Several days later, Gern's warship finally left the jurisdiction of the 133 Headquarters Branch in the West Blue...
Aboard the warship, Gern stood at the stern, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing the hilt of Black Blade: Eight Desolations.
"Rear Admiral Gern." The petty officer hurried over, holding a nautical chart.
"We've now left the Marines' patrol zone in the West Blue.
"Next, we should take the currents reserved for Marine routes, but the course you marked..."
"I intend to detour through the Calm Belt." Gern traced an arc across the chart with his fingertip.
"We're not taking the Marine route. We're going the pirates' way.
"It'll also give our 'new recruit' a chance to get used to things."
"Well..." The petty officer was no fool. He glanced at Tesoro, who was dry-heaving at the edge of the deck, and swallowed his objections.
The man, who had only been wearing his uniform for a few days, clung desperately to the railing, his face paler than the sea mist.
"Urgh!" His stomach churned again, his gold ring flashing comically in the sunlight.
"Hey! Don't puke up your ring! You don't have much gold to spare!" Gern suddenly appeared behind him and hauled him up by the back of his collar.
"I never expected you to get this seasick. Have you never been on a ship before?"
"Sorry... Rear Admiral Ger-urgh!" Tesoro wiped his mouth.
"I really haven't. I never thought it would be ten times worse than a hangover at the casino..."
"Get used to it first! You'll have pirates to deal with soon." Gern released him and turned to the petty officer.
"Tell the kitchen to make some ginger soup. He can't slack off tonight, either.
"Otherwise, it won't look good if Instructor Zephyr finds you wanting after I hand you over