Gern Reginald Sigmar began retreating toward the Marine warships stationed offshore.
The black blade in his hand felt cold to the touch. Its surface was dark as ink, faintly reflecting a chilling sheen beneath the light. He brushed his fingers along the edge, and with a single thought, vibration particles flowed over it like water. The blade accepted them perfectly—without the slightest rejection.
"So this really is one of the Twelve Supreme Grade Blades…" Gern murmured, a hint of admiration flashing through his eyes.
Suddenly, he reversed his grip and swung.
Whoosh—!
A pure-white vibration arc tore through the air like a crescent moon, slicing cleanly through a massive boulder in the distance.
The stone split in silence—then, a heartbeat later, the residual vibrations erupted within it, reducing the entire mass into fine rubble that scattered across the ground.
This wasn't swordsmanship.
Gern knew that better than anyone. He had no talent for the blade. This was simply another application of the Heavenquake Fruit.
Even so, the sword carried the vibrations flawlessly—amplifying and focusing them with terrifying efficiency.
He tested it several more times. Each swing responded as naturally as moving his own arm, as though the blade had always belonged to him.
Yet as he gazed at the unwrapped weapon, his expression darkened slightly.
This was Rocks' blade.
If anyone recognized it, trouble would follow.
After a moment of silence, Gern reached into his standard Marine medical pouch and pulled out a roll of white bandages. With deft fingers, he wrapped the blade layer by layer until every inch of black steel was concealed, leaving no trace of its terrifying presence.
"From now on," he said quietly, resting his hand on the hilt,"your name is Bahuang."
A faint smile curved his lips.
"My blade alone… the Black Blade, Bahuang."
With that, he discarded his Marine rifle, looped its strap over the sword's hilt, and swung the weapon across his back in one smooth motion.
The coastline of God Valley echoed with the blaring horns of warships.
The battle was over.
The World Government would not allow this island to remain. Once everything was handled, the Marines began their emergency evacuation.
Gern staggered across the beach like the others, his uniform torn and stained with dirt and blood. The only thing that set him apart was the long, bandage-wrapped sword on his back.
"Hey! Someone's over there!"
A familiar voice rang out, followed by hurried footsteps.
Gern looked up to see Ensign Derek approaching with several Marines.
"You're alive…!" Derek froze for a moment before his face split into an exaggerated expression of joy. He rushed forward and wrapped Gern in a tight hug."Gern! You're alive! Thank God!"
His voice trembled with emotion—almost too much.
Caught off guard, Gern stiffened slightly.
This was the same Derek he had paid a fortune to in order to secure a spot in the God Valley operation.
Though confused by the man's enthusiasm, Gern didn't dwell on it. A tired smile crossed his face.
"Ensign… I made it. I survived."
"That's what matters!" Derek released him, gripping his shoulders and looking him up and down as if confirming he was whole. "You're really okay…"
He then barked orders for the others to continue search and rescue, choosing to stay behind himself.
But as the other Marines moved off, Gern noticed something subtle—
When Derek's hand left his shoulder, it drifted instinctively toward the flintlock at his waist.
…Was that just my imagination?
Gern felt no hostility toward the man—if anything, he felt grateful. After all, Derek had taken his money and actually gotten him into the operation.
Meanwhile, Derek's gaze drifted toward the sword on Gern's back.
Even wrapped in cloth, the craftsmanship was unmistakable.
His pupils tightened.
"That kid… got himself a treasure."
A Celestial Dragon's relic.
When they fled, they'd abandoned countless valuables—enough to drive any Marine mad.
"That brat survived… and got his hands on something like this?"
Jealousy and greed churned violently inside him.
"If he makes it back to the West Blue… with his contributions here and that sword… even if he only becomes an NCO, he'll climb over my head sooner or later…"
A smile remained on Derek's face—but his eyes turned cold.
Gern, meanwhile, was thinking of something else entirely.
He couldn't reveal his abilities here.
This was a Celestial Dragon hunting ground. A nameless Marine suddenly gaining Devil Fruit powers right after the incident? The World Government would never ignore that.
Especially when all six Devil Fruits meant as rewards had supposedly been taken.
Even if his fruit had naturally formed on the island…
It was still too dangerous.
I need to get back to the West Blue first, he thought. Then make up a story.
"Gern, are you hurt?" Derek asked, feigning concern as he stepped closer. "Come on, I'll help you back to the ship."
Gern shook his head. "No need, Ensign. I can walk."
"…Is that so?" Derek's gaze drifted to the sword again. He reached out suddenly."Then—maybe I'll carry that for you. It looks heavy."
Almost instinctively, Gern shifted aside.
The blade trembled faintly behind him.
"Really, there's no need," he said calmly, though his eyes had sharpened."Other Marines still need help. Let's get back to the ship."
The smile froze on Derek's face.
"…You're right."
He withdrew his hand slowly, his expression smoothing out—yet his eyes were now completely cold.
"Let's go, then."
Gern turned and walked away without another glance.
Behind him, Derek watched his back, his smile fading into something twisted.
Gern Reginald Sigmar.
He had investigated him thoroughly.
No parents. No background. A nobody from the West Blue. A second-class private who'd spent four years rotting in logistics.
Never joined combat missions. Paid his way into the rear lines.
A man like that—even if he died here—his compensation would go straight to the unit.
And as his sponsor, Derek would pocket every last berry.
That had been the plan.
But now…
The brat survived.
And worse—
He came back with treasure.