Germa Kingdom.
Training grounds.
All unrelated personnel had been cleared out. Cloned soldiers of Germa 66 ford a periter, standing as motionless as statues, their eyes void of emotion.
In the center of the field stood the top brass of the North Blue Marines, led by Captain Rogers Darren, observing as Germa troops hauled in massive sealed crates, setting them down in formation.
"As per our agreent, this is the first batch of military tech you requested," Vinsmoke Judge said coolly, casting a sideways glance at Darren.
"Though just prototypes, the systems are stable. Once you approve, mass production can begin at any ti."
He added with a hint of warning, "But I must remind you—advanced weaponry doesn't co cheap."
Darren lit a cigar, smiling as he waved his hand. "Money's not the issue. Open them up."
Judge motioned, and Germa soldiers stepped forward, tearing open seals and lifting the lids. Darren and the others peered inside.
Neatly arranged within straw-padded crates were all kinds of unfamiliar weapons, their sleek designs far from the clunky artillery of standard navies.
Judge picked up a slim-barreled cannon with a cylindrical nozzle. "This is a flathrower. Emits a 300-degree fla with a 30-ter range. Can sustain fire for fifteen minutes before refueling."
He glanced at Darren. "Want a demonstration?"
Darren gestured with an inviting hand. "Be my guest."
"Step forward."
A cloned soldier erged from the ranks and positioned himself in the center of the field, hands behind his back, standing like a pillar of stone.
Gion and Tokikake exchanged uneasy glances.
He's not seriously going to test this on his own troops?
Without hesitation, Judge raised the weapon and fired.
FWOOOSH!
A pillar of fla surged forward, engulfing the soldier entirely. No scream, no flinch—just a blazing silhouette. Within five seconds, the figure collapsed, charred beyond recognition.
The sll of burnt flesh filled the air. Tokikake went pale. Gion fought back a wave of nausea.
Judge turned with pride. "Satisfied?"
Darren frowned. "Three hundred degrees, huh?"
In this world, fire rarely exceeded 900 degrees, due to the limits of available fuel. Even the fad ra ra no Mi couldn't surpass that. Magma, of course, was on another level.
"diocre range. Slow fire rate. Needs constant refueling. And as for actual damage..."
He shook his head. "This isn't how you test a weapon's real power."
Judge's brow twitched. "Oh?"
"You know how to build weapons. I know how to use them."
Darren tossed aside his coat and tie, stripped off his uniform top, revealing a torso crisscrossed with battle scars.
Gion and Tokikake gawked.
No way. He's not going to—
Momonga facepald.
Darren cracked his neck, a twisted grin spreading. "Try it on ."
Judge blinked. "Are you serious?"
Tokikake leapt forward. "Hey now, that fla's 300 degrees! If you get roasted alive, the North Blue post might fall to —wait, forget I said that!"
Darren raised an eyebrow. "You're right. Better not risk it. How about we test it on our brilliant Tokikake instead?"
He reached toward him.
"N-no thanks! You go ahead!"
Darren chuckled, then looked back at Judge, serious again. "I ant it."
His body was trained to withstand bullets and small explosives. A 300-degree fla was intense, but not fatal—not to him.
"My fleet won't just fight in the North Blue. If I want it to rival New World forces, our weapons have to asure up."
Judge hesitated, then fired.
FWOOOSH!
Flas swallowed Darren.
Everyone stared, mouths agape, as the man stood firm in the inferno, unmoving.
The firestorm whipped around him, casting long shadows.
He didn't scream. He didn't flinch.
He just stood there—burning, but unbroken.
---
To be continued...
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