The silhouettes of warships flickered into view along God Valley's distant coastline. Their horns still blared, and time was running out for the Marines to withdraw...
Gern stood with his back to Derrick. Watching him, Derrick tensed his shoulders slightly and quietly slid his right hand toward the flintlock pistol at his waist.
His knuckles whitened with the force of his grip, and veins faintly bulged on the back of his hand.
"Let's go, Warrant Officer," Gern said evenly. "The withdrawal window is almost over."
He had noticed the greed in Derrick's eyes a moment earlier.
But Derrick had always been greedy, so it was only natural for him to look that way when he saw the fine blade on Gern's back.
Gern could not be bothered to think much of it. If they did not withdraw soon, the World Government would wipe the entire island off the map.
Gern started forward, but Derrick stayed rooted to the spot. Sensing that the man behind him had not moved,
Gern instinctively turned back, his gaze settling on Derrick's rigid body. An unsettling sense that something was wrong rose within him.
Something's wrong!
The thought had barely flashed through his mind when Derrick suddenly drew his pistol, moving so fast that he almost left an afterimage.
Sunlight flashed blindingly off the barrel, its dark muzzle aimed straight at Gern's heart and head!
Bang! Bang! Two deafening gunshots tore through the silence along the shore.
Gern's pupils abruptly contracted. Time seemed to freeze.
He watched the spinning lead bullet fly toward him, unable to react at all.
The instant the bullet pierced his chest, Gern instinctively shut his eyes, still not fully accustomed to being a Logia user.
But the searing pain he expected never came. Instead, he felt a strange tremor.
Startled, he looked down and found ripples like those on water spreading across his chest and forehead.
The bullets flew through him without resistance, as though passing through air, kicking up small puffs of dust on the beach behind him.
"This..." Gern blankly touched his chest. Beneath his fingers, it was completely intact, with only faint ripples of vibration lingering in the air around the bullet holes.
Across from him, Derrick's expression froze. His lips trembled uncontrollably, and his gun hand began to shake.
"Gern, you... you ate a Devil Fruit?!" His voice shook with disbelief, as though he had seen his worst nightmare.
Gern slowly raised his head. The sea breeze tousled the hair over his forehead, revealing eyes that were steadily growing colder.
His initial shock had faded, replaced by a chilling calm.
"Warrant Officer." His voice was soft but sharp as a blade, every word carrying a heavy weight.
"Were you trying to kill me?"
Derrick's face instantly turned deathly pale. Cold sweat slid down his temples.
But fear soon gave way to viciousness. His features twisted, and a mad urge to kill flared in his eyes.
"You damned brat!" he roared hysterically, squeezing the trigger again and again. Bang! Bang! Bang!
A succession of gunshots erupted along the coast, startling a flock of seabirds into flight.
Bullets whistled through Gern's body-his chest, his arms, even his head.
But every one passed through him like a phantom, leaving only faint ripples of vibration in the air.
Gern remained perfectly still, watching Derrick without expression.
His body appeared translucent in the sunlight, as though composed of countless trembling particles.
When the last bullet passed between his eyebrows, he did not even blink.
"A Logia..." As a branch warrant officer, Derrick naturally knew about Devil Fruits.
So when he realized he could not kill Gern, his hand shook violently, and the flintlock dropped onto the sand with a clatter.
Gern did not answer.
Instead, he took a step forward. His anger unconsciously set off vibrations beneath his feet, and the grains of sand began to tremble silently, scattering outward as though in fear.
Then came a second step, a third... Each one forced Derrick to retreat involuntarily, until his back struck a reef rock.
"Wait! Gern!!" Derrick stumbled backward, fear practically spilling from his eyes as he scrabbled across the sand with both hands and feet.
"Gern! Wait! This is a misunderstanding!" He waved his hands frantically, his voice pleading and his facial muscles twitching uncontrollably.
"I was just... just trying to check on you!"
"Check on me." Gern kept advancing, his expression terrifyingly calm.
"Those shots you fired..." he said softly, touching the spot between his eyebrows. "You weren't planning to let me live."
Derrick's face turned ashen. Suddenly, he broke down and roared, "You should have died on the battlefield at God Valley!
"Your death benefits... that money would have been enough for me to go back to the West Blue and get another promotion!
His voice rasped like sandpaper. "Small fry like you are just a waste of food while you're alive!
"Why are you still alive?! Do you know how much money I'm losing because an orphaned piece of trash like you survived?"
Gern stopped. If he remembered correctly, the death benefits for a branch seaman apprentice like him amounted to only 1.5 million Beli.
"Death benefits?" At that thought, a faint, mocking sneer crossed Gern's face. "Heh. So my life..."
He slowly raised his hand, and a white halo of vibrations began gathering in his palm. "Was only worth that much?"
Derrick tried to explain himself, but Gern no longer gave him the chance.
He reached out and gently rested his hand on Derrick's shoulder, his touch as light as an old friend's greeting.
"Why?" Gern asked quietly, his tone terrifyingly calm.
Derrick trembled all over. His lips moved, but no words came out.
He could feel a strange vibration coming from that hand, making his teeth chatter uncontrollably.
Gern's fingers slowly tightened.
Hum. An invisible shock wave instantly pierced Derrick's body. The blast it produced even shattered the reef rock against his back.
Derrick's pupils shrank to pinpoints, and his mouth stretched into an exaggerated O.
A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, yet there was not a single wound on his skin.
"Urgh... ah..." Derrick whimpered like a dying beast, clawing futilely at his chest.
It was as though every organ inside his body had been smashed into a tangled pulp.
His bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at Gern, filled with disbelieving terror.
The next second, his knees buckled. He dropped heavily to the ground like a sack of sludge, then pitched forward, burying his face in the damp sand.
Blood slowly seeped from his ears and nose, spreading into a dark red stain on the beach.
Gern withdrew his hand and looked down at Derrick's corpse.
There was no anger, no satisfaction-only an unfamiliar indifference.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the lingering vibrations in his fingertips.
"So killing someone..." he murmured to himself, "is this easy."
The sea breeze was picking up now. Faint shouts came from the distant warships. Someone had noticed something wrong on shore and was hurrying over.
Gern stood where he was, looking down at his palm.
Sunlight streamed through the gaps between his fingers, casting dappled shadows across the sand.
He could feel the power flowing through him-violent, immense, as though it could tear everything apart.
Just minutes earlier, he had been a seaman apprentice whom a superior could betray and kill at any moment.
Now, he could end a person's life as easily as crushing an ant.
"So this is... power? The power to control everything, and to control my own fate."
Gern clenched his fist. The air trembled in his palm, giving off a faint hum.
The approaching footsteps grew closer. In the end, Derrick's gunshots had drawn the nearby Marines over.
"In that case, sorry for the trouble, but you'll have to help me put on one more act!"
Gern gave Derrick's corpse one last look. Suddenly, a smile appeared on his face, and he hoisted the body onto his back.
"After all, if I remember correctly, the man in charge of the western withdrawal is the Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral who's about to be promoted to Admiral... 'Black Arm' Zephyr!"
Before you continue