God Valley, western Marine evacuation point.
The afterglow of the setting sun spilled across the decks of the warships. Marines hurried back and forth carrying the wounded, while the air was thick with the mingled stench of blood and sea salt.
"So… this battle has finally come to an end…"
Short purple hair, a resolute, angular face, and a towering, muscular frame stretched taut beneath a standard sleeveless Marine vest. The deep-blue fabric bulged with strength, while a pure white coat billowed violently behind him, the word "Justice" emblazoned on it fluttering in the sea wind.
With his thick arms crossed over his chest, Zephyr stood at the bow, his justice coat snapping loudly.
"Vice Admiral Zephyr." A Marine stepped forward and handed him a list. "This is the roster of Marine casualties from this operation."
Zephyr's brow furrowed deeply as his gaze swept across the chaotic deck.
More than half the names on the list had already been crossed out. The brutality of God Valley had far exceeded all expectations.
"…Very well," he sighed. "Prepare to withdraw and set sail."
"Yes, sir."
Just as the order was about to be relayed—
A sudden disturbance erupted in the distance.
"Wait! Someone's still alive!" a Marine shouted, pointing toward the shoreline.
All eyes turned in unison.
A lone figure was staggering toward them, drenched in blood, carrying another person on his back.
His Marine uniform was torn to shreds, yet his spine remained ramrod straight, as if he were squeezing out the very last of his strength.
Zephyr's pupils shrank slightly.
"That is…"
Gern's steps were heavy, each one sinking deep into the sand.
Blood smeared his face, his breathing ragged, as though he might collapse at any second.
Derrick's "corpse" lay limp across his back, arms dangling loosely and swaying with each step.
The soldiers on deck froze, then burst into hushed whispers.
"Someone actually made it out of that hell alive…"
"The one on his back… that's Derrick from the West Blue branch, right? I know him…"
Ignoring the murmurs, Zephyr strode down the gangway and stopped in front of Gern.
His gaze was sharp as a blade, scrutinizing the young soldier.
"What happened. Your name," Zephyr demanded, his voice low and unquestionable.
"Gern Reginald Sigma." Gern slowly lifted his head. When he saw Zephyr up close, he couldn't help but marvel inwardly.
"So this is Zephyr at the peak of righteousness… this pressure, unmistakably that of a true powerhouse."
Thoughts aside, the performance still had to be convincing. After all, Zephyr was his target this time.
Gern's eyes looked exhausted, his lips cracked, his voice hoarse and barely audible.
"Ensign Derrick… died covering me. He was killed by remnants of the Rocks Pirates… Whitebeard…"
Hearing this, Zephyr showed not the slightest doubt toward this second-class private. Instead, his frown deepened.
"So that's why you were so slow getting here."
Gern fell silent for a moment, then suddenly dropped to one knee, lowering his head to hide the downward pull at the corner of his mouth, his voice choking.
"I… I promised Derrick… that I'd bring him home…"
In that instant, Gern recalled all the grievances and despair he had endured since transmigrating into this world. The emotions were real, and the tears came violently, ripping from his chest.
The deck fell completely silent, save for the waves slapping against the hull.
Zephyr glanced down at the list in his hand and immediately found both Gern's and Derrick's names.
When he saw that Gern was merely a second-class private from a West Blue branch, his expression flickered.
"You're a second-class private from the West Blue?"
"Yes." Gern nodded. "I begged Ensign Derrick to bring me here. I said a real man should see greater horizons and real battlefields."
"But I never imagined… never imagined… if it weren't for me…"
Zephyr believed him completely.
After all, in the casualty compensation records, the designated recipient for Gern's benefits was indeed Derrick—and Derrick's recipient was Gern.
In the Marines, only those as close as family would fill in each other's names before heading to a battlefield.
Zephyr stared at Gern for several seconds, then suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.
That hand was heavy as a mountain, yet carried a trace of warmth.
"Gern, you did the right thing," Zephyr said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "The Marines never abandon their comrades."
Gern's shoulders trembled slightly before steadying again.
