Training Day One, Elite Assessment (First Update!)

The next day, Marineford, Marine Recruit Training Camp.

A streak of dawn spread across the horizon, and half of a crimson orb emerged from between the clouds.

Today was Loa's first day in the Marines, so he had unusually gotten up early, running along while gnawing on a huge pile of steamed buns.

They were free anyway, so he might as well eat more.

On the way to the training ground, the equally hurried recruits along the roadside could not help glancing at him several times.

"That guy can really eat!"

"He's Loa, right? I heard Vice Admiral Momonga brought him back."

"It should be him. Keep it down—yesterday, Vice Admiral Momonga punched him flying, and he crashed through a warship's armor without getting hurt. Looks like another monster."

"Mm, mm."

News of Loa joining the Marines had already spread. After all, the warship sent back to the shipyard for repairs was far too conspicuous. At first, everyone thought Vice Admiral Momonga had been attacked at sea. Only after asking around did they learn the reason, and Loa's name spread with it.

Loa did not care about their discussions. As a transmigrator, he still felt as though he were watching a 3D movie.

Loa had also figured out the current point in time. It was the sixteenth year of the Great Pirate Era, Sea Circle Calendar 1516. There was still a year before Ace set sail, and he was currently holed up in Foosha Village with Monkey D. Luffy, the child of destiny, preparing to go to sea.

After running all the way to the training ground, he found that quite a few recruits had already gathered there.

While chewing his last steamed bun, Loa surveyed his fellow recruits.

"A bearded guy? Don't know him."

"A blonde foreign beauty? Don't know her either."

"A guy carrying two swords? Still don't know him."

After making a full sweep, Loa swallowed his final bite in relief. Great, they were all extras!

Extras were good. If they were all extras, he would not run into any bizarre trouble and could train under Zephyr without worry.

Before long, a man dressed like an instructor arrived at the training ground. Judging by his rank, he should have been a rear admiral. Facing the recruits, he shouted, "Squad Seven! Fall in!"

The recruits, who had slowly gathered together when he appeared, immediately ran into formation upon hearing the order and lined up in several rows. Loa had no idea where he was supposed to stand, but fortunately, the number of recruits was not quite even. There were still two empty spots in the last row, so he hurried over and took one.

After an opening speech, the instructor turned sideways and saluted rigidly toward the right. "Admiral Zephyr, Squad Seven of the Recruit Training Camp: five should be present, five are present. Awaiting instructions!"

Loa looked over at those words. Sure enough, Zephyr, dressed in a purple suit, had appeared at some point in a corner of the training ground's lawn. The recruits also noticed him now, and the formation immediately fell into disorder.

"That's Admiral Zephyr! I'm so excited!"

"Yeah, we actually get to see Admiral Zephyr in person!"

"Hey, why is Admiral Zephyr at the Recruit Training Camp today? Doesn't he normally only train the Elite Camp?"

"Probably because of that matter."

"That matter? Could it be..."

Hearing the buzz from the ranks, the rear admiral's face darkened as he roared, "Silence!"

The disorderly formation instantly became silent. Every recruit stood tall with their chest out, not daring to act up.

At that moment, Zephyr also walked to the front of the formation. Looking at the spirited recruits before him, he frowned faintly. Although most recruits who could train at Marine Headquarters were children of Marine officers and soldiers and had received a solid foundation from an early age, the recruits of recent years were far inferior to previous classes in both strength and temperament. He saw it clearly and worried deeply.

But now was not the time to express dissatisfaction. He had come to the Recruit Training Camp today only to take a look at that promising youngster and announce that matter while he was at it.

"I came today to inform everyone of something. Some of you have probably already heard. That's right! The annual Elite Assessment for the Recruit Training Camp is about to begin!"

A wave of commotion swept through the ranks!

Although they had guessed as much, everyone was still extremely excited when they heard Zephyr officially announce it. That was the Elite Camp! Upon graduation, the lowest rank they could receive would be officer!

