On the western side of God Valley, Gern began making his way toward the Marine warships offshore.
The black blade in his hand was icy to the touch. Its body was dark as ink, faintly reflecting a cold, killing gleam.
His fingers brushed lightly along the edge. With a thought, vibration particles flowed over it like water—
—and were accepted perfectly.
Not a trace of rejection.
"No wonder it's one of the Twelve Supreme Grade Blades…" Gern murmured, admiration flashing through his eyes.
He suddenly reversed his grip and swung.
Shh!
A pure-white vibration wave tore through the air like a silver crescent, slicing cleanly across a massive boulder in the distance.
For a brief moment, the rock split soundlessly in two.
Then the residual tremors seeped inward—
BOOM!
The entire boulder shattered, collapsing into countless fragments that scattered across the ground.
This wasn't swordsmanship.
Gern knew that better than anyone. He had no talent for the blade.
This was merely another way of applying the Heavenly Tremor Fruit.
Even so, the sword carried the vibrations flawlessly—condensing and amplifying their destructive power.
Over the next while, Gern tested it several more times. Each swing answered his intent as naturally as moving his own arm.
As if this blade had always belonged to him.
Yet as he looked at the fully exposed blade, his thoughts paused.
This was Rocks' relic.
If someone recognized it, trouble would inevitably follow.
After a brief silence, Gern reached for the standard Marine medical pouch at his waist and pulled out a roll of clean white bandages.
His fingers moved deftly, wrapping layer after layer around the blade until it was completely concealed, its lethal edge hidden away.
"From today onward," he said softly,
"your name is Eight Desolations."
He stroked the hilt, a faint smile lifting the corner of his mouth.
"My blade alone… Black Blade · Eight Desolations."
With that, Gern discarded his Marine spear, looped its sling around the sword's hilt, and swung it over his back in one smooth motion.
The black blade settled firmly behind him.
…
Along the outer coastline of God Valley, the blaring horns of Marine warships echoed across the sea.
The battle was truly over.
The World Government would never allow this island to remain. After everything was dealt with, the Marines began an emergency evacuation.
Gern staggered along the beach, much like the others. His Marine uniform was torn and filthy, caked with dust and grime.
Only the long blade wrapped in white cloth on his back set him apart.
"Hey! There's someone over there!"
A familiar voice rang out, followed by hurried footsteps.
Gern looked up to see Ensign Derrick leading several Marines toward him.
"You're alive—"
Derrick froze for a moment, then his face exploded into exaggerated joy. He rushed forward and pulled Gern into a tight embrace.
"Gern! You're alive! That's great!"
His voice was overflowing with "emotion," even tinged with a sob.
Gern was caught off guard by the sudden enthusiasm.
After all, Derrick was the very man he'd emptied his savings to bribe—the connection who had arranged his assignment to God Valley.
Though he didn't understand the sudden warmth, Gern didn't dwell on it. A tired but relieved smile appeared on his face.
"Ensign… I did it. I survived."
"Good. That's good."
Derrick released him, gripping Gern's shoulders tightly as he looked him over from head to toe, as if confirming he was truly unharmed.
He then ordered the other Marines to continue searching for survivors, staying behind himself to "take care" of Gern.
But the moment the others left, Gern noticed something keenly—
As Derrick let go, his right hand subconsciously brushed the flintlock pistol at his waist.
"…Am I imagining things?"
Gern felt no particular hostility toward Derrick—if anything, he was slightly grateful.
Greedy as the man was, he had at least done his job after taking the money.
Meanwhile, Derrick's gaze slid from Gern's face to the sword on his back.
Even wrapped in white cloth, the refined hilt alone made it obvious—
This was something valuable.
"A treasure…"
Derrick's pupils shrank slightly as his heartbeat quickened.
It had to be a Celestial Dragon's possession. They'd abandoned countless valuables during the evacuation.
Any one of them was enough to drive a Marine officer mad.
"This bastard…"
Jealousy and greed churned violently in Derrick's chest.
"He didn't just survive—he walked away with something like that."
"If he makes it back to West Blue… with his God Valley service record and whatever this blade can fetch…"
"Even if he only makes it to NCO rank, sooner or later he'll climb over me…"
The thought settled in.
Derrick's smile remained bright—but his eyes turned cold.
Gern, however, was thinking of none of that.
Right now, revealing his powers in public was absolutely out of the question.
This was the Celestial Dragons' hunting ground.
A mere Marine suddenly gaining Devil Fruit abilities after God Valley—
What would the World Government think?
All six Devil Fruits designated as rewards had been taken.
Even if his own fruit had naturally formed on the island…
It was safer to return to West Blue first.
Then fabricate a story.
"Gern, are you hurt?"
Derrick stepped closer again, feigning concern.
"Come on, let me help you back to the ship."
Gern snapped back to attention and shook his head.
"No need, Ensign. I can walk."
"…Is that so?"
Derrick's gaze flicked once more to the black blade.
Suddenly, he reached out toward the hilt.
"Then… that sword looks heavy. Let me carry it for you."
Almost instinctively, Gern sidestepped.
The wrapped black blade on his back gave a faint tremor.
"Really, no need, Ensign," Gern replied calmly, but his eyes had sharpened.
"There are still other Marines who need help. Let's get back to the ship."
Derrick's smile stiffened.
The air froze.
"You're right," he said slowly, withdrawing his hand. The smile returned—but his eyes were utterly cold.
"Alright. If you're fine, then let's head back."
Hearing the response, Gern didn't waste another second. He turned and walked away.
Behind him, Derrick watched his retreating figure.
The smile vanished instantly, twisting into something vicious.
Gern Reginald Sigma.
Derrick had already investigated him—
No parents. No background.
A second-class private from a West Blue backwater branch.
Joined the Marines at ten as a menial.
Spent four corrupt years crawling his way to second-class private.
Never joined pirate suppression missions.
Paid his way into logistics.
A nobody like that—
If he died on the battlefield, the compensation would go straight to the unit.
And as his recommender, Derrick could pocket every last coin.
That had been the reason he sent Gern to God Valley in the first place.
He just hadn't expected—
That this bastard would survive.
And come back with spoils.
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