CHAPTER 491: CHAPTER 491

Uncharted Island, New World

"Shishi Odoshi: Gosho Chimaki!!"

Shiki’s roar shattered the frozen silence of the snow-laden island. The very land groaned beneath the pressure of his will as his devil fruit awakened in full fury. The ground convulsed—folded—as if reality itself recoiled from his wrath.

A monolithic tidal wave of snow, rock, and earth surged upward, defying gravity, curving like a mountain come to life. The avalanche took the form of a cresting tsunami of stone and frost, towering hundreds of meters high, bearing down on the battlefield like divine judgment.

"IKOKU SOVEREIGNTY!!"

Charlotte Linlin’s monstrous voice thundered in answer. A piercing, swirling cannon of compressed destruction shot forward, crashing into the wave of land with the force of a thousand cannonballs. The impact wasn’t merely a clash of attacks—it was a collision of empires.

The sky shattered. The island cracked.

The surrounding sea recoiled violently, vomiting geysers as shockwaves tore across the ocean for miles in every direction. Entire mountain peaks crumbled like sandcastles in a typhoon. The air warped, heavy with static and raw force, the atmosphere crying under the weight of their power.

Snow turned to steam. Earth split apart like splintered wood. And yet, amidst this apocalypse stood the Golden Lion, hovering midair with madness and fire in his eyes, his mane wild in the wind.

"Jihahahaha!!"

He laughed, blood trailing down his brow, eyes glowing with manic joy. "Linlin! Shouldn’t you be dead, hag?! What cursed sorcery did that bastard use to drag your bloated corpse back to the living!? And more importantly..."

His tone turned venomous. "...since when did the mighty Charlotte Linlin wag her tail like a mutt for someone else?! Who tamed the Big Momma dog, huh?!"

His voice boomed over the obliterated battlefield, echoing off crumbling peaks. Around him hovered three terrifying presences.

Dorian Lacasse, the oil-wielding Logia assassin, silent and poised like a reaper. Izumi Arakaki, the Fire Dragon mythical zoan user, eyes burning with flame, scales glowing like magma. And Charlotte Linlin, once an emperor, now resurrected, her laughter as terrible as the sea itself.

They had surrounded him while he had been pursuing his target. This wasn’t a duel. This was an execution. And yet—Shiki stood smiling.

"DRACO METEOR!!!"

Izumi let out a thunderous roar as her great wings unfurled, casting a blazing shadow across the snowy plain. She opened her jaw, lined with molten-metal fangs, and let loose a colossal beam of dragonflame, hot enough to melt stone and pierce the clouds.

The heavens lit in orange fire. Even the snow in the air ignited mid-fall. Following it, Dorian raised both arms as blades of translucent oil—sharpened, hardened with blackened Haki—formed around him in dozens. They glimmered like black glass before slicing forward in waves, each strike aimed to dissect Shiki where he floated.

"TATSUMAKI!!!"

Shiki roared back. He spun midair with monstrous speed, a cyclone forming in his wake, whipping wind and lightning into a vortex. In each hand, he held his signature blades: Oto and Kogarashi.

He infused both blades to the brink—Armament Haki coating them like a second skin, and Conqueror’s Haki erupting in golden lightning, lashing the sky with every turn.

The twin forces slashed outward, sending out curved sword beams like a storm of divine judgment. The attacks cut through Izumi’s inferno, splitting it into spirals of fire and steam. Dorain’s oil blades shattered on impact, their fluid forms unable to withstand the sheer pressure of the Conqueror’s haki-infused whirlwind.

BOOOOOOOOM.

The collision of attacks generated a cyclone of destruction, launching shockwaves that flattened entire valleys below. Trees disintegrated. Mountains buckled.

Izumi flinched, knocked off course midair, her great wings—each over a hundred meters long—beating furiously to stabilize herself. Her body—a Western dragon of ancient make—was covered in glowing lava-like scales, her talons jagged and burning with embered heat. Her eyes blazed like twin suns, and at the end of her serpentine tail, a spear-shaped inferno whipped violently in fury.

