The guards left...
Wilder wasn't sure how long he lay on the cold floor, but it was the chill seeping into his brain that finally roused him.
Pain!
His entire body felt like it had been ripped apart. Wilder felt as though his body wasn't his own; even lifting his hand felt incredibly heavy.
His face was swollen beyond recognition, dried blood clinging to it like a thin, dark red sheet. Wilder struggled to sit up, bracing himself with a hand against his face, his shoulders trembling slightly.
The excitement bubbling inside him was almost overwhelming. He wanted to let out a wild, unrestrained laugh, but he held back. He didn't want anyone to see the smile on his lips, so he covered it with his hand, even though there was no one around, even though in this darkness, hardly anyone could see such subtle details. He just habitually did it.
Wilder slowly moved towards the wall behind him. Even if someone were monitoring him, they wouldn't be suspicious. Leaning against the wall helped support his weakened body, a perfectly normal action for an injured person.
But at the same time, leaning against the wall meant better concealment. The deeper into the cell he was, the darker it got, and his small movements wouldn't be noticed.
Yes, from the very beginning, Wilder knew his plan to unlock the cuffs with the keys wouldn't succeed. Even if it had, the guards would still have arrived. That was something he didn't want. His plan had always been to get rid of the cuffs without anyone noticing.
So, would he get beaten up after being caught red-handed? Wilder was inclined to believe so.
And he'd been right. Although part of it was due to someone else's interference, it fit his plan even better. He needed to be injured, so that, like now, even if he was doing something suspicious in the corner of his cell, no one would suspect a thing.
Although he thought the chances of being monitored were slim, there was still a chance, especially because of... that old guy across the way.
Staring at the opposite cell for a while, Wilder could only see the corridor. The area where the other prisoner's cell was located was shrouded in darkness.
"If he doesn't have night vision, then he should only be able to see the corridor, just like me. As for seeing inside the cell, especially the back... well, I'll just have to chalk it up to bad luck if he can."
"Regardless, that old guy across the way will always be a hindrance. I need to deal with him as soon as possible..." In the darkness, Wilder lowered his head, a fierce glint flashing in his eyes.
His right hand, hidden behind his back, slowly moved to the heel and sole of his right foot. There was a thick layer of flesh there. With a slight touch, a sharp sensation pricked his hand. Wilder grasped the sharp point and slowly pulled it out.
Tiny drops of blood flowed from the sole of his foot. Wilder, expressionless, extracted the sharp object.
It was a bloodstained metal toothpick.
The toothpick that had been dangling from the guard's mouth. Wilder hadn't placed his hopes on the keys from the start. Everything he'd done was merely a smokescreen. He'd snatched the toothpick when he kicked the first guard, the moment the guard crashed into the bars. Then, while grabbing the keys, he'd slipped the toothpick into the flesh of his foot.
Click!
A barely audible sound echoed in the darkness. Wilder gently put down the cuffs, flexing his aching wrists.
The moment the Seastone left his hands, Wilder immediately felt his strength returning. Perhaps it should have returned instantly, but he'd been wearing them for so long that his body was slightly unaccustomed to its original power.
The silence was a suppression of his inner excitement. Wilder had seen plenty of stories of premature celebration leading to disaster.
He would never base his success on a moment of reckless abandon. Only when he was truly free would he allow himself to laugh unrestrainedly.
His ambition wouldn't be burdened by such useless things. A steady mind was essential; that's what his mother had told him when he was young.
Later, his mother died, and his mind became steadier than ever before.
After flexing his wrists and hiding the toothpick, Wilder expressionlessly put the cuffs back on. Now wasn't the time to revel in the power within his body. He needed to wait until his injuries healed. Then, even if something was discovered, he'd have the strength to escape.
He just hoped that such a thing would never happen, at least not within these four years.
Taking one last look at the dim corridor, Wilder lay down and closed his eyes to rest.
For the next few days, Wilder remained in a state of recovery. It wasn't until his injuries were eighty to ninety percent healed that he resumed his daily training.
However, to avoid arousing suspicion, Wilder continued to act as though he was seriously injured, performing his exercises near the wall.
Another day of training ended. Under the watchful gaze of the guards, Wilder gave a friendly smile, picked up his food tray, and silently retreated to the wall to eat.
He didn't want to become known as a prisoner with a severely delayed rebellious phase because he was making sarcastic remarks to the "officers," thus increasing their surveillance on him.
After finishing his meal, Wilder calmly waited for the time to pass. He was waiting for the patrolling guards to change shifts.
He'd done this because, after observing for some time, he'd noticed that the next shift responsible for his area was rather lazy.
From a criminal's perspective, lazy guards were clearly more welcome than diligent ones.
At least, interacting with these lazy but obviously very amiable guards, certain things were less likely to be discovered.
...
When the time came, Wilder silently unlocked the Seastone cuffs. Today, he had a plan he'd been formulating for several days, and before that, he needed to familiarize himself with his ability.
Although he already knew about it from his memories, nothing beat firsthand experience.
These past few days, Wilder had opened the cuffs once a day to let his body adapt to its own power. After this period of adjustment, he was now completely accustomed to it. This, however, was the first time he would use his Devil Fruit ability.
It felt as natural as breathing. Wilder could feel the Devil Fruit's power coursing through every part of his body. Whether he released it or not was entirely up to him, just like choosing to raise or lower his hand.
During this process, there was a sensation similar to exercising. The amount of stamina consumed depended on the speed, gentleness, or intensity of the movement.
In fact, even without Devil Fruit abilities, fighting others would still consume stamina. Compared to the terrifying stamina drain of the Speed-Speed Fruit, which Wilder knew of, he felt that his Logia-type Swamp-Swamp Fruit was similar to engaging in combat. It consumed stamina, but just as a person fighting would also consume stamina. There wasn't much difference between the two. If there was a difference, if a non-Devil Fruit user consumed 10 stamina during a fight, he would probably consume 10 + 3 or + 2.
Wilder didn't dwell on it. His body began to secrete brown mud. Gradually, his entire form transformed into a pool of swamp.
Wilder could feel that he could reshape his body into a whole within the swamp, or into half a whole, or even into more detailed, individual parts. He could also generate more swamp that wasn't originally part of his body. Both were integrated, like extensions of his body, yet attacks on these extensions wouldn't affect him.
He could release this swamp and not retrieve it, without any impact on himself.
"What a terrifying ability." A pair of eyes emerged from the swamp. Wilder's gaze turned towards the opposite cell.
"Now then... it's time."