Backing Down
"Giggle--caw--!"
A piercing scream came from underground.
The enormous Bird-Snake body writhed amidst earth, rocks, and flames, its wings torn apart, its tail twitching and twisting, and black Divine Flames scattering in all directions.
At that moment, Roy's punches were so powerful that even a god could not withstand them.
The Conqueror's Haki of the fist pierced through Saint Mars's body, even tearing apart the divine black mist that symbolized "immortality"!
Blood mingled with the black flames, forming a liquid that churned and spewed forth from the ground.
"Gurgle--ah--!"
Saint Mars roared, his voice filled with unbelievable pain and fear.
His feathers turned to ash, and his immortal body began to rot!
That force completely destroyed his Regeneration Mechanism.
The Five Elders and the Holy Knights witnessed this scene, their eyes filled with shock and horror.
God is bleeding.
God, this is the first time it cannot be healed.
The air was eerily silent; even the falling dust particles could be clearly heard.
Saint Garling's pupils suddenly contracted, and his eyes finally revealed fear and anger.
"Just... just one punch?"
That punch shattered not only their bodies, but also the dignity of those who called themselves "gods".
High in the sky, Roy's Coat of Justice fluttered in the wind.
At that moment, he looked down upon the world as if he were a true "divine Heavenly Punishment."
Even Shanks couldn't help but hold his breath.
His Red-Hair billowed in the turbulent air as he looked up at the undeniable figure, his gaze a complex mix of shock, envy, and fighting spirit.
"Two years have passed, and his Haki has deepened to this extent..."
The oppressive feeling was still familiar, but it was deeper, heavier, and sharper.
Shanks' lips slowly curled into a smile, a long-dormant surge of passion rising within him.
However--
He murmured softly, his left hand slowly gripping the hilt of the sword.
"I'm not standing still either..."
"Clang--!"
"Griffon" trembled in the light, and a crimson aura of Haki spread along the blade.
That invisible fighting spirit transformed into a shockwave, dispersing the smoke and dust Quake-Split the stone wall.
Roy glanced to the side and sensed that familiar presence.
His gaze swept lightly over Shanks and the Holy Knights, his eyes calm yet sharp enough to cut through the air.
Turning his gaze forward again, he saw that Saint Garling was slowly rising.
His body was completely reconstructed, flesh and blood writhing, black energy churning, but his face had completely lost its former composure and arrogance.
His expression was sinister, revealing only a pair of scarlet eyes.
"How?"
Roy's voice was deep and cold, "Are you bullying us because we outnumber you?"
A slight upturn at the corners of his mouth revealed a chilling smile.
"We need to fight--"
We'll play along.
A wave of energy swept through, and the killing intent materialized.
Saint Garling's face was ashen, and the longsword in his hand trembled slightly.
He did not answer.
Out of the corner of his eye, however, he couldn't help but glance down at the ground.
The half-crippled, writhing Saint Mars, the "god" pierced by humanity.
That scene brought back a distant memory to his mind— the God Valley.
That day, Rocks' sword also cleaved the sky.
That aura, compared to Roy before him...
Almost identical.
The déjà vu of "humans tearing apart gods" made him clench his fists instinctively, rendering him speechless for a moment.
An eerie silence fell over the scene.
Dust and mist filled the air, still carrying the lingering warmth of lava and frost, and even the flames seemed hesitant about whether to continue burning.
Shanks narrowed his eyes and frowned slightly.
From the chaotic atmosphere, he keenly detected a brief and suppressed hesitation in the Five Elders.
--They don't want to fight anymore.
He understood.
These "gods" believe they stand at the top of the order, yet they are never truly prepared to face a "war of equals."
Now, they are facing a completely out-of-control humanity, the kind of humanity that dares to smash the sky.
Shanks sighed softly, suppressing the surging Conqueror's Haki's Haki within him, and stepped forward, his voice calm yet powerful:
"Fellow sailors of the Navy--"
"I think this might be... a misunderstanding."
His tone was neither humble nor arrogant, sounding both like advice and a reminder:
--If this fight continues, the sky will really fall.
But at this very moment--
A lazy, cheeky voice drifted down from the sky. "Yo~ Isn't this Red-Hair, one of the Four Emperors ~"
"Looks like you're getting even better treatment now than when you were one of the Four Emperors ~"
As the light refracted, Borsalino slowly descended from the sky.
The photons beneath his feet condensed into golden steps, each step accompanied by a slight whooshing sound.
Kizaru stretched lazily, his Glasses reflecting the glow of the dying embers, his half-smile suggesting he was watching a comedy.
"So you've even taken on the role of 'God's bodyguard' on the side?"
Shanks shook his head helplessly and sighed softly, "Borsalino... you really haven't changed a bit."
Kizaru lightly dusted off his sleeves, golden light sliding down his fingertips. "Is that so~? But this world has truly changed~"
That soft sigh caused the air to ripple once more.
Shanks did not respond; his gaze lingered between the embers and the dust, but he already knew what was going on:
He knew the Five Elders' plans.
Even before this "Authority-Granting Ceremony" began, he sensed the chilling political undercurrent:
The Five Elders wanted to use the "Fleet Admiral struggle" to sow discord within the Navy—making Sakazuki and Kuzan fight each other—so they could regain control of the military, which had long since run rampant.
However, they did not expect the navy to be so united.
Instead of fighting, Sakazuki and Kuzan joined forces and caught the divine authority off guard in the Holy Land.
Shanks looked up, his gaze sweeping over the two figures high in the sky.
Roy remained aloof, his aura calm and composed. His domineering presence was no longer a fiery outburst, but a cool and sharp pressure.
Borsalino stood beside him, a smile playing on his lips, a smile that held an unsettling unspoken understanding.
Shanks sighed inwardly, "... This is very likely Roy's arrangement."
"Seize the opportunity, act ruthlessly, and force the issue to be resolved—"
"I see..."
Looking up at the sky, a complex emotion flashed in his eyes, and he thought to himself, "But I'm not ready yet... Roy."
He took a deep breath and looked back at the center of the Battlefield.
Fire and ice had long since turned to Scorched Earth. The Five Elders looked grim, the Holy Knights were on high alert, and all eyes were fixed on Shanks.
Shanks calmly raised his hand, withdrawing his imposing manner.
"Since it's a misunderstanding," he said calmly, "It deserves a dignified ending."
"The Holy Land is already in ruins. If we continue fighting, the 'world' will only see... things it shouldn't see."
This statement was both a way to save face for the Five Elders and a warning to Roy.
Saint Garling's gaze flickered slightly, and he finally loosened his grip on the longsword, saying in a deep voice, "... Hmph. Let's leave it at that for now."
The other three nodded silently and returned to human form, and the Holy Knights slowly withdrew from their formation.
The wind gradually subsided.
The dust and mist dissipated.
Everything seemed to have finally quieted down.
Roy looked down at the field below, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes.
A slight smirk played on his lips. "Shanks."
He spoke softly, his voice low enough for everyone to hear:
I think I'm --
"I'm starting to regret letting you go back to the Holy Land."