Three Months Later

It was still six-thirty in the evening.

Rayne carried his third dinner back to the corner by the window.

Old Hank, the mess sergeant eating at a nearby table, saw him serving himself another meal and complained through his cigarette, "Hey, kid... are you planning to stuff three people's worth of food into one stomach?"

Rayne merely nodded without speaking, quietly spooning the vegetable stew into his mouth.

It had been three months since he had transmigrated into this world.

Thanks to the system-granted [Body Inheritance], Rayne's body had undergone a brutal second growth spurt.

In just three months, he had shot up from under 1.6 meters to 1.85 meters tall. His shoulders had broadened, and the naval uniform he had worn year-round now felt slightly tight on him.

At first, his astonishing appetite and physical changes had caused some trouble.

About a month ago.

That day, it was still those same veterans who loved picking fights. They stopped him in the cafeteria, mocked him as a "starving ghost reincarnated," and tried to snatch away his tray.

Before then, Rayne had always adhered to the principle of avoiding trouble whenever possible, choosing to ignore all exclusion and harassment.

But that day, the hunger raging within him, amplified countless times by his body, overwhelmed the patience of his adult soul.

Rayne did not waste words.

The instant the other man's hand touched his tray, he moved.

By the time everyone came to their senses, the three veterans were already lying on the floor, clutching their stomachs and curled up like boiled shrimp.

Rayne simply picked up his tray and, under everyone's awestruck gazes, walked to his corner and continued eating.

From that day onward, no one dared trouble him again.

Even his standing at the Loguetown naval base suddenly improved.

No one dared call him "bad luck" to his face anymore, and the disdainful looks he had once received became looks of reverence. He was still lonely, but at least he had peace and quiet.

Sure enough, in any world, fists are the most effective way to communicate.

Rayne grumbled inwardly as he swallowed the last bite of black bread.

In the transparent window beside him, he could see his vague reflection.

The boy in the reflection still had a delicate face, but his features had gradually become more defined. His eyes no longer held the fear and confusion of his first arrival, leaving only unfathomable calmness.

He had begun to grow accustomed to life here.

Leaning back in his chair, he savored the long-missed fullness in his stomach while feeling the strength in his body, so utterly different from three months ago.

The feeling of constantly growing stronger really is addictive.

Rayne clenched his fist, feeling its solid strength as his thoughts drifted farther away.

But... it's still far too weak.

If I want the strength to protect myself in this chaotic world, even live comfortably, then at the very least... I need power on the level of an Emperor.

The chance to reach the top in one step was on this island.

Gol D. Roger... when exactly are you going to turn yourself in? No news had come in the past three months, making Rayne feel somewhat anxious.

Not knowing how much longer he would have to wait, Rayne suppressed his unrealistic fantasies and brought his attention back to the present.

He thought of the execution he had completed just yesterday morning.

[Prisoner: "Iron Hook" Jack]

[Overall Level: N7]

...

[Available Rewards]:

Body Inheritance (Small Amount)

Skill Inheritance, Basic Navigation

Rayne still chose [Body Inheritance] without hesitation.

He had already prepared himself for the scorching flow of energy and the weakness that would follow.

However—

The violent energy he had expected never appeared. A warm current that could only be described as "mildly heated" flowed into his body, circled around without pain or irritation, and then... vanished.

Rayne could feel that his strength had indeed increased slightly, but compared to what he had expected, or even any of his previous enhancements, it fell far short.

The hunger that followed was also nowhere near as intense as before. It merely made him feel like he had forgotten to eat breakfast.

Since his [Physique Realm] had broken through from [Basic] to [Intermediate] a month ago, this feeling had become increasingly apparent—these N-rank pirates who terrorized the area around Loguetown were providing him with increasingly meager "nourishment."

The previous sensation of strength surging through him had now dwindled to nothing more than a barely noticeable warm current.

Can't they try harder and capture some stronger pirates? Rayne sighed inwardly, then opened his personal panel with a thought.

Name: Corvo Rayne

Age: 15

Rank: Private Second Class

[Physique Realm]: Intermediate

[Talent]: None

[Skills]: Swordsmanship (Basic), Marksmanship (Basic)

[Sin Points]: 2150

Breaking through to [Intermediate] in [Physique Realm] was Rayne's greatest gain over the past three months. As for the assorted skills he had drawn during that time, he had kept only the most practical ones, [Swordsmanship] and [Marksmanship], finally giving him a few presentable means of fighting enemies.

As for those two thousand-odd points, Rayne's teeth ached whenever he looked at the still-gray shop icon.

Having money but nowhere to spend it feels even worse than being in debt.

His rank had also risen by one level a month ago, to Private Second Class. He still received no salary, only free meals and uniforms.

After eating, Rayne sorted through his thoughts on the way back to the dormitory.

In order to make himself less resistant to the job of "executioner," and to better understand his own "performance," he had visited the base archives over the past three months to read through the case files of the pirates he had executed.

He discovered that the system's [Crime Index] was not fabricated out of thin air.

As long as a person's [Crime Index] exceeded 100, the crimes recorded in their file would be more than enough to warrant the death penalty under the universal values of his previous life.

As for the man with the highest [Crime Index] he had seen so far, 550, Rayne felt that even shooting him for five straight minutes would be letting him off easy.

This realization gradually replaced the guilt a modern person felt toward killing with a numbness akin to taking out the trash.

He was not killing people. He was taking out the trash.

After returning to his tiny private room and changing clothes, Rayne lay on his bed in boredom.

"Knock, knock, knock."

A somewhat hesitant knock sounded at the door.

Rayne frowned and opened it, only to find an ordinary marine standing outside, someone who looked vaguely familiar.

At that moment, the marine wore a slightly ingratiating, reverent smile.

"Lord Rayne..." the marine awkwardly used an honorific. "Orders from above. Tomorrow afternoon... you have another assignment."

"Got it," Rayne replied flatly, preparing to close the door.

"Ah, please wait!" The marine hurriedly took out a file from behind his back and offered it with both hands. "This is... the file on this prisoner."

This was a first. In the past, those officers had only treated him as a gun that did not need to think, never showing him such things.

Ever since learning that Rayne had a habit of visiting the archives, they had actually begun delivering the files to him themselves.