Pangaea Castle.
Room of Authority.
The battle reports that had sent people's blood pressure soaring yesterday had all been set aside.
At the center of the long table, only eight diplomatic letters remained.
They were arranged in a neat row.
Gram Kingdom, along with seven other member nations that had formally declared their withdrawal from the World Government.
Compared to the central granaries being burned, the Slave District being emptied, or even the Hoof of the Soaring Dragon—the symbol of Celestial Dragon rule—being smashed to pieces by the Revolutionary Army before the entire world.
What truly left the Five Elders silent now were these eight thin sheets of paper before them.
Granaries could be rebuilt, burned supplies could be transported again, and escaped slaves could be captured anew.
Even the Hoof of the Soaring Dragon could be rebuilt on a larger scale with a new group of craftsmen, if the World Government wished it.
But there was one thing that, once broken, would not be so easily put back together.
—Fear.
The World Government had ruled these seas for eight hundred years.
What had truly kept countless member nations from daring to resist was never merely a treaty, but the price of defying the Holy Land.
In the past, if a nation dared refuse to pay the Heavenly Tribute.
Warships might appear at its harbor the very next day, while Cipher Pol entered its royal palace.
Most of the time, there was no need to actually open fire. A few warships stationed offshore, with dozens of cannons aimed at the capital, were enough.
The king would lower his head, the nobles would compromise, and the army would lay down its weapons.
And once other nations learned of the consequences, naturally, no one wanted to become the next one.
That was