At the eastern docks of Ashen Harbor, a pirate ship lay anchored in place. The banner of the Blood Spear Pirates snapped violently in the wind.
The flag depicted a blood-dripping spear piercing straight through a skull, its crimson backdrop so vivid it looked as though it had been dyed in fresh blood.
On the open ground of the port, pirates sat in circles around a bonfire. Unknown cuts of meat sizzled on iron racks, grease dripping into the flames with sharp hissing sounds.
The air was thick with a nauseating mix of scorched fat and blood.
"Captain, this haul was a good one." A pirate grinned broadly, meat scraps clinging to his teeth.
"The Marines should be arriving soon. Let's make it one last big show."
"Hmph. West Blue Marines…"
A tall, gaunt figure sat atop a jagged reef like an iron tower. Old scars crisscrossed his pale skin, standing out grotesquely under the firelight.
He slowly raised a hand and caressed the modular spear resting beside him—Blood Beak. The hooked spearhead gleamed coldly.
"They're nothing but trash."
"Blood Spear" Lugart wore a cloak stitched together from looted Marine officer uniforms. The deliberately preserved rank insignia gleamed brightly in the firelight.
A cruel curve formed at the corner of his mouth.
"When they get here, I'll hang the leader's head on Blood Beak."
He laughed darkly.
"Let the West Blue Marines know that I'm back."
The laughter stopped abruptly.
The sea wind stilled for a brief instant.
The pirates around the bonfire sensed something amiss and looked up.
At the entrance to the harbor, a lone figure was walking toward them.
A boy in a Marine uniform.
A long blade wrapped in white bandages was slung diagonally across his back.
...
When Lugart saw the Marine approaching, a feral grin spread across his face.
"Heh… so you finally came."
But the moment his eyes landed on the insignia on Gern's shoulder, the grin froze solid.
"An… ensign? A branch ensign?!"
Staring at Gern's rank, Lugart's expression darkened instantly, veins bulging on his forehead.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" He stomped down hard, cracking the reef beneath his foot with a sharp snap.
"I'm Blood Spear Lugart! I fought my way back from the Grand Line!"
"A sixty-nine-million-Beli pirate!"
"And the Marines send a single ensign to deal with me?!"
He laughed in fury, thrusting Blood Beak straight at Gern, his voice dripping with humiliation and rage.
"Are you Marines that short on people? Or…" His single eye narrowed, killing intent boiling over.
"Do you think I'm not even worth more than a damn ensign?!"
Hearing their captain's scorn, the pirates burst into laughter, jeers overlapping one another.
"Hahaha! Captain, looks like the Marines really look down on you!"
"A lousy ensign wouldn't even be enough to fill our teeth!"
"Hey, Marine brat! Lost your way? This isn't some rookie training camp!"
Gern did not respond. He simply kept walking forward.
As he drew closer, a tall, skinny pirate suddenly widened his eyes, staring fixedly at Gern's back.
He grabbed the arm of the man beside him, voice trembling.
"Wait… that guy… the sword on his back… white bandages!"
Lugart shot him an annoyed glance.
"What? You scared shitless already?"
The pirate swallowed hard.
"Captain… that guy is 'Pirate Hunter' Gern!"
"What?" Lugart frowned. "The hell is a Pirate Hunter?"
The skinny pirate leaned in urgently, lowering his voice.
"Captain, his rank's low, but in just one year he's wiped out sixteen pirate crews in the West Blue by himself. He's a Marine monster."
"Last month, the Golden Blade Pirates—twenty-three million Beli—'Gold Tooth' Hawk—he killed him."
"And I heard… he actually received special training at Marine Headquarters, but his rank was suppressed because his methods were 'too extreme.'"
After hearing the explanation, Lugart narrowed his eye and reexamined Gern.
"Oh?" His lips curled again, but this time the smile was no longer mocking—it was predatory.
"Pirate Hunter Gern…" His gaze lingered on the ensign insignia on Gern's shoulder, followed by a sneer.
In the first half of the Grand Line, there were countless famous brats like this.
He felt no fear.
Lugart stood up, his tall frame casting a heavy shadow.
"Kid, so you've got a bit of a name. But are the Marines really that desperate? Sending a greenhorn like you to die?"
Gern still did not answer.
His eyes swept past the pirates by the fire, across the bloodstains that hadn't yet dried on the ground, and finally settled on Lugart.
"You're Blood Spear Lugart." His voice was calm, but sharp as a blade.
Lugart snorted, lifting Blood Beak and pointing its tip at Gern.
"Oh? Heard of me?"
"Then this means the Marines aren't looking down on me…" His voice dropped as he slowly raised the spear.
"They think you alone are enough to kill me?"
The pirates roared with laughter, some even whistling.
...
Faced with the Blood Spear Pirates' mockery, Gern's expression remained unchanged.
He slowly raised his hand, fingers spread, palm facing upward.
"You slaughtered Ashen Harbor." His voice was quiet, like he was stating a trivial fact.
Lugart froze for a split second—then burst into wild laughter. Blood Beak carved a crimson arc through the air.
"Hahahaha! Those worthless civilians? That counts as slaughter?" He bared his teeth, sick excitement flashing in his single eye.
"I was teaching them—"
The spear halted abruptly, its tip stabbing toward Gern.
"On the sea, the lives of the weak… aren't worth shit."
The chill in Gern's eyes deepened instantly.
"Then your life…" The air above his palm twisted violently.
"Buzz."
A sphere of pure white vibration particles leapt into existence in his hand, collapsing inward and condensing.
The light was blinding, like a star compressed to its limit.
Lugart's laughter cut off mid-breath.
"…what's it worth?"
As the words fell, Gern's arm tensed violently. In the next instant, he smashed his fist sideways into empty air.
Boom.
Crack.
Space shattered.
Centered on his fist, the air broke apart like glass, spiderweb fractures spreading outward as a terrifying shockwave exploded in a wide arc.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
The Blood Spear pirate ship moored at the shore was pulverized in less than a thousandth of a second.
Planks, masts, nails, sails—everything was crushed into dust.
Even the seawater beneath the hull was blasted outward, forming a massive vacuum crater.
Crash.
The sea rushed back in, waves surging sky-high as shattered wreckage was swallowed by the vortex and vanished in an instant.
All noise ceased.
The entire eastern harbor fell into a deathly silence.
Lugart's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
His ship. His wealth. His pride.
All erased in a single blow.
Gern slowly raised his head. His black hair fluttered in the turbulent air, revealing eyes colder than steel.
"And one more thing." His voice was quiet, yet it slammed into Lugart's heart like a hammer.
"What you said earlier was wrong."
For the first time, Gern reached back and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the black blade Eight Desolations.
In the next instant, the blade trembled.
High-frequency vibrations tore through the air, releasing a piercing hum.
The bandages around the blade spiraled apart from hilt to tip, disintegrating into gray-white fragments that hovered midair, their edges crackling with electric-like vibration arcs.
Fully unsealed, the blade was completely exposed.
Dark red cracks burst with blinding light as the sword seemed to awaken like a ferocious beast.
"It's not that I think you're worth killing alone."
Gern's voice dropped to a whisper.
"It's that you alone…"
"Aren't worth me killing."