Chapter 824: Bet on the New Era
Yoko and Ryo held countless conflicting views regarding the future and the world—divergences that extended far beyond a simplistic binary of virtue and malice.
Ryo's excessive benevolence and boundless sympathy toward native plot characters had, from an objective standpoint, repeatedly compromised the collective strength of the Reincarnators.
The instances where entire squads of Reincarnators—slaughtering their way through worlds to farm resources, stats, and high mission completion ratings—were utterly dismantled upon crossing paths with Azure Sky were far from few.
Among those purged were combatants whom Yoko considered genuinely valuable assets.
Yoko was convinced that the general cruelty and brutality of Reincarnators were purely byproducts of the Infinite Dimensional Space's system design. If the Space wished to curb that slaughter, it needed only adjust its reward parameters: offer far richer incentives for averting the tragic fates of plot characters while drastically penalizing reckless butchery.
Given such an incentive structure, the vast majority of Reincarnators would naturally tilt toward righteousness.
Stripped to their core, Reincarnators were nothing more than pitiful worker bees, herded and driven by the constant threat of erasure and the dangling carrot of survival rewards.
The gifted luminaries of Azure Sky possessed undeniable talent; every last one of them was an apex Reincarnator. Yet they lacked empathy for their fellow human operatives, allowing hyper-inflated personal moral codes to interfere with the broader mechanics of the Space.
Whether evaluated from the systemic perspective of the Space itself, or through the lens of human survival back in the real world, Azure Sky and Ryo had chosen the wrong path.
And the Black King Association—the shadowy cabal lurking within the fissures of the Infinite Dimensional Space, spoken of in hushed legends as a living nightmare among Reincarnators—was the ultimate radicalization of that flawed philosophy.
Ryo had maintained continuous contact with the Black King Association. In fact, the foundational mechanics behind how a Black King came to be were likely understood only by the Supreme Three Kings, Ryo included.
Yoko was certain that the birth of a Black King was not merely the result of a timeline being broken so frequently that its native protagonists absorbed massive surges of World's Will to transcend their narrative prisons and enter the Space.
That tidy hypothesis entirely sidelined the Space itself—the sovereign architect holding absolute dominion over Reincarnators.
Whether an entity could enter the Space, and how much administrative freedom they retained upon arrival, was inextricably tied to [Privilege].
Aside from the Infinite Dimensional Space itself, the entity possessing the deepest comprehension and highest concentration of [Privilege] was undeniably the ancient patriarch of Destiny—the so-called [King of Destiny].
The Black Kings were on amicable terms with Azure Sky; the two factions shared ties and backchannel communications. Ryo had even bequeathed Yoko a specialized Miracle, granting her the capability to summon the descent of the Black Kings at a critical juncture.
In Ryo's calculations, that was the ultimate trump card he left behind, meant to empower Yoko to enforce order in his stead should she struggle to counter the other two Supreme Kings.
As for the final member of the Supreme Three Kings—that King of Souls, heavily suspected to be Sosuke Aizen—the man gave Yoko an overwhelming sense of profound anomaly.
A native plot character who had ascended directly into a supreme Reincarnator, his influence spanning all four districts like an unshakeable colossus.
That singular anomaly was the driving reason Yoko had aggressively consolidated the West District.
She harbored zero trust toward the King of Souls, and even less faith in the so-called salvation schemes of the Supreme Three Kings. She trusted only herself.
And toward the Black Kings—monstrous entities responsible for the deaths of countless Reincarnators across countless operational worlds—Yoko maintained total, vigilant caution above all else.
She burned with a desperate need to uncover their true purpose: what were the Black Kings, and what would transpire should one be struck down?
No world provided a more suitable crucible to test that question than the present one.
Within Yoko's emerald eyes, surging emotions swiftly settled into calm detachment, leaving behind only the blazing, unyielding [Fire of Humanity].
His hair was neither oceanic blue nor pure silver, but an ethereal sky-blue that harmonized both shades—pure and sacred on the surface, yet harboring a latent, dormant evil within.
His Gold Cloth was pristine. Without consciously igniting his Cosmo, his mere physical presence exerted a suffocating gravity that warped the ambient space.
Yoko felt a twinge of disappointment. Given that this world featured Son Goku, as well as Mercenary Tao—who had reportedly crossed paths with a Black King in a One Piece world and walked away alive—she had assumed her summons would draw forth one of those specific reflections.
From what she understood, every manifestation of a Black King adhered to distinct causality and narrative logic.
These dark monarchs operated under an underlying design.
Saga required no deep probing to read Yoko's thoughts. He had initially entertained a degree of curiosity toward the mortal chosen by Ryo, but what he saw before him fell short.
Whether measured by the Concussive Pulse of the Spiritual Light, Authority depth, or conceptual mastery, she lagged behind Ryo. For someone at this level to harbor the ambition to slay them...