She snarled, her molten jaws curled in rage. And then—

"MAMAMAMAMA!!"

Linlin’s laughter rang again, reverberating with twisted joy. "Old age got you limping, Shiki? You’ve lost your edge! Let me help you DIE faster!"

Her massive hands stretched wide as she plunged soul energy into the fragmented land. The broken ground beneath began to twitch—then tremble—then twist. With a roar, the snow-laden debris merged, contorted, and rose

.

A mountain-sized lion, its body formed of jagged ice and earth, its eyes glowing with soul flame, lunged from the mountain slope. It roared with the fury of a hundred stolen souls—its voice shaking even the sky.

"GEBURTSTAG!!"

The golem-beast charged, its maw wide enough to swallow buildings whole, its snowy mane trailing like a comet, aimed straight at Shiki. The Golden Lion, bloodied, breath heavy, floated in the center of this cataclysm. Surrounded by the dragon, the phantom beast, and the elemental assassin, he clenched both blades tighter.

"...Three-on-one, is it?"

He grinned, blood trickling down his jaw, eyes wild.

"Fine. Then I’ll show you all the true meaning of what it means to facing the Golden Lion..!"

As the beast descended, he roared into the heavens, his Conqueror’s Haki unleashing another pulse—a challenge not just to his enemies, but to the very world. The legend of the Golden Lion would not end quietly.

"Shishi: Senjindani...!"

Shiki’s roar echoed like thunder across the shattered battlefield, his golden mane billowing wildly as he unleashed a storm of death from above. The snow-laden island trembled under his fury as dozens of vortex-like flying slashes tore through the air, converging in a brutal spiral toward his three opponents.

The clash of titans had already left the landscape devastated — mountains reduced to rubble, glaciers sliced into dust, and the air so charged with Haki it crackled like lightning. But the one who stood untouched by the chaos, merely observing with folded arms and a veiled expression behind a black mask, was the real target of Shiki’s wrath.

"You just gonna keep watch, coward?!" Shiki bellowed, his voice laced with manic laughter as his eyes narrowed on the distant silhouette. "Is this what your monsters are for? A damn circus while you sit back and enjoy the bloodshed?!"

Yet the masked man didn’t move — not an inch.

Shiki’s frustration exploded into action as he swung Oto and Kogarashi, the twin swords glinting with an eerie golden hue. Both blades were imbued with the full force of his Armament and Conqueror’s Haki, and with each sweeping strike, they sang a death knell.

The two swords wove a storm of destruction, forming a ring of countless flying slashes — "Valley of a Thousand Blades" — expanding outward like a blooming flower of chaos. But these were not foes who would fall easily.

From above, Izumi dove, wings aglow like twin suns, her massive fire dragon form a sight of mythic terror. Her molten-red scales shimmered like magma, claws glowing white-hot, and a tail tipped with an infernal spear swirled flame into spiraling vortexes as she soared.

"Roaring Fang—Meteor Rend!" she roared, her claws crashing down to clash directly against the outer edge of Shiki’s slashes, counteracting one after another with blasts of superheated force.

To her side, Dorian, cloaked in black oil-like armor, extended blades of translucent obsidian oil, each one shaped like a guillotine and hardened with Armament Haki. He spun through the onslaught like a dancer of death, his movements fluid, cruel, and efficient.

From the ground, Big Mom — no, Charlotte Linlin, reborn with a terrifying radiance — raised a fist.

"Mamamama... Shiki! You think that storm of blades is enough to scare me? Let me show you how we do parties now!"

Her massive soul-infused construct — the lion-like golem made from land, snow, and pure rage — roared to life, charging into the vortex of slashes like an avalanche with fangs.

The collision of the golem and Shiki’s Senjindani created a dome of shockwaves so violent, the sea bordering the island split in half, waves rising hundreds of meters into the sky before crashing down like celestial punishment.

