Year 1509 of the Sea Calendar
North Blue, Aston Kingdom
Underground Second Floor of the Slave Market.
The wooden floor, eroded by years of spilled alcohol, emitted a musty stench.
The dim yellow lighting barely illuminated the cramped space, where the odor of excrement permeated the humid air, making every inch of skin feel sticky with sweat.
Jake leaned against the innermost wall of the dungeon, his face covered in dust and grime, gaunt and hollow-eyed.
Seven days had passed since his transmigration.
From the moment he opened his eyes and vomited from the stench of shit, to the searing pain of the guards' whips lashing his body, to the nearly inedible black sludge they called food—everything confirmed one thing: his transmigrated identity was terrible.
So terrible that he might not even survive this "newbie zone."
The only silver lining was that he had inherited the original body memories and language skills.
Through these, he knew he had transmigrated in the world of One Piece and that it was the ninth year since the Great Pirate Era began.
Countless pirates had emerged like cockroach and the original body hometown had been crushed under the tide of this era, slaughtered by pirate blades.
Though they weren't his own memories, the scenes in the original body mind—skulls pierced by swords, blood and brain matter congealed together, scalps torn open and human limbs sent flying everywhere—still made him nauseous just thinking about them.
Because of this, he grew even more pessimistic about his situation.
The place he was in now was a transit station for trafficking slaves and their final destinations would be either the dissection tables of the black market or the beds of noble lords.
The slaves in his batch would undergo initial screening and be categorized as either "toys" or "organs."
Someone like him, with no special skills, would most likely be classified under "organs"—extracted without anesthesia and sold off.
He wasn't the only one aware of this fate.
Over the past seven days, many had tried to escape.
But the guard in charge of watching the prisoners was a burly man with a thick beard, standing roughly three meters tall.
On the second night, two young men attempted to escape.
Both were nearly two meters tall, their muscles full and powerful, but they were cleaved from head to toe into four pieces with a single slash by the guard.
There wasn't even a struggle.
Their screams, like decapitated dragonflies, trembled faintly for a moment before vanishing into the filthy surroundings.
The burly man merely chuckled at the sight, then took a huge swig of booze before hurling the mangled flesh towards the cages.
The sheer force shattered the corpses into a pulpy mess.
Jake still remembered the moment when a fragment of skull, still bearing a few teeth, landed in the palm of his hand.
This insurmountable gap, this seemingly hopeless situation—if not for the steadily progressing loading bar in his mind, Jake would have long given up.
Exhaling softly, Jake gently closed his eyes.
In his mind eye, a rotating blue sphere appeared—one he recognized all too well.
It was the loading screen from the game he had played in his previous life: Dungeon & Fighter.
But now, it was stuck on the "Healthy Gaming Reminder" screen...
Even though it had been stuck for seven days, as long as it didn't suddenly display "Network Connection Interrupted" at the last moment, there was still hope.
At the very bottom of the loading screen, a line of text shimmered in radiant blue:
"Upon completion, a random character ability from your saved data will be drawn, along with a one-time 10% power trial card (adjusted slightly based on this world combat standards).
The trial lasts five minutes.
After expiration, the drawn character's skill tree will remain, unlockable through mastery of the Power of Holy Light."
It was this promise of power that kept Jake will to survive remain alive, preventing him from succumbing to despair.
For him, the so-called "random draw" was practically a foregone conclusion.
The game he played was DNF and he was an obsessive support player—his account had nothing but female priest.
The template he'd draw would undoubtedly be a female priest.
Thinking about it, Jake felt a pang of relief that he hadn't created characters like a male brawler back then.
Given the lore, 10% of a male brawler's strength would have left him better off staying a slave.
After seven days of waiting, the damned loading bar had finally reached its last stuttering phase.
Once this final hurdle passed, he would successfully summon his saved character.
He wasn't sure how the adjusted 10% power would fare in the world of One Piece, but it should be enough.
As long as he could escape this island, this strength would at least allow him to work as a doctor and ensure Monet survival.
Plans after escaping? Jake didn't have many ideas yet, but his first choice was to join the Marines.
At the very least, that would offer better prospects for the future and greater security.
Just as Jake was lost in thought, a weak voice whispered beside him.
"Jake, do you really think we can escape?"
Turning around, he saw a disheveled woman whose faint green hair was barely discernible under the grime.
She wore thick glasses, her face covered in dust and clumps of dirt that obscured most of her skin.
The rancid smell of spoiled food clung to her entire body.
At this moment, she carefully tugged at Jake's sleeve and asked him the same question once more.
And every time Monet posed this question, Jake would always respond with gentle voice.
"We will escape, Monet. We'll find your sister too. Believe me!"
Hearing this, a faint smile appeared beneath Monet's thick glasses.
She nodded at Jake and leaned slightly closer to him again.
Jake didn't mind the odor coming from Monet—he knew it was her way of protecting herself.
He remembered this Snow Woman from the original story who had died with her heart pierced.
Longing for freedom like a bird, she'd been rescued from one cage only to be placed in another.
Even at the moment of her death, her life had never known true freedom.
When he first crossed over and vomited from the stench of shit, it was Monet who didn't scorn his wretched state.
Instead, she gently patted his back, wiped his mouth and shared half of her meager food with him.
Jake would always remember what she'd said when handing him that food beneath those thick glasses.
"Eat. Otherwise you won't survive."
Taking the half-piece of blackened hard bread, Jake replied in a muffled voice.
"What about you?"
"When I can't survive anymore, you can share some with me then."