"Again."
Wilder started secreting swamp within his body once more.
Quickly, a large amount of swamp surged within him. Due to the limited capacity of his body, there was only so much swamp he could contain without changing his physical form. Further secretion would lead to instability and cause the swamp to leak out, which wasn't what Wilder wanted.
He immediately controlled the swamp within him, starting the separation process. He was successful up to the point where nearly thirty bullet prototypes had formed. Everything went smoothly until Wilder attempted to compress these swamp bullets. With a gurgle, the swamp leaked out of his body again.
"Gurgle!" Veins throbbed at his temples. Wilder's face darkened. He hadn't expected it to be so difficult just to reach this stage. How did those guys in the original story manage to do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted? Especially that Tyrant Bartholomew Kuma – no matter how big his "brain hole" was, he still had to develop his abilities, right?
It was like Kuma one day just stood there and said, "I have a brain hole." And then, the next second, "I've mastered it."
Those bizarre abilities, which had absolutely nothing to do with his Paw-Paw Fruit, how did he even develop them?
"Again!"
Attempt after attempt, failure after failure. Although Wilder's expression was initially ugly, he gradually calmed down.
It was the same when he first learned to control the swamp. Now... it would be the same outcome!
Time slipped away unnoticed. After countless failures, Wilder finally grasped a sliver of the underlying principle.
The separated swamp successfully compressed within his body into smaller granules, although they were still somewhat unstable.
"Next is ejection, speed, and hardness."
Time flew by in the midst of practice...
...
Three days passed in the blink of an eye...
Tap... tap... tap...
In the dimly lit corridor, the light of a torch cast a faint reddish glow. A tall figure strode down the passage, lined on both sides by rows of cells, some high, some low.
Wilder's eyes scanned the cells on either side of the corridor, a strange light flickering within them.
After a moment of contemplation, he continued walking.
He stopped before a particularly dark cell.
There were no visual Den Den Mushi covering this area. Wilder glanced around, then his body softened, flowing towards the cell.
"Gurgle...!" In the pitch-black cell, the swamp gradually twisted into a humanoid form. Wilder silently grinned as he looked at the man sleeping with his eyes closed.
"Who are you?" A dry, raspy voice spoke. The man opened his eyes, seeming to have already known someone had entered.
"Nyehehehe..."
Wilder grinned, lowering his head to look at the man sitting against the wall on the floor. "Former Marine Rear Admiral Torbolde, how about we make a deal?"
"A deal?" Torbolde finally raised his head to look at Wilder.
"A deal." Wilder nodded, his smile widening theatrically.
He paused for a moment. "Then... allow me to introduce myself. Impel Down's Vice-Jailer-Chief, First." He extended his hand.
"The First who defeated the giant boar?" Torbolde gave Wilder a casual glance, showing no reaction.
"Nyehehehe... That's right." Wilder's smile remained unchanged, and he retracted his hand.
"I have no interest in making a deal with a jailer."
"Nyehehehe... Won't you at least hear me out? Perhaps you will be interested. For example, the benefit of this deal is… leaving Impel Down?"
Wilder's smile grew more intense as he looked at Torbolde. Their eyes locked, and time seemed to stand still.
After a long while...
Torbolde's expression shifted slightly. A small curve appeared at the corner of his mouth, gradually widening. A fang was revealed, and a cold, crazed glint sparked in his eyes.
"I told you you'd be interested." Wilder's grin was even wider now, his voice suppressed with excitement.
"Indeed. We're friends, aren't we?"
"Nyehehehe... That's right. We are friends."
After that, low, raspy conversation echoed in the dark cell.
...
After emerging from the cell, Wilder's smile vanished, his eyes flickering uncertainly.
He had obtained what he needed. If everything went according to plan, another good show would soon be staged in Impel Down. Sooner, in one or two months, later, in half a year. Wilder could sense that someone's patience was about to reach its limit.
Although he didn't know exactly when it would erupt, he assumed it wouldn't be now. After all, the impact of the escape attempt was still lingering.
"Don't disappoint me, Magellan." After a moment of silence, a crazed smile spread across Wilder's face.
For the next few days, apart from his work, Wilder devoted all his energy to developing the Swamp Machine Gun. His progress was rapidly increasing, and he was close to achieving a preliminary mastery.
He was also gradually refining his plans for the events to come.
The assimilation of the passage leading to Level 5 had not been initiated yet, so everything was proceeding according to plan.
"One thousand three hundred and six... one thousand three hundred and eight..."
Heavy breathing echoed in the training room. Wilder, shirtless, was doing push-ups, his hands supporting his weight on the floor.
His muscles rippled with powerful rhythm, sweat flying. Wilder's expression was blank, his movements purely mechanical.
After three thousand push-ups came frog jumps. Each time his feet landed on the floor, they left a blurry, damp mark – sweat.
In the corner of the training room was a small mountain of food. Wilder didn't touch it. After another three thousand frog jumps, he continued to the next exercise.
Sit-ups, pull-ups, long jumps, high jumps – Wilder didn't neglect any exercise that could work his muscles.
Only when he was on the verge of complete exhaustion, when even walking felt unsteady, did Wilder finally head towards the pile of food in the corner.
To say he wolfed it down would be an understatement.
The mountain of food dwindled at a visible rate. Only when the last bite was swallowed did Wilder sit down to rest.
Scientific training methods didn't exist in this world. Extreme exercise followed by gorging on food was perfectly normal. If there was one training method that was truly strict, it would probably be the Navy's Six Powers.
He pulled out a folder from within his body. Opening it, Wilder looked at the contents, his own handwriting.
It contained the training methods for two of the Six Powers: Finger Gun and Moon Walk.
This was the deal he had made with Torbolde, the methods conveyed through spoken words and then recorded by Wilder himself.
"Moon Walk... Finger Gun..."
Thoughts churned in his mind. Wilder studied the training methods for a while, then put the folder away, put on his clothes, and walked out of the training room with a blank expression.
The next day, Wilder entered the training room again, and the training began anew.
But soon, Wilder's pupils contracted to their maximum, his body collapsing limply to the ground, his breathing ragged.