Inside the Room of Authority, the moment the Five Elders suddenly fell to their knees, everyone else in the chamber also collapsed in terrified submission.
"So… Imu-sama…"
The elder in the flat black hat raised his head in shock, eyes filled with uncertainty as he glanced at the others.
Because just now, the strange spiritual link they shared with Im had been abruptly and completely severed—without warning.
Beads of sweat formed on the forehead of the elder with curled whiskers. He shakily wiped them away and said in a trembling voice:
"Imu… he might… Everyone, should we go pay our respects to Lord Roya?"
The bald, beardless elder gave a cold snort and stood up.
"What are we afraid of? No matter who sits on that throne, the existence of the World Government is indispensable!"
"And as the absolute core of this colossal organization's operations—so are we!"
The blond elder also stood and added:
"At the very least, until a proper transition of power is completed, we may still hold some limited value."
The long-bearded elder frowned as he stood up:
"Aren't you being too pessimistic? Is he really going to rule the world through sheer individual power?"
The blond elder shook his head.
"Don't forget—he has a good relationship with the Revolutionary Army."
"It's precisely because the Revolutionary Army lacks the scale and infrastructure to take over global governance, that we might still have some use left."
The elder in the black hat took a deep breath, his face now utterly devoid of emotion.
"Let's go. To the Hall of Flowers."
And with that, he turned and led the way out the door.
It wasn't until long after the five had departed that the kneeling attendants and guards finally dared to lift their heads—only to find the same bewildered, fearful expression in one another's eyes.
Roya stepped out of the Hall of Flowers, finally breathing in the fresh outdoor air. The suffocating pressure in his chest began to ease.
And then, from deep within his soul, he felt something—a faint, almost imperceptible calling.
Though the call was weak, to Roya's Spiritual Perception, it radiated an unmatched sense of familiarity.
It was as if his arrival in this world, and everything he had experienced since, was somehow intertwined with this very voice.
Almost instinctively, Roya chose to trust it—and to respond.
"Raftel (Laugh Tale)…?"
The moment he spoke, the calling sharpened into clarity, transforming into an exact coordinate out at sea.
Roya turned his head toward the direction of the coordinate. Naturally, with the immense distance involved, he couldn't actually see Raftel.
But what did enter his view was a figure he knew all too well:
A towering giant of a man—Bartholomew Kuma.
Officially one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, but in truth a high-ranking officer of the Revolutionary Army.
The genetic template for the Pacifistas—human-shaped weapons under the command of the Science Division.
Once a mighty force who shook the seas, Kuma now crawled along the ground like a beast, moving on all fours like a bear.
Worse still—around his neck was a luxurious, throne-like seat, opulent and tailored for comfort.
Seated atop this "mobile throne" was a powdered and pampered, arrogant and overweight middle-aged man—a Celestial Dragon, that much was obvious from his revolting air of self-importance.
Just one glance at his repugnant demeanor made it clear—he was one of those detestable nobles who believed themselves to be divine.
Rage instantly surged in Roya's heart.
A pirate of near-Emperor level power, reduced to a Celestial Dragon's mount?
Even more horrifying—Kuma's eyes were lifeless, devoid of any will. His movements were being controlled entirely by a long sword embedded in his back, which functioned as a control stick—maneuvering him to walk, stop, or turn.
"Vegapunk…!"
Roya growled in fury, and a strand of Observation Haki was released, crashing directly toward the Celestial Dragon.
With their life of decadence and zero awareness, how could a Celestial Dragon possibly perceive Roya's attack?
One second, he was still basking in smug delight, enjoying the envious stares of nobles and royalty on the street below.
The next—his body exploded into a shower of blood, midair, long before he even hit the ground.
The putrid, crimson rain splattered across the faces and clothes of the so-called nobles nearby.
A squad of guards sprang out from nowhere, shouting in panic as they surrounded Kuma.
"Damn slave! How dare you harm Saint Roswald?!"
"Notify the Science Division immediately! The humanoid weapon is out of control!"
The street erupted into chaos. Nobles screamed, stumbling over each other like panicked swine, crashing into one another in all directions.
"They're really just shepherding livestock, not preparing for any kind of resistance…"
Roya's anger flared even higher. He let out a cold snort and strode toward Kuma.
His fury radiated out in waves of oppressive force, blanketing the entire street in a crushing aura.
In an instant, the chaos died down.
The nobles fell to their knees, trembling. The guards had already fainted where they stood.
Roya approached Kuma and gently placed a hand atop his head.
His Spiritual Perception immediately conducted a deep scan of Kuma's brain and body.
And what he found filled him with grief.
Vegapunk had completely transformed Kuma into a machine.
Beneath the skin, the once-mighty warrior had been stripped of all his muscle tissue.
Even his skeletal structure had been replaced with metallic bones.
His internal organs were now useless, all removed—replaced with a single, squirming mass of black slime in his abdominal cavity.
It was a fragment of the Black Mountain beneath the earth.
Strange and haphazard tubing extended from Kuma's metallic joints, connecting directly into the black substance.
Each time the slime pulsed, it would squeeze part of itself into the tubes, circulate through the body, and return to its origin.
This crude yet functional system actually powered Kuma's mechanical frame.
But the most heartbreaking revelation came from his brain.
Encased in a metallic skull, only a tiny portion of his cerebellum remained—just enough to control basic motor functions.
The rest of the cranial cavity was filled with that same black slime, funneled in through tubes.
Even that last fragment of brain had been pierced by a sharp metal rod that extended through his neck and connected to the sword in his back—enabling crude directional control.
It was barbaric, yet effective. And it filled Roya with unspeakable sorrow.
"How… how could such an atrocity be committed against a living man?!"
"Vegapunk! Show yourself immediately!
If you don't, I'll tear your entire lab apart!"
Roya's rage surged into the ground like a tidal wave, his consciousness piercing into the brain of a nearby clone researcher.
The wave of fury was so intense, it incinerated the poor woman's brain—leaving nothing behind but charred remains.
At that moment, the Five Elders, who had just arrived at the scene, were hit by the backlash of Roya's rage.
They instantly dropped to their knees once more.
"Lord Roya, please calm yourself!
Whatever you need—just give the order, and we will see it done!"
PS: Access the complete chapters/series at