Night blanketed the West Blue's 133rd Marine Branch in silence.
Having been promoted to Sergeant, Gern Reginald Sigmar finally had a room of his own.
He sat quietly beside the window, silver moonlight spilling through the glass and illuminating the black blade wrapped tightly in white bandages resting atop the desk.
Eight Desolations.
"Supreme Grade Blade… one of the Twelve," Gern murmured softly.
His left hand rose slightly. Invisible vibrations gathered in the air, rippling like heat haze—silent, yet heavy.
"And on top of that… a Logia-type Tremor Fruit."
His gaze lingered on the blade, deep and unreadable.
With his current strength and status, this sword could never be revealed openly.
After all—it once belonged to Rocks.
Until he possessed enough power to protect himself, every step had to be measured.
Gern understood his situation clearly.
He had no system. No divine cheat. No destined blessing.
Every step forward would be walking across thin ice.
So his path was clear.
First—fully develop the Tremor Fruit's abilities.Second—accumulate military merit through hunting pirates in the West Blue.Third—rewrite the origin of his Devil Fruit, blurring God Valley into "a chance encounter in the West Blue."
And most importantly—
The West Blue was rotting. Corruption festered openly here, earning it the reputation of the Navy's exile zone.
To survive—and rise—he had to leave this place.
Only by reaching Marine Headquarters could he gain access to Haki.
And the impression he had left on Zephyr… that would become his greatest bargaining chip.
"Rocks' era is over…" Gern exhaled slowly, gazing up at the moonlit sky."Now comes the age of Whitebeard, Roger, and Shiki."
No shortcuts.No miracles.
His fingers brushed against Eight Desolations, faint tremors pulsing beneath his skin.
"Every step from here on… must be precise."
One Year Later — Sea Circle Calendar 1485
Somewhere in the West Blue.
A pirate ship rocked violently across the waves.
Barrels rolled across the deck, the smell of roasted meat mixing with cheap rum. Laughter roared through the air as pirates celebrated another successful raid.
"Hahaha! Those pathetic Marines didn't even show their faces!"
Captain Hawk of the Golden Blade Pirates bared his gold-capped teeth, raising his mug."This sea belongs to me now!"
"That's right! Those idiots only know how to take bribes!"
The pirates roared in approval.
Then—
A cold voice cut through the revelry like steel through flesh.
"Aren't you celebrating a little too early?"
The laughter died instantly.
All eyes snapped upward.
Atop the mast, crouched in the moonlight, stood a lone figure.
The pale glow outlined his silhouette—and the long blade wrapped in white cloth strapped across his back.
"Who the hell—?!" Hawk barked.
One pirate squinted, his face draining of color."W-Wait… that sword… the white wrappings…!"
His voice trembled.
"Y-You're… the Pirate Hunter… Gern?!"
Silence.
The name detonated across the deck like a bomb.
The pirates froze.
"That's impossible…" Hawk muttered, sweat trickling down his temple."The monster who wiped out fifteen pirate crews in a single year…?!"
Gern sighed and covered part of his face.
"'Pirate Hunter'?" he muttered. "Since when did that become a thing…?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Isn't it normal for Marines to hunt pirates? Why does that make me special?"
Hawk swallowed hard and drew his curved blade.
"Damn it! We're the Golden Blade Pirates! I'm worth twenty-three million berries!"
He roared, desperation leaking into his voice.
"He's alone! Kill him!!"
Gunfire erupted.
Dozens of bullets tore through the air toward the mast.
Gern's body blurred.
Bullets passed through his chest, his head, his throat—yet only ripples shimmered in the air where he stood.
"L-Logia?!" Hawk shrieked. "That's impossible! In the West Blue?!"
Gern straightened.
With one step forward, the air beneath his foot condensed—compressed vibration forming a transparent platform.
"Tremor Step: Slipstream."
A thunderous crack split the air.
His figure vanished.
The pirates barely had time to react before a shockwave tore through the deck, flinging bodies aside like dolls.
"Where—?!" Hawk spun—
Cold breath brushed his ear.
"Sorry," Gern said quietly, "I have a duty to carry out."
"Bounty: twenty-three million berries. 'Goldtooth' Hawk."
"I'm collecting."
His raised foot glowed with compressed white tremor energy.
CRACK—!
The impact sounded like shattering glass mixed with thunder.
Hawk's skull twisted violently as the shockwave tore through him. Blood and fragments burst from his mouth as his body collapsed.
The air itself fractured, spiderwebs of distortion rippling outward.
Silence followed.
The remaining pirates dropped their weapons in terror.
"M-Monster…"
Gern lowered his leg slowly. The vibrations had yet to fade.
"Tch… still imperfect," he muttered. "Imitating Kizaru's movement isn't as easy as it looks."
He lifted Hawk's corpse with one hand. In the other, a sphere of white vibration condensed.
"But this will do."
He hurled the sphere skyward.
"Tremor Step: Sky Vault."
The compressed energy detonated beneath his feet, launching him upward as the ship below was obliterated in a single catastrophic wave.
Wood, steel, and flesh disintegrated as the sea swallowed the wreckage.
Above it all, Gern leapt from invisible step to invisible step, the air itself trembling beneath him as he vanished into the night.