The sea of the West Blue had never felt so calm.
Gern stood on the deck of the warship, one hand resting on the hilt of Eight Desolations, his eyes fixed on the island silhouette slowly emerging on the horizon.
"Report! We're approaching Ashen Port!"
A Marine jogged over, unease creeping into his voice.
"According to the intel… the Blood Spear Pirates landed here this morning…"
"This morning…"
Gern didn't reply. His eyes narrowed slightly.
Ashen Port—
A well-known fishing town of the West Blue, famous for its luminous pearls. For generations, its people had lived quiet, prosperous lives off the sea.
Yet now, the town that should have been basking in morning light lay beneath an oppressive, unnatural silence.
The warship eased into port.
A stench drifted through the air.
Char.
Blood.
Rotting flesh.
Gern's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Something's wrong…" a Marine behind him swallowed hard.
"It's too quiet…"
When the ship finally docked, everyone froze.
Blood.
The entire port was soaked in dark red. Thick, sticky pools hadn't yet dried—boots stepping down made nauseating squelching sounds.
Bodies lay strewn everywhere.
Some had been impaled through the chest with long spears and nailed to wooden crates.
Others were hacked apart, limbs severed, tossed aside like discarded rags.
"Ugh—!"
A young Marine recruit finally couldn't hold it in and doubled over, retching.
Gern ignored him and stepped forward. His boots pressed into the dock, the ground beneath them slick and yielding.
On both sides of the street, houses had burned down to blackened skeletons. The flames were long gone, but smoke still clung stubbornly to the ruins.
Several charred corpses lay curled amid the debris, frozen in the contorted poses of their final moments.
Fishing boats that once crowded the harbor—loaded with nets and hope—were reduced to scorched frames drifting on the water. Beneath the surface, vague shapes could be seen sinking slowly, like drowned fish.
And this… was only the port.
"These pirate bastards…"
A Marine behind Gern ground his teeth, fists clenched until they cracked.
Gern didn't slow.
His gaze swept over every atrocity, his expression hard as iron.
Then he reached the town itself.
The settlement once famed for luminous pearls had become hell.
Bodies were piled in twisted heaps along the streets.
Some were pinned to walls with spears.
Others were disemboweled, their organs trailing across the ground like dark red carpets.
Children's corpses hung from ropes on the lighthouse, swaying gently in the sea breeze.
Their throats had been slit dry.
Hollow eyes stared up at the sky.
Outside a tavern, a man's severed head had been mounted atop a pole bearing the Marine flag. His jaw had been pried open, a luminous pearl shoved into his mouth—
Ashen Port's prized treasure, turned into a grotesque decoration.
At the town square—
There stood a "tower" made of corpses.
Dozens of bodies stacked together.
At the very top—
A naked little girl, draped in a Marine flag.
Her throat had been cut.
Her hands were nailed to wooden stakes on either side, like a butterfly pinned for display.
Yet her eyes were still open.
Empty.
Staring skyward, as if asking a question no one could answer.
"T-This… this isn't human…"
Several Marines broke down on the spot, screaming in disbelief.
Gern stood in silence before the corpse tower.
His eyes were terrifyingly deep. His clenched fingers dug into his palms.
So this was what lay behind the romanticized banquets and freedom of adventure.
The charred buildings.
Children clutching their mothers.
Civilians nailed to masts as living flags.
Every sight screamed the same truth at him—
This was the so-called freest world.
"Report! Ensign Gern! Survivors found on the east side!"
A Marine ran up urgently.
"Take me there."
Gern turned immediately and strode toward a half-collapsed warehouse.
Inside, several militia members lay huddled in a corner, soaked in blood.
One was still alive—but barely.
His abdomen had been pierced clean through. Blood poured out endlessly, staining the straw beneath him.
"Hang on! Medics are coming!"
A Marine rushed forward, trying to stop the bleeding.
The militia man trembled, then grabbed the Marine's collar with desperate strength, his voice hoarse.
"They… they did it on purpose…"
"What?" the Marine froze.
"The pirates… they let us… send a distress call…"
The man's pupils began to lose focus.
"They wanted… to lure you… here…"
Gern's eyes turned icy.
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside.
"Ensign Gern! Blood Spear Pirates spotted at the eastern docks! They— they never left!"
Gern pressed his lips together and slowly stood up beside the now-lifeless body.
"So this was a hunt."
The Blood Spear Pirates had slaughtered the entire town—then deliberately left a distress signal, waiting for the Marines to arrive so they could wipe them out in one stroke.
"These pirates…"
A Marine's face went deathly pale.
Gern adjusted Eight Desolations on his back and walked out, his voice cold.
"Direction."
The young Marine startled, then quickly replied,
"East docks. The Blood Spear Pirates are still there."
"Understood."
Gern didn't slow.
He cut through the streets, the black blade on his back swaying faintly with each step.
Marines lining the path snapped to attention, saluting instinctively, eyes filled with awe.
"Ensign Gern!"
A young Marine caught up to him, hesitation in his voice.
"What about… us?"
Without stopping, Gern answered, his voice cutting through the sea wind.
"Take the warship out. Any escapees—kill on sight."
"But Ensign…" the Marine swallowed.
"How many men are you taking with you?"
"No need."
Gern's shadow stretched long beneath the sun.
"I alone am enough."
"But that's the Blood Spear Pirates! They—"
The Marine's words died in his throat.
Gern had stopped.
His gaze was locked on the small body wrapped in the Marine flag.
The girl had already been taken down from the tower, but the blue-and-white banner now felt like a resounding slap across the face.
"All hands—listen up!"
Gern's roar silenced the entire dock.
The Marines turned in shock, seeing terrifying fury burning in their ensign's eyes.
"Every Marine flag on this ship…"
His voice trembled with restrained rage.
"Tear them all down!"
"Ensign, that's—"
Gern turned slowly, his gaze passing over every young face before settling once more on the child's body.
"Justice that arrives late…"
His voice was quiet, yet it struck like a hammer to the chest.
"…doesn't deserve to be called justice."
By the time Gern's figure disappeared at the far end of the port, the young Marines still stood frozen.
Then someone raised a fist.
Then another.
And another.
Their eyes burned with something fierce and reverent as they shouted in unison—
"Take the flags down!"
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