He kept his head lowered, the mockery in his eyes hidden from view.
"Yes, Vice Admiral."
The soldiers who had survived God Valley were deeply moved by the scene. Some even had reddened eyes.
They whispered among themselves about Gern's "bravery," as if he were some tragic hero.
Soon, Derrick's body was covered with a white sheet. A military doctor stepped forward to examine the corpse—and the moment he opened Derrick's uniform, his face changed drastically.
"This… his internal organs are completely pulverized, but there are almost no external wounds," the doctor said, looking up at Zephyr, his voice trembling. "This kind of injury… it's as if some form of vibrational force directly attacked the inside."
Zephyr's gaze sharpened instantly.
"Vibrational force?"
"Yes," the doctor added quietly. "It matches the characteristics of the Devil Fruit ability used by Whitebeard of the Rocks Pirates."
Zephyr fell silent for a moment, then looked back at Gern.
Gern still had his head bowed, seemingly immersed in "grief."
"…Sigh. A game for the World Nobles," Zephyr said slowly, "and how many young lives does it cost us each time?"
"A child raised by a mother for over twenty years wouldn't last five seconds in front of those monsters."
He slammed his fist heavily against the railing, then turned to his aide.
"Record the losses. Prepare to return."
...
Night fell.
The Marine warships slowly sailed away from God Valley, cutting through the dark sea and leaving behind silver wakes under the moonlight.
Gern stood alone at the stern, gazing into the black ocean.
Moonlight traced the cold, hard lines of his profile.
Crack.
A faint sound of splitting came from beneath his boots.
The wooden planks of the deck, centered around his feet, quietly spread spiderweb-like fractures.
Gern stared at the uncontrollable vibration particles, a cold smile tugging at his lips before the faint air fractures vanished.
The objective had been achieved—but in this world, merely possessing a Devil Fruit was far from enough.
Without cheats or systems, he would advance step by step, from a fruitless, Haki-less, talentless "triple-nothing," climbing steadily toward the peak.
The Devil Fruit was only the first step.
Next came mastering his ability—and acquiring Haki.
His fingers absentmindedly rubbed against the bandage-wrapped hilt of Eight Desolations as his thoughts raced.
Without a doubt, Zephyr was the best choice.
Among the Marine high command of this era, Sengoku was exhausting himself over his promotion to Admiral, while Garp was chasing Roger across the seas.
Only Zephyr—on the verge of promotion thanks to the name "Black Arm," the future chief instructor of the Marines—would ever spare a thought for teaching an ordinary soldier.
If the timeline was correct, after the God Valley Incident, Zephyr would be promoted from Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral to full Admiral.
And once Gern returned to the West Blue and revealed his Devil Fruit ability, clawing his way back to Marine Headquarters—
Whether in factional struggles or long-term planning, leaving a good impression with Zephyr could only benefit him.
"Heh… mastery of Armament Haki worthy of the name 'Black Arm'," Gern chuckled softly. "At this point in time, it's no weaker than Garp's."
He raised his hand, a cluster of white vibration particles forming in his palm.
"So this is 'justice'…" He clenched his fist sharply, blinding white light bursting between his fingers. "Nothing more than that."
The waves surged as the shadow of the warship gradually disappeared into the distant darkness.
...
Postscript.
Zephyr lived to the age of seventy-four. The God Valley Incident occurred thirty-eight years before the current manga timeline.
This places Zephyr's birth thirty-six years before the incident.
Therefore, during the God Valley Incident, Zephyr was thirty-six years old.
Zephyr was a contemporary Marine academy student alongside Garp, Sengoku, and Tsuru. He joined the Marineford academy at fourteen, first entered combat at eighteen.
At twenty-eight, he was promoted to Marine Headquarters petty officer and mastered the Rokushiki.
By thirty-four, he was renowned as "Black Arm" for his mastery of Armament Haki, and at thirty-eight, he was officially promoted to Marine Admiral.
At the time of the God Valley Incident, Zephyr had not yet reached the rank of Admiral.