Mayute Town.
A chaotic port town on the eastern coastline of the Kingdom of Prodence, about two to three days from the Marine branch. Permanent population—around three hundred thousand.
Plenty of pirate crews used this place as their landing point when they came ashore in Prodence.
So the security here?
Garbage.
Street brawls and shootouts could break out at any moment. Human trafficking, robbery, drugs—everything ran in the shadows, and none of it was rare. Especially in the last two years, with Prodence falling deeper into internal chaos, the towns under its banner had spiraled even harder out of control.
Dangerous as it was… opportunity was everywhere too.
If you opened a tavern or an inn here—and your backing was strong enough, or your "protection fees" were paid on time—you could still make money.
After all, the number of outsiders who passed through every year was huge.
Hermes had finally gotten Finger Pistol to beginner level.
Of course he was going to test it in real combat.
And while he was at it—earn some blood-and-sweat money. He'd been poor long enough to develop a lifelong fear of being broke.
Mayute Town fit him perfectly.
Snakes and rats everywhere. You could step on one with your eyes closed.
"HAHAHAHA!"
"Fill it up!"
"Boss, another rum!"
"Where the hell is my pizza?!"
"My booze! You want me to burn this place down?!"
The street was packed. Everywhere Hermes looked, people strutted around with sabers at their hips or pistols tucked at their waist—pirates, bandits, gang trash. Both sides of the road were lined with stalls and shops.
Hermes dressed simply: a white shirt, black pants, flip-flops, and messy hair that looked like it had given up halfway through the day.
He picked a nearby tavern and stepped inside.
The stink hit him immediately—alcohol fumes mixed with sweat and something even worse. Hermes almost stopped at the door.
The yelling and cursing buzzed in his ears like flies.
The place was filthy.
Nobody greeted him. The servers were already running themselves ragged. People shouted orders and threats—killing them, burning the tavern, whatever came to mind.
Crude. Sloppy. No manners. No restraint.
Only a few heads turned when Hermes entered. Most just glanced, saw a kid, then went back to stuffing their faces and chugging booze.
Lucky.
There was still one empty table.
Hermes held his breath and slipped through the crowd.
Halfway there, he looked down.
A huge hairy leg suddenly stretched out in front of him.
Someone was trying to trip him for fun—just to make the kid eat dirt.
"HAHAHAHA—he noticed!"
"Horus, you stuck your leg out too slow!"
"Damn, I wanted to see the brat faceplant like a dog!"
The table roared with laughter.
Horus wasn't offended by the teasing—he laughed too, gulped down a bowl of liquor, then pulled his leg back like nothing happened.
Normally, an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old kid would've run.
This wasn't a tavern, it was a den. A pit full of vicious-looking men.
With Hermes's slim build, he looked completely out of place.
His thigh wasn't even as thick as some of their arms.
The difference was ridiculous.
"Hm?" Horus turned, prompted by a buddy. "Oi, brat. Why are you still standing there?"
Hermes hadn't moved.
He stood in the same spot, staring at Horus with a blank expression—cold, quiet, the kind of look that made people feel oddly uneasy.
That drew more attention. Most of the onlookers sipped their drinks and watched with amused anticipation.
Hermes remained indifferent.
When he moved in this world, he had one rule:
Be ruthless. Talk less.
If a problem couldn't be solved with violence—
Then hit it more times.
Offending the man who would one day be the boldest bastard on the sea…
meant Horus's ending was already written.
Hermes moved like lightning.
All the power in his body surged and condensed into a single point—
Before Horus could even blink, Hermes's two fingers had already punched through both eyes and driven straight into the skull behind them.
Blood erupted.
Horus's scream was short, wet, and final.
The entire tavern—moments ago a screaming madhouse—went dead silent.
Whoosh!
Hermes yanked his hand out and flicked it once, sending flecks of blood—and bits of brain and meat—spattering away.
He actually… savored the metallic smell in the air.
Then he looked around calmly.
"I want to know this guy's bounty."
