The Greatest Disgrace in Marine History-Chapter 118 - 20: Laughing Out Loud

All around him, the Marines who had jumped ship before the Oro Jackson soared skyward were climbing into the rescue boats.

"Where's Darren?! What's his condition?!"

Before even stepping onto the deck, Garp shouted the question, his pace quickening instinctively.

This time, they had almost brought down the entire Roger Pirates —

Darren had played a crucial role.

With talent, potential, and achievements like that, Garp couldn't afford anything happening to him.

But as Garp finally set foot on the deck, he froze.

His fists clenched tight, teeth grinding together.

The deck had fallen into an eerie silence.

The sea roared without end, a cold, misty rain falling from the blackened sky.

Raindrops battered the sails, the shattered wreckage, and the pale, grief-stricken faces of the Marines —

faces so motionless, they seemed more like statues than living men.

On the blood-soaked deck ahead, a figure lay sprawled — a broken, blood-drenched wreck.

It was Commodore Darren.

His uniform was shredded beyond recognition.

A gruesome wound stretched from the left side of his neck to his right abdomen, nearly slicing him clean in two.

Through the torn flesh, one could glimpse glistening bone and the faint tremble of organs beneath shattered ribs.

His right arm was mutilated, whole sections of flesh missing, blood pouring freely.

Darren's face was deathly pale, his eyes tightly shut.

His breathing was almost nonexistent — like a dying flame flickering in the wind.

Beside him, Tokikake and Gion knelt, their eyes red and heavy with emotion.

The wind stirred again, and Dragon stumbled forward through the mist, blood at the corner of his mouth —

his condition clearly no better.

"Doctor! What's his status?!"

Dragon's voice was low, sharp, seething with barely contained rage.

The ship's doctor, already at Darren's side, was drenched in cold sweat as he worked frantically to stem the bleeding.

He pressed down hard on a severed artery, his voice thick with urgency:

"Commodore Darren's wounds have reached his vital organs...

His aorta's ruptured — massive blood loss. Compared to that, the damage to his arm is negligible."

"If we can't stop the bleeding soon... he won't make it."

The doctor's words trailed off.

But the heavy sorrow in his voice spoke louder than anything.

"You have to save him!!" Garp roared, grabbing the doctor by the collar, his bloodshot eyes burning with rage.

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"Or I'll smash you with my Iron Fist!!"

"Vice Admiral Garp!!"

"Old man!!"

Gion and Dragon quickly restrained him.

Garp gritted his teeth, then bowed slightly, his voice rough yet sincere:

"Doctor... please, whatever it takes — save him."

The doctor hesitated, moved by Dragon's earnestness, then frowned deeply.

"Right now... there's no real method to save him.

Injuries like these — they're beyond what normal human endurance can withstand."

"We can try a blood transfusion. Maybe it'll buy enough time to suture the wounds.

Does anyone here have Type S blood?"

The Marines looked around helplessly at each other.

Type S was rare — especially out here.

"I'll do it."

A clear voice rang out.

Everyone turned — it was Gion.

"I have Type S blood. Doctor, please."

She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a pale, slender arm.

Dark red blood flowed steadily from her veins, through a plastic tube, and into Darren's battered body.

The rain fell harder.

On the shattered deck, Darren lay motionless, while Gion sat quietly beside him, gazing up at the rain-drenched sky.

"...It's no use... I'm sorry."

The doctor stopped his stitching, shaking his head grimly.

His gloves were soaked in blood.

Hearing this, Garp, Dragon, and the others lowered their heads in silence, fists clenched until their knuckles turned white.

"Commodore Darren's injuries are simply too severe.

Even if we sew him up... I doubt he'll survive— Wait—!"

The doctor's eyes suddenly widened in disbelief.

"The bleeding... it's actually stopping?!"

"A mere mortal wound..."

A hoarse, broken voice, tinged with laughter, rose faintly through the storm.

The stunned Marines jerked their heads up.

They watched — disbelieving — as Darren slowly, painfully, opened his heavy eyelids.

He smiled — a faint, battered grin.

Gion stared in disbelief at the man lying beside her.

"Judging by that stunned look, Lieutenant Commander Gion..." Darren rasped weakly, still somehow managing to tease,

"I guess you were really hoping I'd just die, huh?"

"But now..." he smirked faintly,

"we share blood. We're even closer now."

He blinked lazily.

"Also... when you were saving me just now..."

A playful glint appeared in his eyes.

"...very soft."

For a heartbeat, a faint blush colored Gion's normally cold face.

She snorted, turning her head away with a huff of embarrassment:

"Only a scumbag like you could survive this."

Dragon pressed his forehead with a sigh.

"Darren... your body—"

Darren weakly shook his head, signaling he was fine.

Turning his battered body, he gazed toward the distant sea —

the direction where the Roger Pirates had disappeared.

"What a pity, Vice Admiral Garp..." he murmured.

Garp stood silent for a long time before finally replying:

"Darren... thanks to you...

for the first time in all these years, I managed to corner that bastard Roger at sea."

"Just never imagined his ship had that kind of propulsion hidden away..."

"It's fine," Darren chuckled faintly.

"Next time... he won't escape."

The rain poured down like a waterfall.

Pain and exhaustion surged over him like a collapsing mountain.

But Darren simply lay there, quietly, letting the rain wash over him.

Slowly — tremblingly — he raised his bloodied hand.

The storm roared.

The ocean raged.

The rain battered the ship in endless sheets.

A flash of lightning tore through the darkness, illuminating the world for a brief, searing moment.

Garp, Dragon, Tokikake, Gion — every Marine froze in shock.

Because right there — amid the blood, the ruin, the storm —

Darren was grinning.

A wild, fearless, arrogant grin spread across his face.

"I'm still alive," he whispered.

His mangled hand clenched into a fist.

Then —

"Hahahahahaha!! After fighting Gol D. Roger... I'm still alive!!!"

The ship rocked and shuddered under the crashing waves.

Rain poured down in wild torrents.

In the flickering lightning, the broken Marine flags soared and whipped through the storm.

And amid that broken world —

The bloodied Commodore laughed.

He laughed freely, arrogantly —

loud enough to shake the heavens.

---

To be continued...