And through all of it — the chaos, the carnage, the impossible power — the masked man watched. Still as stone. As if judging every blow.

Shiki sneered midair, panting, but grinning wildly. His blade arms trembled not from exhaustion, but excitement.

"You’ve trained your hounds well, bastard... but I ain’t the same man you remember." He pointed Kogarashi at the masked man. "When I get through them... I’m coming for you next."

"Heh..."

A low, mirthless chuckle echoed across the crumbling battlefield, dark and steady — a whisper against the roar of titans.

The man behind the mask, draped in a flowing black coat lined with silk and bearing the crest of a forgotten era, stood with his hands folded behind his back, his boots untouched by the dust of war. His mask — a masterpiece of ivory and obsidian, adorned with red-gold filigree and etched runes — concealed all but the glowing intensity of his eyes.

Eyes that once struck terror into even the strongest of pirates.

"I laid this trap for Whitebeard..." he mused, voice deep and deliberate, every syllable soaked in ancient venom. "But you, Shiki... you just had to walk into it willingly."

He stepped forward, boots crunching against the frost-bitten stone of the shattered island. From the shadows, his monstrous aura flared — like the echo of a forgotten god returning to reclaim his throne.

"Always reckless. Always too prideful to see your own limits."

His gaze followed the golden-haired demon spiraling in the sky, swords blazing with lightning and fury as Shiki fought three of the strongest pirates alive. A normal man would have been torn apart within seconds.

But Shiki wasn’t a normal man. And neither was Jack D. Francois.

"Let’s see how long you can keep this little spectacle going," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. "Don’t disappoint me, Shiki. After all... what’s a stage without a decent performer?"

And then, he grinned — not the grin of a man, but of a monster long thought dead. Because behind that ornate mask... Behind the false name and the carefully spun legend... Lurking within the shadows of a new age... Stood the ghost of the old world.

Rocks D. Xebec — the storm that the seas had forgotten, but history never forgave. He had returned. Reborn in secret. Reforged in vengeance. And this was only the beginning.

"Soon," Rocks muttered as the heavens rumbled above, "everyone that betrayed me back then will fall."

"Shiki...then Whitebeard. Then Kaido. One by one, they’ll all kneel... just as they did back then."

A gust of wind swept through the battlefield as Izumi’s fiery wings clashed once more with Shiki’s cyclone of death, while Dorian’s blades shrieked through the wind and Linlin summoned hell itself to crush the Golden Lion. But Rocks stood unmoved. Unflinching.

"They may have forgotten who built that throne they now squabble over..." he said quietly, eyes glowing through the mask. "...But soon, the world will remember."

****

"Well then... thank you for your grand hospitality all these months, King Neptune."

Giolla spoke with practiced grace, offering a deep curtsy as the sunlight danced through the coral palace’s stained-glass ceiling, casting hues of gold and blue across her ornate gown. Behind her stood the other delegates of the Donquixote Family, each dressed immaculately, the family crest glinting proudly on their lapels.

"We understand you carry the weight of a kingdom, but do try to visit Coral Port sometime. The presence of Fishman royalty in Dressrosa would be most welcome—especially among the merfolk who’ve made it their home."

Her words were smooth, but not hollow. A diplomat to her core, Giolla meant every syllable—even if she masked it behind formality. For months now, she and her team had represented the Donquixote family in the heart of the ocean. What had begun as a tense mission had slowly transformed into something else—respect, if not yet true trust.

King Neptune’s eyes softened as he stepped forward, towering but warm, the edges of his great beard catching the morning light. He bowed his head slightly, a gesture rare for kings.

"Please, Lady Giolla... feel free to return to Ryugu Kingdom whenever you desire. This palace... this island... it is your home as well, for all you’ve done."

The words were heavy. Genuine. And filled with something unspoken—a quiet regret.

