me. "No. No more hesitation." I stopped pacing, my decision made. "Forget the endurance. Forget the extra points."


    "All in," I said, my voice firm. "All one hundred points. Gold Simulation. Right now."


    "System, I''d like to use the Gold Simulation now that I''ve exchanged my simulation points."


    Ding! Host use Gold level simulation opportunity, life simulation started.


    The screen appeared before me and text began to emerge on it.


    On the first year, you joint Elite Camp, recognizing your skill with firearms and your untapped Haki potential, Zephyr gave you special training. After several months of hard work, you began to master and were able to effectively utilize Haki. You now one of strongest on Elite Camp.


    On the second year, following the destruction of a town near G-3, the Vice Admiral assigned Captain Darius''s squad to investigate. Due to the possibility of dangerous pirate activity, indicating a disregard for Marine presence, you advised that Squad Darius proceed with caution before. Zephyr''s relentless personal training, though near fatal, triggered a profound physical transformation. You''re become the strongest at Elite Camp.


    On the third year, you graduated from Elite Camp as the top performer. Your rank was elevated to Marine Commodore, and you was assigned to Marine Headquarters. While hunting pirates, you found a Devil Fruit. After eating it, you realized it had belonged to Bolla. But you were happy with your new ability.


    On the four year, Your relationship with Zephyr is very good; you will always follow his division when pirate hunting. An unidentified pirate attacked Zephyr''s ship, but you and Zephyr killed him. Your ability made his escape impossible.


    On the fifth year, you focus on hunting pirate, and  Almost a quarter of the pirates in the Grand Line have been eliminated by you. Though merely a Commodore, you command a reputation that sends shivers down the spines of pirates, akin to a Marine Admiral.


    On the sixth year, you get promote as Rear Admiral and assigned directly to marine headquarter. Because of this Raigin still Marine Captain. You feel sorry for him.


    On the seventh, Despite knowing the consequences of killing Bekori, you do so anyway, viewing him as no different from a pirate. This act results in your dismissal and a 300 million Berry bounty with nick name Purple Demon. Subsequently, at the invitation of your friend, Bartholomew Kuma, you join the Revolutionary Army. You learned that Zephyr angrily confronted Fleet Admiral Sengoku about your situation and resigned from the Marines.