Late at night inside the warship, the dim glow of oil lamps cast swaying shadows across the metal bulkheads.
Seated at the desk, Zephyr studied thick stacks of battle reports and casualty lists spread before him. An ink bottle sat by his hand, a steel pen stained dark with fresh ink resting beside it.
Despite being known as "Black Arm," Zephyr was not merely a warrior. There was something of Sengoku's strategist temperament in him as well.
"Haa…" He rubbed his temples. Even someone famed for iron discipline showed signs of fatigue after working for so long.
The casualties at God Valley had far exceeded expectations. Few had survived—and even fewer had managed to bring back the bodies of fallen comrades.
The pen scratched softly across the page as names were crossed out one by one, merits assigned, ranks adjusted.
Until—
Gern Reginald Sigma.
Zephyr's pen paused.
"Gern…" He stared at the name, brows knitting slightly.
By all logic, a second-class private from a West Blue branch surviving God Valley was already a miracle—let alone returning with his superior's body.
Under standard regulations, such merit was enough for promotion to Corporal, the lowest rung of the NCO ranks.
Yet for some reason, Zephyr felt an unease he couldn't quite place.
Too coincidental.
At the very last moment before evacuation, Gern appeared carrying Derrick's corpse—bloodied, resolute, words steeped in tragedy.
Too perfect.
Perfect to the point that it almost felt… staged.
Zephyr set the pen down, fingers tapping lightly against the desk.
Gern's face surfaced again in his mind—especially that expression of grief.
"Adjutant," Zephyr said suddenly after a long silence.
"Yes, Vice Admiral." The adjutant stepped forward at once.
"How well do you understand the West Blue branches?"
The adjutant hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Severe corruption. Officers buying positions, soldiers bribing superiors to avoid missions—it's common. Someone like Gern, with no background, taking four years just to reach second-class private… either he's too honest, or too clever."
Zephyr's gaze darkened.
Someone too honest wouldn't survive God Valley.
Someone too clever, however… would know how to use 'tragic heroism' to climb.
"And I suspect that Derrick's death may also be his—"
"Hm?" Zephyr's expression hardened. "That boy's grief wasn't fake."
"I've met countless people in my life—schemers, liars, opportunists. I'm not a fool. The sorrow that child showed… it came from the heart."
"From the heart…" The adjutant paused, pressed his lips together, and said nothing more.
After rebuking his subordinate, Zephyr looked once again at Gern's name. After a moment of silence, he let out a low chuckle.
"Interesting."
The pen descended again, striking hard across the evaluation line.
Original promotion: Corporal.
Revised to: Sergeant.
The adjutant's eyes widened. "Vice Admiral Zephyr, this—"
Zephyr closed the list, his voice deep and steady. "The West Blue needs to be cleaned up. And cleaning requires a blade."
"A blade that's sharp enough. And smart enough."
He rose and walked toward the porthole.
Under the moonlight, the sea shimmered coldly, like a silent omen.
"As for who that blade will ultimately cut…"
The corner of Zephyr's mouth lifted faintly. "That depends on his own choice. That child has a heart of justice—he simply hasn't yet figured out what his justice truly is."
...
Several days later, inside the soldiers' quarters.
Gern lay back in a hammock near the corner, idly flipping a Marine badge between his fingers.
Snores filled the cabin. No one noticed the faint vibration rippling around his fingertips.
"Judging by the timing, we should be reaching the West Blue soon," Gern murmured while gazing through the small round window, a slight smile forming. "This time… it should be a promotion to NCO."
Suddenly, the cabin door slid open. A messenger shouted loudly.
"Attention. Upon arrival at West Blue Branch 133, all personnel assigned there, prepare to disembark."
After speaking, the messenger cast a meaningful glance toward the hammock in the corner.
"And—Gern Reginald Sigma."
"Here." Gern jumped down.
"By official order, effective immediately, Gern Reginald Sigma is promoted to Branch Sergeant."
The cabin exploded into uproar.
"What?! Jumping straight from second-class private to sergeant?!"
"That's not even by the book!"
Gern sat up, accepted the new Marine uniform and promotion order amid the stunned stares.
The ink on the document was still fresh. At the signature line, the name "Zephyr" was written with force and clarity.
He looked up at the messenger. "Please convey my thanks… for Vice Admiral Zephyr's 'recognition.'"
...
West Blue, Marine Branch 133 Harbor.
After completing the handover and watching the warship depart, the branch commander—a second lieutenant named Asahi—turned his gaze toward the thirty wounded Marines standing on the dock, Gern among them.
"Damn it!" Asahi cursed. "When they requested reinforcements, they asked me for two thousand men… and this is all that's left?!"
His irritation faded slightly when he spotted Gern carrying a blade.
There was no helping it. Though only fourteen, Gern already stood around one meter eighty-seven tall. Combined with the long, bandage-wrapped sword on his back, he stood out like a crane among chickens.
"This guy…" Asahi squinted, then suddenly stiffened when he noticed the rank insignia. "Huh?!"
"You went from second-class private straight to branch sergeant? Gern?!"
Hearing his name spoken so directly, Gern—who hadn't expected the branch commander to even remember him—could only smile awkwardly.
"Just luck, Commander Asahi. I didn't expect you to know my name either."
"Everyone else, dismissed." Asahi waved the other Marines away, then strode up to Gern.
"That Ensign Derrick…"
"He died at God Valley. The casualty list should already be back at the branch."
"I know he's dead," Asahi said with a grin, rubbing his fingers together. "I'm asking—didn't you collect his compensation?"
"I don't know why he put your name down, but…"
Gern had no interest in wasting words on corrupt officials like this.
But considering he was now a senior NCO with authority to independently command missions—and that he'd eventually need a solid 'contribution' to return to Marine Headquarters—maintaining relations and mobilizing a warship would be convenient.
Besides, now that he had a Devil Fruit, this bit of money meant nothing. If he needed cash, he could always reclaim it from the underworld sharks who'd loaned him money.
With that thought, Gern nodded.
"Before he died, Ensign Derrick said that Branch 133 had always been under your care, Commander Asahi. He insisted that I deliver his compensation to you."
"Oh my, what are you saying?" Asahi laughed, then lowered his voice. "Leave the money in my office. From now on, whenever you go on missions, I'll make sure everything goes smoothly."
"Commander…" Gern blinked, genuinely caught off guard by how readily he played along.
"What's that look for? Aren't we Marines supposed to protect the people?" Asahi said righteously.
"Really?"
"Of course not," Asahi snorted. "You're a newly promoted hothead—what are you expecting? I've seen plenty like you."
"A few broken warships make it easier for me to request funding from Headquarters, right?"
"And if you die someday," he added with a laugh, "I won't be shy about collecting your compensation either."
Hahaha.