"Not all humans bear us hatred...Jamon!" Neptune said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. "Your family has shown my people dignity, after centuries of chains and silence. That kindness will not be forgotten."

Giolla smiled faintly, but her diplomatic instincts picked up on something else. A flicker of hesitation. A silent glance passed between Neptune and the Minister of the Right, whose fingers fidgeted with the scrolls tucked beneath his arm. The Minister of the Left looked like he was about to speak, but Neptune gave a subtle shake of his head.

Giolla’s eyes narrowed slightly, her voice still calm.

"Is something the matter, Minister? If there’s anything our Donquixote family can assist with, please don’t hesitate to ask."

It was a calculated offer—but not an empty one. She already had an inkling of what weighed on their minds. In truth, it surprised her that it hadn’t come up earlier. The Minister of the Right took a deep breath, stepped forward, and bowed low—so low his forehead nearly touched the coral floor.

"Lady Giolla, I speak not as a minister of Ryugu Kingdom, but as a fishman... as someone who dreams of a future where our children no longer have to hide beneath a thousand meters of sea to feel safe."

His voice trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of what he was about to ask.

"Your family... the Donquixote Family... has done more for us than anyone else in the last eight centuries. When the World Government turned its back, you extended your hand. When we faltered, you held back your wrath. Even after our disgrace—after the actions of our own radicals shamed us—you continued the Punk Hazard initiative... even if only in form."

A silence settled across the hall. Even the soldiers along the walls stood still. Neptune’s fingers curled around the hilt of his trident, his knuckles whitening.

"I know," the minister continued, "we have not earned the right to ask for more. We betrayed your generosity with mistrust. We let fear guide our actions, not gratitude. And for that..."

He dropped fully to his knees.

"I beg of you—please help us once more. Please... speak to Master Doflamingo. Urge him to return his focus to the sanctuary above the waves. Help us realize the dream he once made possible."

Giolla remained still for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she turned her gaze to King Neptune. Neptune’s voice was thick with shame as he stepped forward, lowering his head as well—a king, bowing not in form, but in atonement.

"It was I who held back the request...Jamon. I feared we had already asked too much. The world above is not ours by right—but through your family, we were given hope."

His voice broke for a second.

"And yet we let pride and fear cloud our hearts. We did not protect the hand that reached down to lift us. Now I ask—not as a king, but as a father, as a ruler who failed his people once...please...let us try again."

The air in the palace was heavy with emotion. Not of theatrics—but the raw, painful weight of history. Centuries of slavery. Decades of betrayal. And now, the glimmer of a second chance...

Resting in the hands of pirates who had offered more kindness than the World Nobles ever had.

Giolla exhaled softly, and then, for the first time in weeks, her formal tone dropped.

"I cannot promise what Master Doflamingo will decide," she said. "But I will carry your words to him, untainted, and with the respect they deserve."

"That is all we ask, Giolla-san," Queen Otohime said gently, stepping forward, her tone brimming with sincerity. "Thank you—truly—for everything you and your family have done for us. Your kindness has echoed through every corner of our kingdom."

Despite her recent absence from public life, Otohime’s presence was no less radiant. Even now, after months of diplomatic planning and soul-searching, the Queen had not abandoned her vision—a vision some still called naïve. She had already informed the Donquixote family of her intent to once again appeal to the World Government during the upcoming Reverie. She would not go behind their backs—not after all they had done.

Giolla gave her a poised nod in acknowledgment, ever the composed envoy. Behind her, the Donquixote family representatives remained silent, respectful observers to a Queen whose words carried both hope and weight.

From the side, Shyarly floated gently toward Otohime, her long flowing hair trailing behind her like sea silk, the reflection of ancient wisdom in her young eyes. Despite her age, Shyarly had already earned reverence among the people for her gift of foresight—a gift that burdened her with visions not even her heart was always ready to accept.

She spoke softly, but the emotion in her voice was unmistakable.

