Gern Reginald Sigmar wasn't lying.
Back then, not long after he had been reassigned to G-3 in the New World, he was still carrying a trace of youthful sharpness—raw, untempered by time. Together with Sakazuki, who was only a colonel at the time but already known for his iron-hard methods, he had faced the "Golden Lion," Shiki, at the absolute height of his power.
That Golden Lion—how utterly unrivaled he had been.
Standing on air itself, Shiki descended alone, Sakurajū and Kogarashi crossed beneath his feet, his presence looming as if he were gazing down upon the entire world.
The oppressive force that rushed toward them in that instant was like the sky itself collapsing. It crushed the lungs, stole the breath, and left no room to escape.
That was the first time Gern had so clearly smelled death.
The first time he had tasted the despair of being utterly overwhelmed by absolute power.
If not for Zephyr—who still possessed full admiral-class strength at the time—arriving in time as reinforcement, the consequences would have been unthinkable.
That brush with death, that shuddering terror, along with the sight of Golden Lion laughing wildly as he tore apart the land and cleaved everything in his path, were burned deep into Gern's path of growth.
They became one of the driving forces that pushed him to grow stronger, to climb higher, all the way toward the summit.
It was also the moment he first developed the instinct of a king facing another king—and awakened his Conqueror's Haki.
But…
Gern pulled his thoughts back.
In his mind, he compared the dashing, sky-dominating admiral of the Flying Pirates—the great pirate who once clashed with Roger and Whitebeard and helped usher in a legendary era—
With the old man before him now, who had hidden in the skies above the East Blue for twenty years, whose hair and beard were still golden yet could not conceal the weight of time, who even had to rely on a nebulous "IQ plan" just to keep his ambitions alive.
Two figures—one vivid, one real. One at his peak, one in decline.
They slowly overlapped before Gern's eyes.
For a brief moment, even Gern felt dazed.
The sea breeze brushed past his bangs, then swept through Shiki's mane of golden hair, still flared like that of a lion.
Once again, the two stood face to face—but not a trace of the old grandeur could be summoned.
Gern's gaze fell to the famed blades that had replaced Shiki's legs. He let out a soft sigh, his voice tinged with the melancholy of time's passing.
"You really… are old now, Golden Lion."
At those words—heavy with the weight of years—Shiki's pupils trembled slightly.
He instinctively turned his head away, avoiding Gern's gaze, and stared out at the undulating sea.
There was no furious rebuttal. No hysterical denial. And no desire to fight again.
From the moment Gern had faced his furious strike and yet solemnly drawn that black blade—Bahuang—the blade he only unsheathed against enemies who demanded his full strength, Shiki had understood.
This man wasn't here to kill him.
Nor was he here to humiliate a lion in his twilight years.
That draw of the blade was acknowledgment. A requiem. A farewell to an era.
"Heh."
Golden Lion let out a cold chuckle, forcing down the tangle of emotions within him. He lifted his eyes back to Gern, his tone still carrying the unruly pride of a great pirate.
"Hmph. You Navy brat went to all this trouble to find me… what do you really want?"
Seeing Shiki's willingness to talk, a broad, unrestrained smile spread across Gern's face.
But instead of answering, he dropped down onto the deck without a care for decorum. From a storage chest beside him, he pulled out a clay wine jar and two thick, rough sea bowls.
He slapped off the seal. Clear, fragrant liquor poured out in a steady stream, and the aroma instantly spread through the sea breeze.
Golden Lion froze for a moment—then burst into loud, hearty laughter.
"Zeahahaha!! Interesting!"
"I've drunk with pirates, I've drunk with kings—but I've never had a drink with a Marine before! Hahahaha!"
Laughing, he manipulated his body and slowly descended, sitting down just as casually on the deck opposite Gern.
This was the tacit understanding between the strong—and proof of the weight Gern now carried.
When you reach a certain level of strength, even enemies you once cut down, who lost everything because of you, can—at the right moment—set aside old grudges, sit quietly across from you, and drink, speaking only of the present.
Gern slid one bowl toward Shiki and lifted the other himself.
"For what?" Gern raised his bowl, looking at him.
"For commemorating the flying pirate who once made me feel death up close.
"And for seeing… what the Golden Lion has become today."
Shiki stared at the full bowl, then at Gern. He said nothing—only lifted it.
The two bowls lightly touched in midair.
Clink.
...
After several rounds of drink, with the sun sinking lower in the sky, the sea breeze carried a warm, tipsy haze as it brushed past the two men seated across from each other.
Golden Lion Shiki slammed his bowl heavily onto the deck.
Thud.
He raised his eyes. The gaze that had once looked down on the world was now razor-clear and deadly serious, locked firmly onto Gern.
"We've drunk. We've talked about the past."
"Now say it. What's your real purpose for coming to find an old man like me?"
He smacked his lips irritably.
"Hate to admit it, but with those so-called 'Natural Disasters' under you—and you yourself…
"This really is your era now.
"So what use does a washed-up old pirate like me have to you?"
Faced with the question that cut straight to the core, Gern slowly lifted his eyes. There was no drunken haze in them—only clarity.
He calmly spoke five words.
"Whitebeard is old."
"!!!"
Shiki's pupils shrank violently. His aura tightened instinctively, and he reacted almost at once, letting out a low growl.
"Newgate? I won't lay a hand on him! And I won't work with you to kill him either!"
"Pirates have their code, damn it!"
He stared at Gern, his eyes filled with vigilance and a sense of insult.
They had once sailed together under Rocks—killing each other, acknowledging each other. The complex bond and unspoken code among the top monsters of the old era was not something to be trampled lightly.
Gern's expression didn't change at all.
Of course he knew Shiki would refuse. He had never intended to ally with him to assassinate Whitebeard.
Leaving morality aside—even if Gern truly wanted to act against Whitebeard in his current state, he wouldn't need Shiki's help.
Whitebeard's destined end was tightly bound to Blackbeard Teach's schemes. Gern had no intention of forcibly interfering with that trajectory.
If anything, he preferred to move with the flow—and achieve his own goals along the way.
But he obviously couldn't tell Shiki, "I've read the script—Whitebeard's about to die."
Shiki might be old, but he wasn't stupid.
And among the four remaining remnants of the Rocks crew, there truly existed bonds and codes outsiders could never fully understand.
"Relax. It's not what you think," Gern replied evenly.
"And don't overestimate yourself.
"If I really wanted to do something to Whitebeard in his current state, I wouldn't need your power at all."
Shiki's tense muscles loosened slightly—but the confusion in his eyes deepened.
"Then what exactly are you—"
Gern didn't let him finish.
Instead, the corners of his mouth slowly lifted. He rose to his feet.
His tall figure cast a long shadow in the light of the setting sun, enveloping Shiki where he sat.
Gern extended his right hand toward him, palm open. His voice was clear and powerful, echoing across the open sea.
"I need your power… that power of yours that can make everything float—your 'Natural Disaster' ability!"
His expression was solemn and resolute as he locked eyes with Shiki's stunned gaze and delivered his final words, one by one.
"So become my right hand."
"Golden Lion—Shiki!!!"