"Have I really reached the point where I can so easily kill such massive beasts now?"
"But I'm still trapped on this cursed place!"
Murphy stared out at the endless stretch of blue sea, his heart heavy with frustration.
Yes, he could fly—but not endlessly.
Using the powers of the Devil Fruit consumed stamina, and his stamina was limited.
The distance to the next island was unknown. If he took off without direction, flying aimlessly, what awaited him would be death.
He lacked knowledge of navigation. If he flew out blindly, he might never find his way back.
Murphy knew this for certain.
Because during the five years he had lived on this deserted island since his crossing into this world, he had tried countless ways to escape—and failed each time.
Even as a transmigrator, he wasn't all-powerful.
Yes, Murphy was a transmigrator, but he had inherited none of his body's former memories. In his past life, he was nothing more than an ordinary man, with no sailing knowledge whatsoever.
Even with the power of the Logia-type Mud-Mud Fruit allowing him to fly, he had found himself again and again thwarted by the boundless ocean. He could only sigh helplessly.
Now Murphy was breaking down. He felt like he was about to go mad—or perhaps he already was.
Humans are social creatures. With no one to talk to, with only unintelligent beasts for company, it was a miracle he hadn't lost his mind already.
Especially in the early days, before he had obtained the Mud-Mud Fruit, when he lived under the constant pressure of survival, skirting the edge of death each day.
By chance, he had discovered a man-made cave, inside of which was a chest containing the Mud-Mud Fruit and a great hoard of gold, silver, and jewels.
Murphy didn't know exactly how much that treasure was worth, but it was piled high into a small mountain. He was certain it wasn't cheap.
Which meant the treasure's previous owner would surely return to this island one day.
So Murphy waited. That hope of rescue was one of the main reasons he had managed to endure without breaking.
"But five years have passed! Five whole years!"
"Damn it! Damn it all!"
"How much longer do I have to wait before I can leave this hellhole!?"
He roared into the sky, his voice shaking with pent-up emotion.
The battle earlier had been another way for him to vent his bottled-up frustration.
And now, there was only training and feeding himself.
Dragging the massive corpse of the blue-scaled serpent with one hand, Murphy headed toward the southwest coast of the island.
There, on a flat cliffside, he had built a wooden cabin where he lived. Beneath the cliff, he had prepared a special place to deal with the bodies of the animals he hunted.
Murphy worked with practiced ease. Using a knife he had forged himself from iron ore dug out of the island, he scaled, gutted, cleaned, and skewered the serpent.
Setting it over a grill of his own making, he lit the fire, sprinkled on spices and salt he had gathered from the island, and slowly rotated the skewer.
Each movement was efficient, each step perfectly executed.
The skewer itself wasn't wood—it was a smooth, stone-like rod Murphy had made using the Mud-Mud Fruit.
By drawing out the water from mud and compressing it, he created a hard, brown weapon strong enough to pierce through serpent scales.
It was with this ability that he had forged his knife, and it was also the key to his earlier victory against the serpent. Without such hardened mud, ordinary sludge could never break through its scales—it wouldn't even be fit for washing.
In the beginning, making such tools had nearly killed him, and success wasn't always guaranteed. But creating them gave him focus, helped him refine his fruit's abilities, and tempered his body all at once.
It was part of why he had survived so long, both physically and mentally.
Though he lacked inherited memories, he discovered that this body's potential was monstrous compared to his past life.
He didn't know if all people in the world of One Piece were this monstrous, but it certainly seemed so.
Murphy turned his gaze to the roasting serpent. The savory aroma filled the air, and his stomach growled.
Dinner was nearly ready. Which meant it was time to begin his daily training.
He stopped turning the spit, doused the fire, and walked to the training area he had set up nearby.
First, using his Devil Fruit power, he shaped a full suit of stone armor. Then he compressed the stone, making it denser and heavier, until it weighed nearly three hundred pounds.
He tested a few punches, hopped lightly on his feet, and found the weight didn't hinder him. Training began.
He sprinted ten laps around the island with the armor on.
One lap was about fifty kilometers.
Two hours later, gasping for breath, he stumbled back to his starting point.
Every part of him screamed to collapse, but he kept himself moving, walking slowly to let his body recover.
Unbelievable, wasn't it? Could a human truly do such things?
The answer was yes.
In this world of monsters and pirates, sheer determination and relentless training could shatter human limits. Three years of constant effort had brought him this far.
And he had achieved it all while under heavy weights. Without them, he would only be faster.
It was this drive, combined with memories from his previous life, that had allowed him to master techniques like Shave and Tempest Kick.
Comparing today's results to yesterday's, Murphy noted with satisfaction that though his speed hadn't changed, the weight he carried had increased by five jin.
He had broken through another limit.
Once his body had recovered, he didn't stop.
Taking a firm horse stance, he gripped a blade formed from compressed mud and swung.
"One… one thousand and one… two thousand… ten thousand!"
With each shout, he cleaved toward the sea, putting his full strength into every strike.
Sweat poured down his body, dripping from beneath the stone armor. His strength drained steadily, yet he refused to stop.
Time flew, and night fell.
"Twenty thousand! Goal complete—one hundred more than yesterday!"
He roared the words at the darkened horizon.
As soon as he relaxed, a wave of exhaustion nearly sent him tumbling to the ground. But gritting his teeth, he steadied himself and staggered toward the roasted serpent waiting by the fire.
The moment he sat down, his stomach rumbled like thunder.
Without hesitation, Murphy tore into the meat, devouring it to replenish the energy burned by his training.
Beside him stood two barrels—one of fresh water, and one of juice pressed from the blue-scaled fruit.
These fruits grew near the serpents' territory, their skins bearing markings similar to the creatures themselves. Murphy had named them Blue-Scaled Fruits.
Sweet and refreshing, they also sped up his recovery. That was why he often encountered serpents near the fruit trees.
This morning's battle had been an accident—he hadn't hunted them in a long time.
Not only because he feared the fruits might vanish without the serpents to guard them, but also because the beasts had grown wary of him.
Most now hid at the sight of him. Few, like the one today, dared to attack.