"My Queen... I must tell you once more—it is not too late to turn back. With the Donquixote family’s help, we have a path, a future. Maybe not tomorrow... maybe not even in a year... but within a decade, we can realize our dream."

Shyarly hovered closer, her voice now a whisper between just the two of them.

"But the path you’ve chosen now is dangerous. You’re so focused on bridging the divide with humans that you forget—it’s not just their hatred we face. Our own people... they still carry their scars. If you keep going this way... the ones you’re trying to protect may come to despise you."

Queen Otohime didn’t flinch. Her eyes remained soft, but resolute. She had heard this before—from Neptune, from the ministers, even from her children in their own innocent ways. But her heart would not yield. She smiled warmly at Shyarly, a silent thank you for caring, but the glimmer in her eyes said everything. She would move forward—even if the path was perilous.

Shyarly sighed heavily, sensing it all. Not just her Queen’s determination—but the future that lay ahead if nothing changed. Still, she shifted her gaze to King Neptune. And then, she dropped the wave-shaking revelation.

"Please... take care of her, Your Majesty. Especially now. She’ll need you more than ever—

...she’s going to be a mother again soon."

A silence swept the entire chamber like a tidal wave. Even the palace guards blinked in disbelief. Otohime froze mid-breath, puzzled—wasn’t she already a mother of three healthy children? But as her hands drifted instinctively to her belly, she felt it—a faint warmth. Her body had yet to show signs... but her spirit already knew.

King Neptune’s mouth dropped open. For a moment, the Sea King looked more like a startled guppy. Everyone turned to Shyarly, but not a single soul doubted her words. The Royal Family had long known of her prophetic gifts—and they had never been wrong.

Giolla smiled as realization bloomed across the room. She turned toward Neptune with a graceful bow.

"Then... it seems congratulations are in order, King Neptune."

The Minister of the Left, wide-eyed, finally muttered what the king couldn’t.

"Your Majesty... you’re going to be a father again..."

And with that, Neptune erupted with pure joy.

"JAMON!!" he bellowed, eyes shimmering like the ocean under the sun. With unrestrained glee, he scooped up Queen Otohime, twirling her in the air like a child discovering a treasure.

"A child! We’re having another child! Otohime, did you hear?! A daughter! I know it—I feel it in my soul!"

Otohime laughed in stunned delight, holding onto him as the world spun.

"We don’t even know if it’s a girl yet, Neptune!" she protested, giggling.

"Nonsense!" he boomed, eyes wild with bliss. "It’s going to be a daughter—a beautiful, strong, radiant daughter, just like you! I’ll teach her to swim the deepest trenches, to laugh like thunder, to dream even bigger than you do, Otohime!"

Around them, the entire court was swept into his infectious celebration. Even the stoic guards couldn’t hide their smiles. Neptune finally stopped when Otohime wobbled in his arms, dizzy from the spinning. Then he turned, eyes blazing with royal command and childlike excitement.

"No! No, this won’t do!" he declared. "You’ve given us such joyous news—I cannot allow the Donquixote family to leave today!"

He pointed toward his ministers.

"Arrange the most lavish banquet Ryugu Palace has ever hosted! Let there be music in every coral chamber! Let the seas above glow with lanterns!"

He turned to Giolla and the other stunned delegates, his massive hands now firmly on their shoulders as he beamed.

"You will be our honored guests—of honor! This feast is for my unborn daughter—and for the Donquixote family who brought this joy to us today!"

And before anyone could argue, Neptune swept them all up in his wave of joy, grabbing a grumbling Smoker and a confused Gladius by the arms and dragging them along like unwilling dancers in a parade.

"Jamon! A daughter, Otohime! A daughter!" he shouted again as he disappeared down the great coral halls, already shouting orders for sea turtles, symphonies, and treasure chests of food to be prepared.

Otohime stood with a hand over her heart, watching him with quiet affection.

"A daughter..." she whispered, smiling softly.

And behind her, Shyarly’s eyes lingered, her gaze full of awe, concern... and silent hope.