Chapter 398

The New World, Ten Thousand Nations.

Inside the Cake Island palace, Charlotte Linlin stared motionless at the live broadcast, her mouth gaping open and unable to close.

He won? Barzab actually won?

The World Government... is this it?

Had I known this would happen, I should have followed Barzab straight into Shengdimaliqiaoya and witnessed the fall of the old era myself, becoming a founding hero of the new order.

At that time, Ten Thousand Nations would have advanced even further.

I, Charlotte Linlin, could have legitimately asked Barz... no, asked Saint Seven for the way to the final island, Laugh Tale.

Then, wouldn’t the title of Pirate King be within easy reach?

But now, I’ve missed this once-in-a-millennium opportunity.

I simply never expected the World Government—arrogant, ruling the seas for eight hundred years—would fall so swiftly, so utterly.

And I never imagined the Marines had already defected to Saint Seven, the Revolutionary Army was his, and even Loki, prince of Elbaf...

In the live broadcast, Kaido’s radiant smile felt like a dagger to Linlin’s eyes.

As if mocking her lack of vision.

True, her vision was indeed poor—she never believed Saint Seven could succeed in rebellion, so she didn’t join the march to Mary Geoise.

But what the hell are you, Kaido?

My precious son Katakuri and my precious daughter Brell are official crewmembers of the Morning Star Crew!

What do you have?!

Yet when Linlin thought of Brell’s ugly face, she instantly made arrangements to cope with the coming unfavorable situation.

“Perospero, send all your sisters to Wano.”

“Now, immediately, right now!”

Linlin dared not gamble: Saint Seven’s military momentum was at its peak, with elite Marines and the Revolutionary Army under his command, three of the Four Emperors allied with him, and Elbaf—the world’s strongest nation—on his side.

What if Saint Seven plans to wipe out all four seas? How will Ten Thousand Nations choose then?

“Perospero?”

Linlin called out several times, only then realizing her children were all frozen, staring blankly at the live broadcast. She turned her head.

One glance... her head spun.

Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

How could Saint Seven possess such divine power? Is he creating a city out of thin air? Or summoning one from heaven?

“He... he... is he a god?”

Not just Linlin thought this,

In the laboratory at Punk Hazard, Vegapunk, Blackbeard, and the members of the Big Hammer Crew—Dorry and Brogy—also heard only one voice in their minds.

Is the captain a god?

Is Saint Seven a god?

“Is Whitehair a god?”

Blackbeard was utterly stunned: “Fake. All fake. This world can’t have gods!”

Even if gods existed, they’d be Davy Jones, the ancestral patriarch of the Davis clan.

What kind of god is Whitehair?

How could Whitehair possibly be a god?

Long after, Vegapunk finally recovered, pushing his numb jaw upward.

“Tich, the live broadcast cannot be faked.”

In truth, Vegapunk himself found it hard to believe—this defied scientific principles. Even altering molecular structures couldn’t achieve Saint Seven’s miracle.

But seeing is believing, especially since he’d recorded this broadcast footage.

“So everything we’ve seen is real.”

Vegapunk felt immense relief—he had defected to Saint Seven before the World Government fell and before Saint Seven revealed his heavenly miracle, not after the dust had settled.

A moment’s difference in timing seemed trivial, yet it meant the chasm between heaven and earth.

Choosing to follow Saint Seven when he raised his banner against the World Government, before victory was certain—that was true coal in snow.

After all, the World Government had ruled the seas for nearly eight hundred years; its foundations were immeasurably deep.

No one could predict whether this grand upheaval of the old world would end in glory or utter ruin.

If you joined only after Saint Seven became King of the World, it would merely be frosting on the cake.

Worse, you’d be a latecomer chasing power, unable to secure any real position in the new order.

Vegapunk knew better than anyone: every one of his research projects required vast funds, materials, and manpower. Without a powerful backer, he couldn’t take a single step forward.

Let alone realize his visions that surpassed his age.

And Saint Seven was the best financier.

Hearing this, Blackbeard still couldn’t accept it.

“Fake. All fake.”

“You’re all lying to me.”

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep~

The lab alarm shrieked wildly—his emotional surge had caused violent fluctuations in the bloodline factors currently fusing within Blackbeard.

“Tich, calm down.”

“You don’t want to fail at the last moment, do you? If the Baccania bloodline factor fusion fails, you’ll become a mindless monster.”

Blackbeard continued yelling.

“It’s all fake! He’s a thief—he stole two of my teeth when he was a kid!”

Seeing this, Vegapunk had no choice but to play along with Blackbeard’s delusion.

“Tich, you’re right.”

“All of this is fake. The live broadcast is synthesized.”

Hearing this, Blackbeard finally calmed down, panting as he stared at Vegapunk.

“Old Veg, I knew only you’d believe me. Whitehair’s a thief—he stole my title as King of the World!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah—the King of the World should’ve been yours, but Saint Seven stole it.”

“Once your transformation’s complete, you’ll take it back.”

Vegapunk nodded vigorously in agreement, yet inside he couldn’t help muttering: What exactly had Saint Seven done to Tich to trigger such a severe psychological reaction?

It had become a shadow embedded deep in Tich’s marrow.

“Go to sleep. You’ll feel better after you wake up.”

Vegapunk soothed Tich like a child—not because he truly saw Tich as a friend,

but because the Peacekeeper, upgraded using Tich as a template, was already complete and ready for mass production the moment Saint Seven gave the order. This was Vegapunk’s gift to the new regime.

The Seraphim Project, using Blackbeard as the base, was Vegapunk’s personal gift to Saint Seven.

“Old Veg...”

Blackbeard drifted into a drowsy sleep, subconsciously treating everything that had just happened as a nightmare.

Meanwhile,

Outside Vegapunk’s lab, Dorry and Brogy—temporarily serving as guards—grinned proudly before the Big Hammer Crew.

“How’s that for our captain? Cool, right?”

“Cool!”

Even the Big Hammer Crew had to admit: Saint Seven’s casual display of divine power was even more impressive than the War God of Elbaf.

Even Joy Boy, when striking the Liberation Drum, couldn’t summon a city with a mere gesture.

As they joked, Dorry suddenly spotted a winged figure striding confidently into Vegapunk’s lab.

“Ignore him—he’s one of us.”