The silhouettes of Marine warships along God Valley's coastline flickered faintly in the distance. The horns were still blaring—there wasn't much time left before the full evacuation was complete.
Derrick stared at Gern's back. His shoulders tensed slightly as his right hand quietly slid toward the flintlock pistol at his waist.
His knuckles whitened from the pressure, veins bulging faintly across the back of his hand.
"Let's go, Ensign," Gern said calmly. "The evacuation window is almost over."
He had noticed the greed that flashed through Derrick's eyes earlier.
But Derrick had always been money-hungry. Seeing a good blade on someone's back and reacting like that was hardly unusual.
Gern didn't bother thinking too deeply about it. After all, if they didn't leave soon, the entire island would be erased by the World Government.
Gern stepped forward.
Derrick remained where he was.
Sensing that the person behind him hadn't moved, Gern instinctively turned his head. His gaze landed on Derrick's stiff posture, and a strange sense of unease surged up from his chest.
"Something's wrong."
The thought had barely formed when Derrick suddenly drew his gun, his movements so fast they left afterimages.
Sunlight reflected off the barrel in a blinding flash as the dark muzzle locked onto Gern's heart and head.
Bang. Bang.
Two deafening gunshots tore through the silence of the shoreline.
Gern's pupils shrank violently, time seeming to freeze at that instant.
He watched as the spinning lead bullets flew toward him—yet his body was too slow to react.
The moment the bullets pierced his chest, Gern—still not fully accustomed to thinking of himself as a Logia—instinctively shut his eyes.
But the pain he expected never came.
Instead, there was a strange, rippling sensation.
He opened his eyes in shock and looked down.
Where his chest and forehead should have been torn open, water-like ripples spread outward instead.
The bullets passed through him as if through empty air, kicking up small bursts of sand on the beach behind him.
"This…" Gern touched his chest blankly. It was completely intact. Only faint vibration patterns lingered in the air where the bullets had passed through.
On the other side, Derrick froze. His lips trembled uncontrollably, and the hand holding the gun began to shake.
"G-Gern… you… you ate a Devil Fruit?!" His voice quavered in disbelief, as if he were staring at a living nightmare.
Gern slowly raised his head.
The sea breeze tousled the loose strands of hair on his forehead, revealing eyes that were rapidly growing cold.
The initial shock had faded, replaced by a terrifying calm.
"Ensign," he said softly. His voice was light, yet sharp as a blade, each word carrying crushing weight. "You were trying to kill me?"
Derrick's face drained of all color. Cold sweat slid down from his temples.
Fear twisted into something feral. His features contorted, eyes bursting with frenzied killing intent.
"Damn brat!" he screamed hysterically, pulling the trigger again and again. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Gunfire exploded across the shoreline, sending seabirds scattering into the sky.
The bullets screamed through Gern's body—chest, arms, even his head—
Yet each one passed through him like a mirage, leaving behind only faint ripples of vibration in the air.
Gern stood there, unmoving, staring at Derrick with an expressionless face.
Under the sunlight, his body appeared semi-transparent, as if composed of countless trembling particles.
When the final bullet passed through his brow, he didn't even blink.
"A Logia…" As a branch ensign, Derrick knew what Devil Fruits were.
The moment he realized he couldn't kill Gern, his hands shook violently. The flintlock slipped from his fingers and dropped onto the sand with a dull thud.
Gern said nothing.
He stepped forward.
The sand beneath his feet trembled instinctively with his anger, vibrating silently as if recoiling in fear and scattering outward.
A second step.
A third.
With each step, Derrick retreated uncontrollably until his back slammed into a jagged reef.
"W-Wait! Gern!!" Derrick scrambled backward, terror nearly spilling from his eyes as he clawed at the sand with both hands and feet.
"Gern! Wait! This is a misunderstanding!" He waved his hands frantically, his voice breaking with panic. The muscles in his face twitched uncontrollably.
"I was just… just checking on your condition!"
"Your condition." Gern continued forward, his expression frighteningly calm.
"Those shots just now…" he said quietly, touching his brow. "You weren't planning on letting me live."
Derrick's face turned ashen. Suddenly, he broke down and roared, his voice cracking.
"You should've died at God Valley!
Your compensation money… that payout alone would've been enough for me to go back to the West Blue and get promoted!"
His voice scraped like sandpaper. "Trash like you—living is just a waste of food!
Why are you alive?! Do you know how much money I lose just because useless orphans like you keep breathing?!"
Gern's steps halted.
If he remembered correctly, the death compensation for a branch second-class private was one and a half million Beli.
"Compensation?" Gern let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Heh… so my life…"
He slowly raised his hand. A white halo of vibrating light gathered in his palm.
"…was only worth that much?"
Derrick tried to speak again, but Gern no longer gave him the chance.
He reached out and gently placed his hand on Derrick's shoulder, the motion soft—almost like a greeting between old friends.
"Why?" Gern asked quietly, his tone calm to the point of terror.
Derrick trembled violently. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
A bizarre vibration spread from that hand into his body, making his teeth chatter uncontrollably.
Gern's fingers slowly tightened.
Humm.
An invisible shockwave burst through Derrick's body in an instant. The air pressure alone shattered the reef behind him.
Derrick's pupils shrank to pinpoints. His mouth opened into an exaggerated "O."
Blood trickled from the corner of his lips, yet not a single wound appeared on the surface of his skin.
"Uh… ah…" Derrick whimpered like a dying beast, clawing futilely at his chest.
It felt as if every organ inside his body had been smashed into pulp.
Blood flooded his eyes as he stared at Gern, terror beyond belief reflected within them.
The next second, his knees gave out.
He collapsed like a sack of rotten flesh, crashing to the ground before pitching forward, his face burying itself in the damp sand.
Blood slowly seeped from his ears and nose, spreading into a dark red stain across the beach.
Gern withdrew his hand and looked down at Derrick's corpse.
There was no anger. No satisfaction.
Only an unfamiliar indifference.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the residual vibrations lingering at his fingertips.
"So this is killing…" he murmured. "It's that simple."
The sea wind grew stronger.
From the distant warships came muffled shouts—someone had noticed the abnormality on the shore and was heading this way.
Gern stood still, lowering his gaze to his palm.
Sunlight filtered through his fingers, casting mottled shadows across the sand.
He could feel the power flowing inside him—violent, overwhelming, as though 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. Power that dominates everything. Power that decides one's own fate."
Gern clenched his fist. The air trembled in his palm, releasing a faint hum.
Footsteps drew closer in the distance. Derrick's gunfire had inevitably attracted nearby Marines.
"In that case," Gern said softly, "you'll have to cooperate with me and put on a little act."
He took one last look at Derrick's corpse, then suddenly smiled.
The next moment, he hoisted the body onto his back.
"After all, if I remember correctly," he muttered, "the one in charge of the western evacuation is the Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral on the verge of becoming an Admiral…"
"Black Arm" Zephyr.