Ambition that lacked the raw might to back it up was merely a grotesque, laughable farce.
"Did I ever say I came alone?"
Saga raised a hand, his Cosmo condensing in his palm. Yet the very next moment, his brow furrowed; he could detect not a single shred of karmic malice radiating from the woman before him.
Yoko caught the implication immediately: more than one Black King had entered the field. In other words, the opportunity to witness the fall of a Black King remained entirely open!
Provided her intelligence held, her deductions proved sound, and Amatsu's foresight remained uncorrupted... she might finally peel back the deepest secrets veiled within the Space.
And uncover the true endgame of that shadow lurking within the cracks of spacetime, feeding upon the lives of Reincarnators!
Whether the looming apocalyptic calamity was a self-inflicted mortal catastrophe or a scripted catastrophe woven by transcendent beings, she would finally seize the thread of truth.
Exhaling softly, she suppressed the turbulent currents of power coiled within her core.
Far across the sea, Son Goku had already turned his attention entirely away from the coordinates where his fist had obliterated Mercenary Tao.
He had not unleashed that killing blow out of hatred for the man's conduct.
To the contrary, even when a monster like Frieza had pleaded for mercy on the brink of death, Goku had pitied the fragile sanctity of a single life, parting with a measure of his own Ki to grant him a chance to survive.
Rather, Goku had sensed Mercenary Tao's ferocious, insatiable will to live—an all-consuming hunger to tear through biological ceilings and grasp absolute power.
He had answered that unyielding conviction with an absolute response, meeting it head-on with a strike meant to shatter everything.
An instinctual premonition had told him that delivering that ultimate blow was the only authentic salvation he could offer that warrior.
Dropping out of Super Saiyan 3, Goku stood frozen, his eyes locked onto a silhouette manifesting along the horizon.
Spiky black hair reached upward, subtly distinct from his own silhouette. The newcomer's physique was hardened and crisscrossed with brutal scars, an old laceration cutting deep across his cheek—silent testimony to the sheer hell he had clawed his way through.
And his left sleeve hung empty, ragged cloth fluttering loosely in the wind.
"Go... han..."
A familiar Ki. A familiar face. Yet the aura was chillingly foreign, and the look in his eyes was something Son Goku could not comprehend.
Standing at the edge of the sky, Son Gohan had only one arm remaining. Even beneath the searing sun exposed by the shattered atmosphere, light seemed incapable of touching him; a suffocating shroud of black radiance clung to his flesh.
That black aura—was it Ki? It felt distorted.
An aura that tasted profoundly uncomfortable.
Deep, heavy, suffocating—laced with boundless fury directed at the entire cosmos.
The one-armed Gohan stood motionless, staring at the man who had always burned like an eternal beacon of light.
It had always seemed that the moment this man arrived, no crisis was insurmountable.
It had always seemed that as long as he lived, no enemy was invincible; everyone else could rest safely in his wake and live peaceful lives.
And yet... and yet... why did someone like you have to die?!
Zzt!
The black Ki began to thrash with violent turbulence. The sound of its combustion mirrored the high-frequency hum of a Super Saiyan 3—dense, relentless, unbroken.
Like an ultrasonic vibration tearing at physical reality, an invisible force began cleaving the air.
Despair, suffocating grief, and apocalyptic Ki hemorrhaged outward. It was no loss of control; it was pure, unadulterated venting.
Goku could tell this Gohan was not the son he had raised; his own Gohan had never worn an expression of such cold dread.
Yet his paternal instincts flared nonetheless; he could not help but care.
"Hey... you're Gohan, aren't you? You might not be the Gohan I know, but you're definitely Gohan. How did you end up—"
Hum—CRACK!
A beam of pitch-black light pierced the air, whistling inches past Goku's temple before boring straight down into the ocean.
A finger-wide void remained hollowed through the water, lingering without collapsing, while the tectonic plate beneath remained untouched.
Goku looked back at the one-armed warrior whose finger was still leveled at his chest. Despite the icy fury on his face, the aura radiating from him carried pure agony and terror.
And a heavy, crushing sorrow.
Goku stepped forward, moving like a frame skipped in an animation reel, materializing flush before Son Gohan. The simplicity and speed of the displacement were even more refined than Kaito Shirogane's Martial God's Ultimate Intent.
Yet black aura erupted from the one-armed Gohan in an instant. His hair snapped rigid as cataclysmic Ki detonated outward.
Lifting his remaining arm, he drove a fist straight toward Goku's jaw.
BOOM!
Golden Ki flared from Goku simultaneously. At his current realm of mastery, accessing Super Saiyan no longer hinged upon emotional triggers; he could engage the state at will.
Golden and black auras collided in mid-air, scattering violent shockwaves across the horizon.
