After five months.
Five months of continuous daily training. Five months of failure, repetition, and exhaustion.
Five months changed Pablo.
He looked at the sky.
He didn't need a wide movent. Just a simple signal.
Clouds began to gather above him. Not slowly as before. Quickly. As if the sky obeyed him.
A thick, white, moist cloud descended. It stopped a few ters above his head. It was different now. It wasn't mist that fingers passed through. It was dense, cohesive, as if made of compressed cotton.
Pablo jumped.
He landed on the cloud. It swayed slightly but did not tear. Did not dissipate.
He stood on it.
He smiled.
"Finally, after a long ti of trying."
He no longer needed to think about density and water content. The clouds now obeyed his will automatically. All he needed was a cloud in the sky, or to create one himself. Then he would jump on it.
The flight speed was not as high as the speed of wind. But it was sufficient, and he could move freely in the air.
He stood on his cloud and rose higher. The forest below beca smaller. The trees beca like toys. The distant palace beca a white dot.
He looked around. He could see everything. The sea on one side, the mountains on the other, and the small villages scattered between them.
"What a feeling," he said to himself.
He lowered the cloud slowly. Landed on the ground gracefully.
He no longer needed to fear falling. He no longer needed to be confined to the ground.
---
He stood before a huge rock, three tis larger than his body.
He raised his hand. One finger.
Without focusing for long, he compressed the wind into a very small point. Smaller than a bullet. Faster than it was five months ago.
He fired.
The bullet pierced through the rock from one end to the other. It ca out the other side. It left a clean, smooth hole, as if drilled by an iron drill.
He didn't stop.
He fired ten bullets at once. Each one headed towards a different target. So pierced rocks. So cut trees. So dug into the earth.
"Although controlling many of them still needs work, they are ready."
---
Wind Whip
He raised his hand.
A long, thin, invisible whip ford. It was longer than it was five months ago. It was stronger. It was faster.
He struck with it. The whip extended for tens of ters. It coiled around a distant rock.
He pulled.
The rock broke free from its place. It flew through the air towards him.
Before it reached him, he cut it with another whip. The rock split in half. The two halves fell on either side of him.
"I can now grab anything from any distance."
---
And now, he could maintain his Wind Armor around his body.
It was invisible, but it was there. A dense layer of compressed wind spinning at trendous speed. It deflects bullets, lessens the force of strong blows, and prevents anything from touching him without his permission.
He hadn't tested it against a cannon. But he was confident in its ability to withstand most attacks.
---
Wind Burst
It was his simplest technique. But it was the most effective in tight situations.
Just a thought, and an explosion of wind pushes everything around him away. Enemies, projectiles, even dust.
"Ideal for escaping or breaking a siege."
---
He sat on the ground after finishing testing his techniques.
He wasn't as tired as before. His body had adapted. His endurance had beco much greater.
He opened his notebook. Wrote a final summary:
"Flight via clouds: Complete. I can stand on a cloud and move with it. Speed is acceptable."
"Wind Bullets: Complete. Multiple bullets with acceptable accuracy."
"Wind Whip: Complete. I can grab anything within a hundred ters. And cut it with another whip."
"Wind Armor: Complete. I can maintain it for hours. It deflects bullets and strong blows."
"Wind Burst: Complete. For escaping or breaking a siege."
And many other techniques he had learned.
He closed the notebook. Looked at the sky.
Five months. Five months of isolation. Five months of pain and fatigue. Five months of developnt.
And after these five months, Pablo completed two years since his arrival in this world.
Two full years since that day he opened his eyes for the first ti in the body of a fourteen-year-old child, on the shore of the remote island of Verona.
Now, after two years, that skinny child was gone.
In his place stood a man.
He looked at his hands. Looked at his strong body. Looked at the destroyed forest around him that bore the marks of his training.
At the age of sixteen, and by the standards of this world, he had beco an adult.
Not a child needing soone to protect him. Not a teenager searching for his place. But a man who controls a famous sea region, leads three thousand fighters, and owns a fleet flying his emblem.
He smiled a calm smile, different from all the smiles that ca before it.
He was no longer afraid of the Grand Line.
He wasn't one hundred percent ready. He knew there were those much stronger than him. But he was ready enough not to die.
He stood up. Gathered his things.
"Now, it's ti to leave."
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