They were recruits from headquarters, but if they lacked the strength, it was entirely possible for them to graduate as ordinary seamen. A soldier who did not want to become a general was not a good soldier. As Marines and members of the military, who did not want to climb higher? Joining the Elite Camp was a shortcut, enough to save them years, even over a decade, of effort.

"Silence! If anyone speaks again, the whole group will run one hundred laps around the training ground!" The rear admiral instructor stepped forward again to maintain order, this time bringing out the military's special punishment method: collective punishment!

With that, even if someone could not keep their mouth shut, the people around them would immediately "help" them shut it.

Zephyr watched the scene expressionlessly. Only after the formation quieted down again did he continue. "But don't celebrate too soon! The Elite Assessment has another name: the Combat Assessment! That is to say, you will face real enemies and survive life-and-death combat. Only the best among you may join the Elite Camp. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" The response was weak and listless. Many recruits appeared to have been frightened by Zephyr's use of the word "survive." Seeing this, Zephyr frowned impatiently and shouted again, "Didn't eat breakfast, did you? I asked if you understood!"

"Understood!"

This time, their voices were much more unified and resounding. Regardless of what they thought inside, they could not anger Zephyr now, or they would suffer for it later.

Having trained countless recruits, how could Zephyr fail to see what these fellows were thinking? But he did not explain. He merely nodded and turned to leave. Yet he did not go far, instead sitting on the second floor of the building across the way, watching the recruits train through the glass windows.

Was the Combat Assessment really so terrifying that they had to talk about survival rates?

Of course not.

Although the Marines were a combat force and needed to fight pirates to the death, this was not some brutal underground arena that pursued only one exceptional elite out of a hundred or a thousand. How could they allow massive numbers of recruits to die?

The recruits' first Combat Assessment usually involved sending them to an island where the Marines raised ferocious beasts and having them hunt those beasts, judging their performance accordingly. Moreover, the island was covered with Surveillance Den Den Mushi, and at least one Admiral accompanied the instructors. Their safety could be guaranteed.

The purpose was to let recruits see blood. Only after they had truly seen blood could they change from decorative fighters who only knew how to train with their heads down into soldiers capable of fighting pirates with real blades and real guns.

By then, it would no longer be called a Combat Assessment. The word "assessment" would be removed.

But there was no need to tell the recruits all that. Once they had assurances, if they lost their fear of death, how could they become soldiers capable of standing on their own? Flowers grown in greenhouses could not withstand wind and rain, and soldiers who did not understand death could not bear the name of Marine.

Marine Headquarters was not a retirement home.

After Zephyr left, training began immediately. First, everyone had to run one hundred laps around the training ground. This was the daily routine for all seven squads of the Recruit Camp.

The training ground at the Recruit Training Camp was enormous, measuring a full two thousand meters per lap. After all, it accommodated the recruits of seven squads. If it were not large enough, were several hundred people supposed to train in batches?

Loa's Squad Seven was the last squad, and only the final squad ever had incomplete ranks during formation. However, this last-place position was not determined by strength. The squads were simply assigned according to the order in which people joined.

Thanks to nine years of compulsory education, Loa had mastered some skilled long-distance running techniques. He did not charge ahead merely because he was strong and sturdy. Instead, he maintained a rhythm of breathing out every three steps and breathing in every three steps, neither fast nor slow, staying in the middle of the pack.

Over the first several dozen laps, people from behind gradually passed him, but he remained unmoved. As long as he was not last, that was enough. Once they reached the critical point of one hundred laps, some recruits began falling behind, and he gradually passed them in turn.

For the final fifty laps, Loa maintained a steady pace and passed one recruit after another, reaching the front of the group. By then, not many could still maintain the lead—only two or three.

"Not bad stamina!" Loa looked admiringly at the few beside him. After running for so long, aside from their heavy breathing, their bodies made no unnecessary movements, and every step landed firmly.