At the same time, in the Holy Land of Mary Geoise — within the Chamber of Authority —
The Five Elders were not at ease, despite their plan progressing smoothly.
On the contrary, Gern Reginald Sigmar's excessive calm unsettled them.
"'Heaven-Shaker'… has issued no public response to this day. Nor has he made any unusual troop movements," said Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro in a low voice. "He is too quiet."
It did not align with Gern's usual style. He had once stormed the Holy Land itself through sheer force of will. A man like that did not remain silent without reason.
"Nusjuro is right. It's abnormal," Saint Topman Warcury added.
"With his temperament, even if he intended to accept, there should at least be some gesture in response. This silence… could it be that he is plotting something behind the scenes?"
He paused.
"After all, that is the New World. His territory."
A brief silence fell over the hall.
Gern's inaction hung over the five like a gathering storm cloud.
"Perhaps we are overthinking it," said Saint Marcus Mars after a moment of contemplation, slowly shaking his head.
"Gern Reginald Sigmar's visible hand is clear enough. What he wants is control of the Marines — to ascend to the Fleet Admiral's seat."
"And we have precedent."
He glanced around the chamber.
"When we elevated Garp after God Valley, we used the same method — honor and status. He had his dissatisfaction, yes… but in the end, for the sake of the 'greater good' of the Marines and the symbolic weight of 'justice,' he accepted the restraint. He never truly broke free from our framework."
"Gern may be powerful. He may be arrogant. But he is still a Marine at his core."
"As long as he desires the Marines' strength, as long as he values the banner of 'Justice,' he should understand the cost of openly severing ties with the World Government."
"To accept our investiture — to integrate into the system — is, for him, the most logical and least obstructed path upward."
He allowed himself a thin smile.
"And if he remains obedient… once Akainu's term ends, we may very well 'reward' him with the Fleet Admiral's position."
"Exactly," Saint Shepherd Ju Peter nodded. "Before absolute power and overwhelming momentum, personal dissatisfaction can be suppressed and guided."
"We have given him unprecedented honor. A staircase to ascend. There is neither reason nor necessity for him to overturn the table on the eve of attaining his ambition."
A low chuckle escaped Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, who concluded decisively:
"Whether he has schemes or not is irrelevant."
"So long as he steps onto Mary Geoise and accepts the honor before the eyes of the world, he will have tacitly acknowledged subordination to the World Government."
"After that… many things will no longer be entirely up to him."
With their overall strategy regarding Gern seemingly settled, the tension in the hall eased — if only slightly.
But when the conversation inevitably shifted to a brutally practical question, the temperature seemed to plummet once more.
"So…" Ju Peter cleared his throat. "Which of the five of us will present the medal?"
The phrase "present the medal" meant one thing.
To walk up to Gern personally.
To stand face-to-face.
To place the symbol of supreme honor upon him with their own hands.
In other words—
Close-range contact.
The moment the words fell, the other four — who had just been speaking with such confidence — fell silent.
That was Gern.
At the Paramount War, he had stood against a Whitebeard at the absolute peak of his power and crushed the Golden Lion outright. The entire world had witnessed it.
He was no longer merely "Emperor-level," as he had been when he once forced his way into the Holy Land through sheer ferocity.
He now stood as the sole acknowledged "King-level" existence upon the seas.
Back then, when he had been Emperor-tier, they had relied on their peculiar immortality to weather the danger.
But now?
He was King-tier.
At such close proximity, if a King-level Conqueror's Haki were unleashed—
How catastrophic would that be?
And in his hand was the black blade Bahuang — once belonging to Rocks, steeped in ominous destruction.
The memory of how Rocks had fought his way into the Chamber of Flowers remained vivid in their minds.
To stand face-to-face with such a man, at arm's length, was nearly the same as placing oneself unguarded before his fists and blade.
If Gern harbored ill intent — or simply took a dislike to one of them in the moment—
The one presenting the medal would be courting death.
Immortality did not mean immunity from pain.
Especially not on a stage broadcast to the entire world.
The supreme authorities of the World Government being beaten to a pulp on live broadcast…
That would be… humiliating.
Thus, the five highest rulers of the world — who had moments ago stood united in strategic clarity — found their gazes subtly drifting away from one another.
Excuses began emerging, each grander than the last.
"Ahem…" Saturn, who had suffered the worst beating in the past, spoke first with grave solemnity. "As the Warrior God of Scientific Defense, the Seraphim project is at a critical stage. I must monitor Vegapunk constantly. I cannot leave my post."
"Mm." Nusjuro, hand resting on the hilt of the Shodai Kitetsu, nodded with understanding.
Then smoothly added, "As the Warrior God of Finance, I am currently reviewing several major funding allocations requested by Sengoku. The sums are vast and tied directly to world stability. I cannot be absent."
"Upholding global order and legal authority is the natural duty of the Warrior God of Law," Warcury declared righteously. "There are ongoing arbitration disputes among member nations. The World Government's authority cannot falter."
"Environment—yes, the environment!" Mars seized upon inspiration. "Climate regulation across the Red Line has encountered irregularities. To prevent ecological imbalance affecting Mary Geoise itself, I must personally oversee the matter."
"Well, then, agriculture—" Ju Peter began.
Four pairs of eyes instantly locked onto him.
"Agriculture isn't that critical, is it?"
"Indeed, hardly essential."
"Mary Geoise doesn't need you tilling soil like an earthworm."
"Yes, yes."
Ju Peter's inner thoughts burned:
You four miserable bastards.
I should have sent that fool Figarland Garling instead. He's already been beaten so many times, one more wouldn't matter.
In the end, the matter seemed unsolvable.
Everyone knew someone had to go.
But no one dared to be that someone.