Just as Hermes was mapping out his future, the caravan suddenly came to a halt.
They'd reached the first checkpoint—toll time.
A messy crowd had gathered: roaming thugs, local gangsters, mountain bandits… there were a lot of them. But the situation was dealt with quickly.
Which told Hermes one thing—this merchant guild he'd joined wasn't all talk.
No wonder their fees were so high.
But what came next really opened his eyes.
In the span of just two days, the caravan ran into at least six groups of mountain bandits, five pirate crews, and eleven "official" tax collections.
And they still hadn't even reached the eastern Marine branch.
A few times, things nearly turned violent—but every time, the leader handled it.
Sometimes with steel.
Sometimes with money.
The caravan wasn't huge, but it wasn't small either—there were fifty or sixty guards riding with them.
Finally, on the third day, they entered the eastern region.
Compared to the west, this place was far calmer. Sure, there was still theft and the occasional robbery—but next to the west, it felt like heaven.
The biggest reason was obvious:
A Marine branch was stationed here.
Very few groups dared to provoke the Marines. The power standing behind that uniform was no joke.
Right now, in the Kingdom of Prodence, this eastern patch was basically the only area that could be called stable. Everywhere else was chaos—or outright war.
Hermes left the caravan.
He planned to stay in the east for a while.
If he could find a way to slip into the Marine base… there might be unexpected gains.
For example—
Rokushiki.
In the meantime, he could hunt pirates and bandits in the area, collect bounties, and sharpen himself.
"Takoyaki! Thirty Beli—five or six skewers!"
"Udon! No overnight noodles! Handmade—only fifty Beli a bowl!"
Walking down the bustling street, vendors shouted from both sides. Taverns overflowed with people.
Hermes ate takoyaki as he headed toward the Marine base.
First things first: cash in the bounty.
Then find an inn, take a real breath for once.
The Marine branch sat near the coastline. It wasn't especially grand, but it carried a certain upright air. Marines in uniform came and went, some on duty, others off-shift.
To civilians, Marines really did bring a sense of safety.
"Stop."
"This is a Marine camp. No approaching."
As Hermes neared the gate, two sentries stepped forward, faces stern, eyes sharp with caution.
Just from that, Hermes could tell the commanding officer here ran a tight ship.
Not like those corrupt, lazy Marines you sometimes heard about.
"I'm a bounty hunter," Hermes said evenly. "I'm here to collect a reward."
He handed over the bundle in his hands.
"A bounty hunter?"
The Marine on the left looked him up and down, a measuring gaze—along with a faint, barely hidden sense of superiority.
The Marine on the right took the bundle, opened it, and frowned slightly at the head inside.
No gagging. No puking.
These two had seen enough blood to be past that stage.
Both were Petty Officers.
"Please wait," the right one said. "I need to confirm it."
Spando was too small-time. A 4.6 million bounty wasn't enough for these two to recognize him on sight. They had to go inside and check the wanted posters.
"Sure." Hermes shrugged, staying where he was.
Once the Marine left, the air turned quiet—saved only by the steady flow of soldiers moving in and out of the base.
Hermes stared at the gate, expression unreadable.
He couldn't see much from here, but faint training sounds carried out from inside.
If luck was on his side… the thing he wanted was in there.
He spoke casually, as if making conversation.
"Officer, can I ask who your highest-ranking commander is here?"
He was fishing for information.
Tomorrow morning, he'd start infiltrating. Training usually happened early—that would be the perfect window to "borrow" a few moves.
The Petty Officer's expression didn't change.
"And why would a bounty hunter want to know that?"
"If nothing goes wrong," Hermes replied with a smile, "I'll be coming here a lot in the future."
The Petty Officer stared at him for a moment, then answered:
"Our highest commander is Captain Bastan Yoger. Thanks to Captain Yoger, the eastern part of Prodence is this peaceful. Pirates and bandits around here don't dare act recklessly."
Hermes could hear the pride in his voice. The admiration too.
"A Captain…"
Hermes turned it over in his head.
A Marine branch commander—stationed in the New World—wasn't simple. Even if the base itself wasn't massive, holding territory here already meant something.
He probably knew Rokushiki.
The real question was whether he had Haki, especially Observation.
If Captain Yoger had Observation Haki, Hermes's next moves would get complicated fast.
Compared to the true pillars of the Marines—Admirals, Vice Admirals, Rear Admirals, Colonels, Lieutenant Colonels, Majors—a Captain didn't sound like much.
But in a low-tier backwater? A Captain was absolutely a big deal.
And the Marines were a weird organization like that—rank and strength didn't always match.
A man could hold the rank of Captain and still have the combat power of a Major, Lieutenant Colonel, or even a Colonel.
There were plenty of exceptions.
The most famous was the "eternal Vice Admiral" Monkey D. Garp—a living mystery of strength.
And that was just raw physical power.
Throw Devil Fruit abilities into the mix, and it became even harder to judge.
Hermes had exactly one wish:
Please, don't let that Captain have Observation Haki.
And please let him know Rokushiki—better yet, let him know a lot.
If he personally guided training now and then, even better.
That would make Hermes's "borrowing" far easier.
He just hoped reality would be as kind as his imagination—rather than cruel enough to make a man wet himself.
"You're not bad," the returning Petty Officer said, stepping out at last. "Killing Spando, the captain of the Big Blade Pirates, bounty 4.6 million… that's impressive."
He handed Hermes the reward.
"One million Beli."
The praise wasn't random.
Hermes looked young—seventeen or eighteen at most.
On the sea, there were monsters who made their names at that age.
But those people were rare—one in ten thousand.
Most at that age were still nobodies.
To this Marine, the fact that Hermes—at this age—had taken down a 4.6 million-bounty pirate meant potential.
It didn't matter how he did it.
The target was dead.
That was skill.
Sometimes luck and opportunism were part of strength too.
Hermes accepted the money without asking why it was "only" one million.
Some things didn't need to be explained.
You didn't have to see a pig run to know what a pig looked like—you just had to see it in heat once.
As Hermes turned to leave, the Petty Officer called after him.
"Interested in joining the Marines?"
It was an olive branch.
The Marines were always willing to recruit someone with talent.
If this had been the first year after Hermes transmigrated, he would've agreed without hesitation.
But now?
Now it just made his skin crawl.
That year, he'd been rejected too many times.
It wasn't that he was petty.
It was simply that he didn't need them anymore.
He didn't have some grand dream about saving the world, spreading justice to every corner of the sea.
Let someone else carry that heroic burden.
What Hermes wanted—
Was freedom.
In his old life, he'd been suppressed for too long. That darkness had built up inside him.
This life? He needed clarity. He needed to do what he wanted, when he wanted.
Otherwise, what was the point of transmigrating?
To stay poor? To stay miserable?
"Thanks," Hermes said, lifting a hand in farewell. "But I prefer being free."
He turned, leaving behind a casual, unbothered silhouette as he walked away.