Horus's thick body slammed onto the floor. Blood spread fast, staining the planks black-red.
Hermes didn't care about the drama.
Only the number.
"Bastard…!"
"Horus!"
"Kid, you're dead!"
The pirates at that table exploded into motion, grabbing sabers and flintlock pistols, hacking and firing wildly at Hermes.
No one expected him to strike first—let alone strike that viciously.
He looked neat and mild. Then he snapped, wordless, and went straight for the kill.
A dog that doesn't bark bites the deepest.
Bang!
A bullet tore past Hermes's ear, the slipstream making his whole body tense.
He barely dodged—
But before he could reset, a saber flashed toward his neck.
This was the One Piece world.
One wrong word, one wrong glance, and you were fighting for your life.
Life and death were fate.
Wealth and rank were heaven's call.
Hermes twisted his body and avoided the blade. He didn't retreat—instead he surged forward, closing in.
His right hand stabbed out again.
After two years of clawing his way through this world…
Hermes was no longer who he used to be.
"AAAAH!!!"
A scream ripped through the tavern.
Hermes hit perfectly—one thrust, one hole.
The nearest pirate clutched his side, stumbling back with his face drained of color, fear exploding in his eyes.
The shadow of death wrapped around him.
Bang bang bang!
"Die!"
Another pirate—the shooter—fired at Hermes like his life depended on it.
That gun was the only thing here that could truly threaten Hermes.
Hermes rolled hard to the side and tore up a table, using it as a shield.
At the same time, two more pirates rushed him—one with an axe, one with a saber—swinging in a frenzy.
The crowd cleared space in the center without even being told.
No one wanted to get involved.
Instead, they cheered.
Some even started taking bets on whether Hermes would live… or the pirates.
"Cut his legs!"
"Idiot! You missed again!"
"He's over there—over there!"
Spectators were the worst.
The louder they got, the more furious the pirates became.
So many of them—and they still couldn't put down one kid?
Then another scream rang out.
Hermes's fingers were his sharpest weapon.
Wherever he struck, a bloody hole appeared—often in places that mattered.
Eyes. Throat. Kidneys.
He was brutal.
Merciless.
He wasn't even using the Mini-Mini Fruit.
He liked this.
The adrenaline—the sense that death was right there, inches away—shot straight into his brain.
It was intoxicating.
His fingers could make someone twitch and hit a strange, mindless trance…
and they could also kill without any fanfare at all.
Very versatile.
And it was exactly this kind of environment that forced growth the fastest.
"Kill him!"
"Damn it—slippery little bastard!"
"He ran that way! Are you useless?! You can't even catch a brat!"
The fight grew more savage.
The pirates grew more frantic.
But the ones actually fighting?
They were starting to realize the truth.
Without noticing, they were down to three.
The rest were either already lying in pools of blood… or one breath away from joining them.
Hermes was wounded too—cuts on his arm, back, and thigh. His shirt was soaked, skin split open in ugly lines.
But anyone with eyes could tell: they were surface wounds.
No severed arteries. No shattered bones.
Dancing on the blade of death always came with a price.
In the crowd, murmurs spread.
"That kid's technique… looks like Marine Rokushiki."
"Those fingers… that really does resemble Finger Pistol."
"Is he a Marine?"
Some pirates looked doubtful—but no one dared say it with certainty.
They had experience.
Just not enough.
Bang!
"Agh—!"
The gunfire stopped abruptly.
The shooter clutched his throat as blood streamed between his fingers. He collapsed, kicked weakly a few times, and died with resentment in his eyes.
Hermes flicked the blood from his fingers and finally backed off, breathing hard.
His gaze—cold as a blade—locked onto the last two pirates.
They stared back.
The spectators fell quiet too, grinning like kids about to watch fireworks.
Everyone knew it.
The final exchange was coming.
"Kill him!"
The two pirates launched first, faces twisted, clearly going all-in.
They'd underestimated the kid.
He was lethal.
Slippery as an eel.
And every move he made went straight for the kill.
His ruthlessness matched theirs—
maybe even exceeded it.