Golden Lion Shiki's figure completely vanished beyond the distant horizon.
What remained over Marine G-3 Base was only the howling wind—and drifting smoke.
Sakazuki and Zephyr stood where they were, their gazes fixed tightly on Gern's back.
Gern was still standing upright.
Black Blade Bahuang was angled toward the ground, and the violet-black lightning that had once wrapped around its edge had fully faded.
"Gern…" Zephyr called out softly, his brow deeply furrowed.
Something felt wrong.
Gern's posture was too rigid—like a statue carved from stone.
Sakazuki frowned and spoke in a low voice,
"Hey. Gern. Golden Lion has already retreated."
There was no response.
Zephyr's heart sank.
He quickly stepped forward and placed a hand on Gern's shoulder.
"Gern, you—"
The moment he touched him, Gern's body went limp, collapsing backward like a puppet with its strings cut.
Zephyr reacted instantly, catching him before he hit the ground.
Only then did he realize—Gern's eyes were closed, his breathing faint.
"He… lost consciousness?" Sakazuki asked, his voice carrying a rare trace of hesitation.
Zephyr lowered his head, examining Gern's condition. His expression grew complicated.
The skin of Gern's palms was torn open.
Both arms showed signs of severe muscle rupture from extreme overload.
That single strike—Godfall—had nearly drained everything he had.
And yet…
Even now, his body remained in a combat stance.
Even now, his grip on Black Blade Bahuang had not loosened in the slightest.
"From the moment he delivered that slash, he was already unconscious," Zephyr said quietly.
"Just now… it was pure instinct holding him upright."
Sakazuki's pupils shrank.
His gaze drifted to the blade clenched in Gern's hand.
The purple-black patterns on the sword were slowly fading, yet the lingering pressure was still enough to make one's heart tremble.
"…Just an unconscious body," Sakazuki muttered,
"and a blade barely moving… yet it scared Golden Lion into retreat."
He clenched his fists slightly.
"So just how terrifying was that strike…?"
He had never imagined that the man he usually joked with—someone he admired—could unleash such monstrous power at the brink of death.
"Headquarters' reinforcements will arrive soon," Zephyr said, lifting Gern onto his back as he turned toward the base interior.
"Contact the medical team in the safe zone first."
Sakazuki followed in silence.
His mind replayed the scene again and again—
Gern raising his blade.
The fear in Golden Lion's eyes.
That violet-black slash that tore the sky apart.
"Zephyr-sensei," Sakazuki suddenly spoke,
"That sword… what exactly is its origin?"
Zephyr's steps slowed slightly—but he did not turn around.
After a brief pause, he replied calmly,
"What are you thinking? It's just Gern's sword."
Then—
"And another thing."
Zephyr's voice turned sharp.
"Sakazuki. Ever since you obtained the Magma-Magma Fruit… you've actually grown weaker."
The sea wind suddenly turned cold, sweeping dust across the ground.
"Zephyr-sensei, I—" Sakazuki tried to respond, but Zephyr cut him off.
"Don't let the power of a Devil Fruit blind you," Zephyr said sternly.
"Look at your Armament Haki. Your Observation Haki."
"When I hadn't arrived yet—
even if you were no match for Golden Lion—
with Gern suppressing his Devil Fruit…"
"You should never have been pushed back that quickly."
Sakazuki's pupils trembled violently.
Memories surged like a tide—
His sixteen-year-old self kneeling in the dojo, a newly sharpened blade resting across his knees.
Graduation day—splitting a reef cleanly in half with a Haki-coated strike.
Those memories overlapped with the scorched magma marks on his fists.
Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Slowly, Sakazuki raised his palm and stared at the calluses he had long ignored—the marks of a swordsman.
"If you abandon your weapon," Zephyr continued,
"then you must walk a new path forward—
not stagnate where you stand."
"I remember teaching you that lesson, Sakazuki."
Watching Zephyr carry Gern away, Sakazuki fell silent.
Since being stationed at G-3 Base…
he truly had begun relying too much on his Devil Fruit—
neglecting his Haki.
At the same time—
Within a secured zone of G-3 Base.
A man in a gray trench coat slowly lowered his camera.
His fingers trembled.
Cold sweat drenched his forehead.
As a veteran reporter of the World Economy News, he had witnessed countless major events.
Yet what he had just seen nearly stole his breath.
He had come here merely to catch a routine scoop—
another notorious pirate captured by G-3 Base.
At most, it would have been a minor headline.
But what had actually unfolded?
First, the arrest of "Split-Island" Dog.
Then Golden Lion Shiki attacking a Marine stronghold.
Then Zephyr appearing on the battlefield.
Each moment alone was headline-worthy.
But when Gern drove Golden Lion away with a single slash—
The reporter realized something terrifying.
What he had captured… was history.
He looked down at the photo displayed on his camera.
Frozen in the frame was Gern mid-swing—
violet-black blade light splitting heaven and earth—
Golden Lion's eyes rolled back, his expression twisted as if staring death in the face.
"…Was I really allowed to photograph something like this?" he whispered hoarsely.
After a deep breath, he pulled out a golden Den Den Mushi and dialed a direct line.
"How was it?"
Morgan's drowsy voice came through, mixed with chewing sounds.
"Did you catch anything interesting at G-3?"
"Don't tell me you wasted film on the Marine cafeteria again."
The reporter didn't answer.
"Hey? Speak up!" Morgan slammed something onto a desk.
"I've told you before—
if it's not explosive news, don't waste my time—"
"Shut up."
Silence.
The Den Den Mushi's expression changed.
A chair creaked—Morgan had sat up straight.
"President," the reporter said, his voice trembling yet firm,
"prepare to rewrite the history of news."
"This time… the protagonist isn't a pirate."
"It's the Marines."
"President—
the world is about to change."
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