Along the coastline of God Valley, the silhouettes of Marine warships loomed faintly in the distance. Their horns continued to blare, echoing across the sea—there wasn't much time left before the evacuation deadline.
Behind Gern, Derrick watched his back. His shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly as his right hand quietly slid toward the flintlock pistol at his waist.
His knuckles whitened from the pressure. Veins stood out faintly on the back of his hand.
"Let's go, Ensign," Gern said calmly without turning around. "The evacuation window's almost over."
Gern had noticed the greed that flashed across Derrick's face earlier.
But Derrick had always been a greedy man. Seeing him react that way to a valuable sword wasn't exactly strange.
Gern didn't bother overthinking it. After all, if they delayed any longer, the entire island would soon be erased by the World Government.
He took a step forward.
Derrick didn't move.
Sensing that the person behind him hadn't followed, Gern subconsciously turned his head. His eyes landed on Derrick's stiff posture, and a sharp sense of unease surged up his spine.
Something's wrong.
The thought had barely formed—
Derrick suddenly drew his gun.
The motion was so fast it left an afterimage.
Sunlight glinted harshly off the barrel as the black muzzle snapped into place, aimed straight at Gern's heart—and head.
Bang! Bang!
Two deafening gunshots tore apart the quiet coastline.
Gern's pupils shrank violently as time seemed to freeze.
He watched, helpless, as the spinning lead bullets rushed toward him, his body unable to react at all.
At the instant the bullets pierced his chest, Gern—still not fully accustomed to being a Logia user—instinctively shut his eyes.
But the searing pain he expected never came.
Instead, he felt something strange.
A faint, rippling tremor.
Startled, Gern looked down.
Across his chest and forehead, the air rippled like disturbed water. The bullets passed straight through him as if through empty space, kicking up small bursts of sand behind him.
"This…?"
Gern stared blankly, touching his chest. His hand met nothing but intact flesh—only faint vibration ripples lingering where the bullets had passed.
Across from him, Derrick froze.
His lips trembled uncontrollably. The hand gripping the gun began to shake.
"G-Gern… y-you…" His voice quavered in disbelief, as if staring into a nightmare.
"You ate a Devil Fruit?!"
Gern slowly lifted his head.
The sea breeze tousled the strands of hair on his forehead, revealing eyes that were rapidly cooling into something frighteningly calm.
The initial shock faded away, replaced by an icy stillness.
"Ensign," Gern said softly.
His voice was light—but sharp as a blade, every word carrying crushing weight.
"Were you trying to kill me?"
Derrick's face drained of color. Cold sweat streamed down from his temples.
But fear quickly twisted into something grotesque. His features contorted, madness flaring in his eyes.
"You damn brat!" Derrick roared hysterically, fingers slamming the trigger again and again.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire exploded across the shore, sending flocks of seabirds screaming into the sky.
Bullets tore through Gern's body—his chest, his arms, even his head—
Yet every round passed through him like a phantom, leaving only faint vibration ripples in the air.
Gern stood motionless.
Expressionless.
Under the sunlight, his body had taken on a semi-transparent quality, as if composed of countless trembling particles.
When the final bullet passed cleanly through his forehead, he didn't even blink.
"Logia…"
As a branch Ensign, Derrick knew what Devil Fruits were.
Realizing he couldn't kill Gern, his hand began to shake violently.
Clatter.
The flintlock pistol slipped from his fingers and fell into the sand.
Gern said nothing.
He stepped forward.
The sand beneath his feet began to tremble unconsciously, disturbed by his anger, scattering outward as if in fear.
One step.
Then another.
Each step forced Derrick backward until his spine slammed into a jagged reef.
"W-Wait! Gern!!" Derrick scrambled back desperately, terror spilling out of his eyes as his limbs flailed uselessly against the sand.
"Gern, wait! This is a misunderstanding!"
He waved his hands frantically, his voice breaking with pleading, facial muscles twitching uncontrollably.
"I just… I just wanted to check on you!"
"Check on me."
Gern continued forward, his calm now terrifying.
"Those shots just now…" He spoke softly, touching his forehead.
"They weren't meant to let me live."
Derrick's face turned ashen.
Suddenly, he snapped.
"You should've died back at God Valley!" he screamed hoarsely.
"Your compensation money—just that alone was enough to get me promoted when I went back to West Blue!"
His voice grated like sandpaper.
"A piece of trash like you is just a waste of food even if you live!
Why are you still alive?! Do you have any idea how much money I lose just because trash like you keeps breathing?!"
Gern stopped.
If he remembered correctly, the death compensation for a second-class private was only about 1.5 million Beli.
"Compensation money…?"
A faint, mocking smile crept onto Gern's face.
"So that's it," he said softly.
"My life… is only worth that much?"
He slowly raised his hand. A pale white halo of vibration gathered in his palm.
Derrick tried to speak again—
But Gern gave him no chance.
He reached out and gently placed his hand on Derrick's shoulder.
The motion was almost friendly. Like greeting an old acquaintance.
"Why?" Gern asked quietly, his tone terrifyingly even.
Derrick trembled violently. His lips moved, but no words came out.
A bizarre vibration was spreading from that hand, rattling his teeth uncontrollably.
Gern's fingers slowly tightened.
Bzzz.
An invisible shockwave burst straight through Derrick's body.
The air pressure alone shattered the reef behind him.
Derrick's pupils shrank to pinpoints. His mouth froze in an exaggerated "O."
Blood seeped from the corner of his lips—yet his skin showed no wounds at all.
"Ugh… ah…"
A dying, animal-like whimper escaped his throat as his hands clawed uselessly at his chest.
Inside him, it felt as though every organ had been pulverized.
Bloodshot eyes locked onto Gern, filled with absolute disbelief and terror.
The next second, Derrick's knees buckled.
He collapsed like a sack of rotten mud, crashing face-first into the damp sand.
Blood slowly leaked from his ears and nose, staining the shore a dark red.
Gern withdrew his hand and looked down at the corpse.
There was no anger.
No exhilaration.
Only a strange, unfamiliar indifference.
He flexed his fingers slightly, feeling the lingering vibrations humming at his fingertips.
"So killing someone…" he murmured,
"is this easy."
The sea wind picked up. From the distant warships came muffled shouts—someone had noticed the disturbance on the shore and was rushing over.
Gern stood there, staring at his palm.
Sunlight filtered through his fingers, scattering broken shadows across the sand.
He could feel the power flowing inside him—violent, overwhelming, as if it could tear everything apart.
Just minutes ago, he had been a second-class private who could be betrayed and killed by a superior at any moment.
Now, he could end a man's life as easily as crushing an ant.
"So this is… power?"
"The power to dominate everything—and to control my own fate."
Gern clenched his fist. The air vibrated, releasing a faint hum.
Footsteps drew closer.
Derrick's gunshots had finally attracted nearby Marines.
"Well then," Gern said quietly, glancing once more at Derrick's corpse before smiling faintly,
"you'll have to help me put on a little act."
He bent down and hoisted Derrick's body onto his back.
"After all," Gern added calmly,
"if I remember correctly, the one in charge of the western evacuation…
is the Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral who's about to be promoted to Admiral—
'Black Arm' Zephyr."
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