On the western side of God Valley, Gern began retreating toward the Marine warships.
The black blade in his hand felt icy to the touch. Its body was dark as ink, faintly reflecting a cold, razor-sharp gleam.
His fingertips brushed lightly along the edge. With a thought, vibration particles flowed over it like water. The blade accepted them perfectly, without the slightest hint of rejection.
"As expected of one of the Twelve Supreme Grade Swords…" Gern murmured, admiration flickering in his eyes.
He suddenly reversed his grip and swung.
Slash.
A pure white vibration wave tore through the air like a silver crescent, sweeping forward and cutting cleanly through a massive boulder in the distance.
The rock split in silence at first. Then the residual vibrations seeped inward, and the entire stone collapsed with a thunderous crash, shattering into countless fragments scattered across the ground.
This wasn't swordsmanship.
Gern was well aware that he had no talent with the blade at all. This was merely another application of the Heaven-Shaking Fruit.
Even so, this sword was able to perfectly carry the power of vibration—compressing it, refining it, and amplifying its lethality.
He tested it several more times. Each swing responded as naturally as an extension of his own arm, as though the blade had always belonged to him.
But as he looked at the exposed black blade, his thoughts paused.
This was Rocks' relic.
If it were recognized, it would only bring unnecessary trouble.
After a moment of silence, Gern reached to his waist and took out the standard Marine medical kit, pulling free a roll of clean white bandages.
His fingers moved deftly, wrapping layer after layer around the blade until it was completely covered, leaving not the slightest trace of sharpness exposed.
"From today onward," he said softly, "your name is Eight Desolations."
Gern gently stroked the hilt, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"A blade that belongs to me alone… Black Blade · Eight Desolations."
As the words fell, Gern discarded his Marine rifle, looped its strap around the sword's hilt, and swung it onto his back in one smooth motion.
...
Along the outer coastline of God Valley, the blaring horns of Marine warships echoed across the sea.
The battle was completely over. The World Government had no intention of leaving this island behind, and after handling the aftermath, the Marines began an urgent evacuation.
Gern staggered along the beach like everyone else. His Marine uniform was tattered and filthy, covered in dust and grime.
Only the long blade wrapped in white cloth on his back made him stand out from the rest.
"Hey! There's someone over there!" A familiar voice rang out, followed by hurried footsteps.
Gern lifted his head and saw Ensign Derrick leading several Marines toward him at a run.
"You're alive…" Derrick froze for a moment, then his face burst into exaggerated delight. He rushed forward and pulled Gern into a tight embrace.
"Gern! You're alive! That's great!" His voice trembled with what sounded like overwhelming emotion, even carrying a hint of choking sobs.
Caught off guard by the sudden enthusiasm, Gern stiffened slightly.
After all, this Derrick was the very man he had spent all his savings on—the intermediary who had pulled strings to get him assigned to the God Valley operation.
He didn't know why Derrick was being so emotional, but Gern didn't dwell on it. A look of relief appeared on his exhausted face.
"Ensign… I did it. I survived."
"It's good that you're fine. But how can you really be fine?" Derrick released him and gripped his shoulders tightly, looking him over from head to toe as if confirming he was truly intact.
He then ordered the other Marines to continue searching for survivors, leaving himself in charge of Gern.
However, as the others left, Gern keenly noticed that the instant Derrick let go, his right hand subconsciously brushed against the flintlock pistol at his waist.
"Am I imagining things?"
Toward Derrick, Gern felt no hostility—if anything, a trace of gratitude.
The man might be greedy, but once paid, he had actually delivered, sending Gern to God Valley as promised.
Meanwhile, Derrick's gaze slid away from Gern's face and landed on the black blade on his back.
Though wrapped in white cloth, the craftsmanship of the hilt alone made it obvious.
This was no ordinary item.
"That brat got his hands on a treasure…" Derrick's pupils contracted slightly, his heartbeat quickening.
It had to be something left behind by the Celestial Dragons. They had abandoned plenty of valuables during their retreat.
Anything from that pile was enough to drive any Marine officer mad.
"He didn't just survive…" jealousy and greed churned violently in Derrick's chest. "He even came back with something like this."
"If he makes it back to the West Blue alive, with his participation in God Valley and whatever this blade can be traded for…"
"Even if he only rises to NCO, sooner or later he'll end up above me."
The thought settled in.
Derrick's smile remained bright, but his eyes turned cold.
Gern, however, wasn't thinking that far ahead.
Right now, he absolutely couldn't reveal his abilities in front of everyone.
This was the Celestial Dragons' hunting ground. A mere ordinary Marine suddenly awakening Devil Fruit powers after God Valley—
What would the World Government think?
All six Devil Fruits that were supposed to be the island's rewards had already been taken.
Even if his own fruit had naturally formed on the island…
It was better to return to the West Blue first and come up with an excuse.
"Gern, are you hurt? Come, I'll help you back to the ship." Seeing him stand there, Derrick spoke with feigned concern and reached out to support him.
Gern snapped back to reality and shook his head. "No need, Ensign. I can walk."
"Is that so…" Derrick's eyes drifted once more to the black blade. Suddenly, he reached out toward the hilt.
"Then… that sword looks heavy. Let me carry it for you."
Almost instinctively, Gern shifted aside. The black blade on his back let out a faint tremor.
"Really, there's no need, Ensign." His voice was calm, but his gaze had turned sharp.
"There are other Marines who need help. We should hurry back to the ships."
Derrick's smile stiffened, the air freezing in an instant.
"You're right." Derrick slowly withdrew his hand. The smile returned to his face, but the chill in his eyes remained. "Alright. Since you're fine, let's head back."
Seeing him agree, Gern didn't waste any more time. He turned and walked away.
Behind him, Derrick watched his retreating figure, his smile vanishing and twisting into something feral.
Gern Reginald Sigma.
He had already looked into him.
No parents. No background. An utterly ordinary second-class private from a West Blue branch.
Joined the Marines at ten as a menial. Spent four years stuck in the corrupt West Blue just to reach second-class private.
Never participated in pirate suppression missions. Even paid money to be assigned to logistics.
Someone like that—if he died on the battlefield, the compensation would go straight to the unit.
And as the one who had recommended him, Derrick could take every last coin.
That was why he had sent Gern to God Valley in the first place.
What he hadn't expected…
Was that the boy would come back alive.
And with spoils.