The ocean was cleaved down the center, birthing towering tsunamis that rushed in both directions. Both Super Saiyans shifted their focus; Gohan's eyes narrowed as black Ki snapped outward, flattening the waves into absolute stillness.
Goku mirrored the feat, swatting backward with an open palm to disperse the remaining surge.
With a casual gesture, planetary-scale disasters were suppressed before they could form.
Within the timeless, spaceless expanse of the Root, Kaito Shirogane voraciously devoured every shred of data permeating the void, including the telemetry of the clash between the two Saiyans.
He absorbed the kinetic signatures of two entities who had breached the standard limits of Super Saiyan, marveling at the combat data unfolding before him.
He spared no thought as to why a powerhouse like Son Gohan had fallen into the ranks of the Black Kings.
Such narrative mysteries had their place, but compared to the pure mechanics of absolute might, they were utterly trivial.
Kaito Shirogane lived for power; he had from the very beginning.
Only now did he recall why, back in his youth, beating a gang of thugs into intensive care had left him hollow: it wasn't what he sought.
Mortal humans were simply too frail. He was never meant to clash with creatures of that scale.
From his earliest days, his soul had hungered for unvarnished, transcendental strength.
Within the Root, the torque of the spiral power intensified, churning oceans of primordial data.
And back upon the physical sea where Kaito had fallen, a golden miracle began to burn across the water.
A fragile wisp of flame broke through the surface, flickering against the violent shockwaves traded by the black and golden auras.
Within that ember lay a dense, unadulterated seed of life force.
Hum~
The sun and moon hung in twin alignment as the three God Kings of the Void Paradise descended upon the waters.
Solar fire burned within Apollo's gaze as he watched the flickering ember dancing upon the surface, repelling the crashing waves without extinguishing.
"The resurrection principle of the Phoenix... that God of Martial Arts has not fully perished."
Luna, draped in silver robes lined with violet divine light, nodded slowly. For the first time, she recognized that the infant Observer known as the Infinite Dimensional Space had managed to forge a Reincarnator of this caliber.
To pair catastrophic offensive output with demigod-tier immortality and instantaneous cellular regeneration was already an anomaly.
And now, even resurrection from total annihilation had been woven into his framework. Though crude—seemingly relying on a probabilistic Authority trigger—when coupled with the power of Miracles, it functioned identically to a True God's immortality.
Even if the vessel was pulverized, so long as the divine flame burned, life would rekindle anew.
Combat capabilities eclipsing most sovereign God Kings, True God-tier immortality, and a mystic gaze capable of replicating a Divine Body and halo with a single glance...
The sheer depth and developmental ceiling of this Reincarnator were chilling.
It defied all expectations that a newly minted Observer like the Infinite Dimensional Space could yield an entity like this.
Crack!
A lance of thunder tore through the sky as the final God King took his place upon the sea.
Gazing at the flickering flames of Nirvana, he raised a finger, intending to pinch the ember out of existence. But the next instant, a bolt of black-red lightning lanced across thousands of miles, bridging sea and sky to strike his knuckles dead-on.
The overwhelming pressure behind the blow punctured the God King's divine ward in an instant.
"You lack the spine to face that bastard when he breathes, so you scramble to stamp him out like this?"
A deep voice rumbled across the water. Long black hair whipped in the wind behind a one-armed silhouette that radiated suffocating dominance.
[Black King Luffy] extended his right arm, driving a bolt of black-red lightning deep into the ocean depths.
The sea heaved violently as a colossal sea monster over a thousand meters long broke the surface.
Clamped between its jaws was a shriveled, severed left arm, looking like nothing more than a strip of dried meat.
Yet the moment it brushed against the black-red Conqueror's Haki, the arm twitched, flesh filling out instantaneously as it ripped free of the beast's maw and flew into Luffy's hand.
Hum—hum—hum!
Three concussive acoustic ruptures tore the air as the three God Kings unleashed their full Divine Bodies. Halos of divine light locked down the local sector, an iron prison of divine might primed to unleash Divine Words.
Luffy studied the arm in his grip. It was saturated with that bastard's lingering stench.
With a casual toss, he spun the left arm through the air, hurling it straight into the flickering flames of Nirvana. The fire roared, exploding into a towering inferno.
Luffy thought back to Roland's final gamble. Perhaps it was a catastrophic error born under the manipulation of causality.
Or perhaps it carried the dying embers of Roland's ultimate ideal.
Regardless, he was willing to stake this arm on that wager.
Paying no heed to the three God Kings towering before him, Luffy cast his gaze toward the far horizon, where two torrents of desperate, furious Ki were tearing the sky apart.
Rather than a battle, it looked like a broken, despairing child weeping against an uncaring world.
That guy... picked his own ending a long time ago.
FWOOSH!
From the heart of the Nirvana fire, an arm tore free, clamped onto the Sovereign's severed left arm, and drove it straight back into its own flesh without a moment's hesitation.