The sea of the West Blue had never been this calm.
Gern stood on the deck of the warship, one hand resting on the hilt of the black blade Eight Desolations, his gaze fixed on the island silhouette gradually emerging on the horizon.
"Report. Ahead is Ashen Harbor." A Marine hurried over, unease evident in his voice.
"According to intelligence, the Blood Spear Pirates landed here this morning."
"This morning…" Gern did not respond further. His eyes narrowed slightly.
Ashen Harbor was a well-known fishing town in the West Blue, famous for producing precious luminescent pearls. Its residents had lived off the sea for generations, their lives peaceful and prosperous.
Yet now, this town that should have been bathed in morning light was shrouded in an eerie, suffocating silence.
As the warship slowly docked, a strange stench drifted through the air—charcoal, blood, rotting flesh.
Gern's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Something's wrong…" A Marine behind him swallowed hard. "It's too quiet…"
When the ship finally came to a halt at the pier, everyone froze.
Blood.
The entire harbor was stained a dark red. Thick, sticky blood had yet to dry, and boots stepping into it produced nauseating squelching sounds.
Corpses lay strewn everywhere. Some were impaled through the chest by long spears and nailed to crates. Others had their limbs severed and were tossed aside like rags.
"Ugh." A young Marine recruit finally bent over and vomited.
Gern ignored it and stepped forward, his boots landing on the pier of Ashen Harbor, a viscous sensation spreading beneath his feet.
On both sides of the street, houses had been burned down to nothing but blackened skeletons. The flames were long gone, yet thick smoke still lingered in the air.
Several charred corpses were curled within the ruins, their bodies frozen in the poses of their final struggle.
Fishing boats that once filled the harbor were reduced to scorched frames. Blackened wrecks floated on the water's surface, and beneath the waves, sunken bodies could be vaguely seen, like drowned fish.
And this was only the harbor.
"These pirate bastards…" A Marine following behind Gern clenched his teeth, fists cracking audibly.
Gern did not slow his pace. His eyes swept across every scene of devastation, his expression cold and hard as iron.
Until he entered the fishing town itself.
The entire settlement, once famed for its "luminescent pearls," had become hell on earth.
Bodies were piled along the streets in twisted shapes. Some were pinned to walls by spears. Others were disemboweled, their organs dragged across the ground like dark red carpets.
Children's corpses were hung from the lighthouse ropes, swaying gently in the sea breeze.
Their throats had been slit, blood long since drained away, leaving only hollow eyes staring blankly at the sky.
Outside a tavern, a man's severed head was mounted atop a flagpole bearing the Marine emblem. His jaw had been brutally pried open, a luminescent pearl stuffed into his mouth.
A grotesque "decoration" made from Ashen Harbor's own prized treasure.
At the town's central square stood something even more horrifying.
A "tower" built entirely of corpses.
Dozens of bodies had been stacked together. At the very top lay a naked little girl, draped in a Marine flag.
Her throat had been cut. Her hands were nailed to wooden stakes on either side, like a butterfly pinned for display.
Her eyes, however, were still open.
Empty. Fixed on the sky. As if questioning something.
"T-this… this isn't human anymore!" Several Marines with weaker nerves broke down and roared in despair.
Gern stood there in silence, staring at the corpse tower. His eyes were terrifyingly deep, his clenched fingers digging into his palms.
So this was what lay behind the romanticized banquets and adventures in those stories.
Charred buildings where children clutched their mothers.
Civilians nailed to masts and turned into human flags.
Every single scene was telling Gern exactly what kind of world this so-called "freest adventure" truly was.
"Report. Ensign Gern, survivors found on the eastern side." A Marine ran over urgently.
"Take me there." Gern turned immediately and strode toward a half-collapsed warehouse to the east.
Inside, several blood-soaked militiamen were curled up in a corner. One of them was still alive, barely clinging to life.
His abdomen had been pierced. Blood kept pouring out, soaking the straw beneath him.
"Hold on. Medics are coming." A Marine rushed forward, trying to stop the bleeding.
The militiaman trembled as he raised a hand, grabbing the Marine's collar tightly, his voice hoarse.
"They… they did it on purpose… dragged it out…"
"What?" The Marine froze.
"The pirates… they… deliberately let us… send a distress call…" His pupils began to lose focus. "They wanted… to lure you… here…"
Gern's gaze turned ice-cold.
At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed outside the warehouse.
"Ensign Gern. Blood Spear Pirates' ships spotted at the eastern harbor. They… they never left."
Gern pressed his lips together and slowly stood up beside the now lifeless body of the militiaman.
"So it was a hunt."
The Blood Spear Pirates had slaughtered the entire town, deliberately leaving a distress signal behind, waiting for the Marines to arrive so they could wipe them out in one sweep.
"These pirates…" The Marines' faces turned deathly pale.
Gern stepped outside, the black blade Eight Desolations on his back, his voice cold.
"Direction."
The young Marine froze for a moment, then replied, "Eastern harbor. The Blood Spear Pirates are still there."
"Understood." Gern's voice was low and frigid.
He did not slow down. He walked through the streets, the black blade on his back swaying slightly with each step.
Marines on both sides straightened and saluted him, awe filling their eyes.
"Ensign Gern." A young Marine hurried up, hesitation in his voice. "We…"
Gern did not stop. His voice cut cleanly through the sea wind.
"Take the warship out. Any stragglers you find—kill them on sight."
"But Ensign…" The Marine swallowed. "How many men are you taking with you?"
"No need." Gern's silhouette stretched long under the sunlight. "I alone am enough."
"But that's the Blood Spear Pirates. They—" The young Marine's words cut off abruptly.
He saw Gern suddenly stop, his gaze locked onto the small body wrapped in a Marine flag.
The girl's corpse had already been removed, but the blue-and-white flag now felt like a resounding slap across the face.
"All hands, listen up." Gern's roar silenced the entire harbor.
The Marines turned in shock, seeing terrifying fury burning in their ensign's eyes.
"Take down every flag on the warship." His voice trembled with suppressed rage.
"Ensign, that—"
Gern slowly turned, his gaze sweeping over each young face before finally settling on the small corpse.
"Justice that arrives too late," he said softly, yet every word struck like a hammer. "Is not worthy of being called justice."
When Gern's figure disappeared at the far end of the harbor, the young Marines remained standing where they were.
No one knew who raised a fist first.
Then a second.
A third.
With admiration blazing in their eyes, the young Marines shouted in unison.
"Take them down."