Chapter 3: Black Blade, Eight Desolations
On the western side of God Valley, Garon prepared to retreat toward the Marine warships.
The black blade in his hand was cold to the touch. Its body was dark as ink, faintly glinting with a frigid light.
He brushed his fingertip over the edge. With a single thought, vibration particles flowed over the steel like water. The blade accepted the power perfectly, without a hint of rejection.
"As expected of one of the 12 Supreme Grade Swords..." Garon muttered to himself, a flash of admiration in his eyes.
He suddenly swung it in a backhand motion.
SHING!
A pure white shockwave tore through the air, sweeping like a silver moon, and precisely struck a giant boulder in the distance.
The boulder first split silently in two. Then, the aftershocks of the vibration permeated its core. The entire massive rock formation instantly exploded, collapsing into countless fine pebbles that scattered everywhere.
That wasn't a sword slash.
Garon knew full well that he had zero talent for swordsmanship. This was-merely another way of applying his Sky-Tremor Fruit.
But even so, the sword could perfectly conduct the vibrational power, even helping to concentrate its might to a finer point.
Garon tried it a few more times. Every swing felt as natural as moving his own arm, as if this blade was always meant to be his.
However, looking at the completely unconcealed blade, Garon's thoughts paused.
This was Rocks's personal sword.
If someone recognized it, it would undoubtedly attract a world of unnecessary trouble.
After a moment of silence, Garon took the standard-issue Marine medical kit from his waist and pulled out a roll of clean white bandages.
His fingers moved deftly, wrapping the bandages layer by layer until the blade was completely concealed, not a single glint of its edge visible.
"From now on, your name is 'Eight Desolations'."
Garon stroked the hilt, the corner of his mouth turning up.
"My own, personal sword... Black Blade: Eight Desolations."
With that said, Garon tossed aside his Marine-issue spear. He looped the spear's sling onto the sword's hilt and, with a flick, settled the black blade securely onto his back.
...
On the outer coast of God Valley, the horns of the warships on the distant sea blared urgently.
The battle was completely over. The World Government would never allow this island to remain. Thus, after the situation was handled, the Marines began an emergency evacuation.
Garon stumbled along the beach. Like most of the survivors, his Marine uniform was in tatters, caked with dirt and grime.
Only the longsword wrapped in white bandages on his back set him apart from the others.
"Hey! Someone's over there!" A familiar voice called out, followed by the chaotic sound of running footsteps.
Garon looked up and saw Warrant Officer Derick running toward him with several Marine soldiers.
"You're alive...!" Derick froze for a second, then an exaggerated, "ecstatic" joy spread across his face. He rushed forward in a few bounds and threw his arms around Garon.
"Garon! You're alive! This is great!" His voice was filled with "excitement," and even held a slight, choked sob.
Garon was caught completely off guard by this sudden show of passion.
This was because Derick was the "connection" he had spent his entire life's savings on, just to get a support role in the God Valley incident.
Although he didn't know why Derick was being so overly enthusiastic, Garon didn't dwell on it. A relieved smile appeared on his exhausted face.
"Warrant Officer, I did it... I survived."
"It's good that you're okay. But... how can you really be okay?" Derick released him, gripping Garon's shoulders tightly. He looked him up and down, as if confirming he was truly unharmed.
He then ordered the other Marines to continue searching for survivors, while he personally took responsibility for Garon.
However, just as the other Marines left, Garon's sharp eyes noticed Derick's right hand, in the very instant he let go, instinctively move toward the flintlock pistol at his waist.
Am I imagining things? Garon didn't have any particular feelings about Warrant Officer Derick, other than a trace of gratitude. The guy was greedy, sure, but at least after taking the money, he had actually delivered on his promise and gotten him sent to God Valley.
Derick's gaze, meanwhile, quickly left Garon's face and fell on the black blade strapped to his back.
Although it was wrapped in white cloth, making it impossible to see the blade, he could tell from the exquisite hilt alone that it was definitely something valuable.
This guy... he got his hands on treasure. Derick's pupils constricted slightly, his heart beginning to pound.
This sword was definitely Celestial Dragon treasure. After all, the Celestial Dragons had abandoned a mountain of things when they fled. Any one of those items was enough to make a Marine officer go mad with greed.
This kid... not only did he survive, he even managed to snag a spoil of war of this level. Derick's heart churned with a toxic mix of jealousy and greed. If he makes it back to West Blue alive, with the merit from 'supporting' God Valley and the wealth he can get from selling this sword... even if he only makes it to a Petty Officer rank, it's only a matter of time before he's climbing over my head.
At this thought, Derick's smile remained dazzlingly bright, but his eyes had turned cold as ice.
Garon, however, wasn't thinking about any of that. His only concern right now was that he absolutely could not reveal his new ability in front of everyone.
After all, this was the Celestial Dragons' personal hunting ground. For an ordinary Marine like him to suddenly possess a Devil Fruit ability right after the God Valley incident... what would the World Government think?
He knew for a fact that all six of the Devil Fruits offered as prizes on God Valley had been stolen.
Even though his own fruit was probably one that had formed naturally on the island, still...
It was best to return to West Blue first and then come up with a believable cover story.
"Garon, are you injured? Here, I'll help you back to the ship." Seeing Garon standing motionless, Derick feigned concern, reaching out an arm to support him.
Garon, snapping back to the present, shook his head. "No need, Warrant Officer. I can walk."
"Is that so..." Derick's gaze fell on the black blade again. He suddenly reached for the hilt. "Well... that sword looks heavy. Let me carry it for you."
Almost instinctively, Garon sidestepped away. The black blade on his back vibrated faintly.
"Really, there's no need, Warrant Officer." Garon's voice was calm, but his eyes had become wary. "There are other Marines who need help. We should hurry back to the warship."
Derick's smile froze on his face. The atmosphere instantly solidified.
"You're right." Derick slowly withdrew his hand, the smile returning to his face, but his eyes were now completely, utterly cold. "Alright, since you're okay, let's head back to the ship."
Seeing Derick agree, Garon couldn't be bothered to waste any more time and turned to leave.
Behind him, Derick watched Garon's retreating back. His smile instantly vanished, replaced by a sinister, hungry snarl.
Garon Reginald Sigma.
He had investigated him long ago—no parents, no background. Just a painfully ordinary Seaman Second Class from a regular West Blue branch.
He'd joined the Marines at ten as a chore boy. It took him four whole years in the corrupt West Blue just to make Seaman Second Class. He never participated in any pirate subjugation missions, and had even spent his own money to get a safe logistics position.
A guy like this... even if he died on the battlefield, his death benefits would simply be absorbed by the unit.
And as his recommender, Derick would have been able to pocket that money, free and clear.
That was the real reason he'd let Garon come to God Valley. He had never, ever expected the kid to actually survive, let alone walk away with a prize...