After a brief silence, Shanks suddenly looked up at Beckman, an absurd yet perfectly fitting thought rushing into his mind. He blurted out subconsciously.
"Beckman, have we all been wrong? The true Sun God isn't Nika, but—"
He abruptly cut himself off, swallowing the name that was on the tip of his tongue.
It was undeniable that since Orion became the Fleet Admiral, whether in military governance or state administration, he had demonstrated advanced thinking that surpassed this era.
But Shanks was certain that Orion was not the Sun God.
Beckman seemed to see through his thoughts, his expression equally serious.
"Do you think it's possible that the so-called Sun God doesn't refer to a specific person, but rather to a certain spirit, or perhaps the inheritance of a will?"
Shanks remained silent for a moment before finally shaking his head. "It's still too early to draw conclusions. Everything Orion has done is indeed changing this era, but I'm still worried it might ultimately become a stepping stone for someone else."
"As long as the one in the Flower Room remains alive, everything we see now could change. Let's wait and see. I want to observe whether Orion will maintain the status quo with those old fossils in the Holy Land after completing the reconstruction of order in the Grand Line, or... draw a clear line and establish a completely new World Government."
Shanks paused slightly, a faint smile returning to his lips.
"From now on, there's no need to constantly monitor Orion's every move. We only need to watch the final choice of the Revolutionary Army."
"The Revolutionary Army's existence will play a crucial role in determining who ultimately gains the final say between the Holy Land and Orion. If they make any unusual moves, it means Orion is taking action. If the Revolutionary Army disbands entirely, it means... Orion has secured the final authority."
Beckman frowned slightly. "If Orion gains the final say, where do you think the World Government is headed?"
"Hasn't he already given us the answer?" Shanks smiled openly. "In the future, the World Government will no longer have the fixed Five Elders occupying the Chamber of Authority without doing anything. Most likely, there will be rotations every two or four years."
Beckman didn't smile, his expression serious as he asked the most critical question.
"Regardless of how things ultimately unfold between the Holy Land and Orion, what should... we do?"
Shanks shrugged slightly, regaining his carefree demeanor. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If it truly becomes time for us to exit the stage, even Whitebeard chose to return to his homeland. Naturally, we can do the same."
...
Meanwhile.
Whitebeard's homeland, Sphinx.
In the cherry blossom grove in the eastern suburbs, pink petals fell like snow, covering the entire ground.
Whitebeard, with an IV drip attached to him, leaned his tall frame against a sturdy cherry blossom tree.
He wasn't drinking today, his sharp eyes curiously watching the bustling land beyond the cherry blossom grove.
On what was once barren and desolate land, figures now moved busily.
The Marines had shed their identity-signifying uniforms and, like the common folk of Sphinx, rolled up their trousers, brandishing hoes and shovels.
The sunlight was just right, the breeze gentle.
Sweat soaked through their shirts, mud smeared their cheeks, yet everyone's face radiated a heartfelt smile.
The air was filled with the fragrance of soil and the salty dampness of the sea breeze, mingling with the chants and laughter of people at work, composing a simple yet moving pastoral idyll.
"Pops!"
Marco hurried over from the edge of the woods, the blue flames of the phoenix flickering faintly on his shoulders, his expression unusually grave.
"Just received word—Fleet Admiral Orion led a training ship to Hachinosu Island and swiftly captured nearly 200,000 pirates there in one fell swoop. Not only that, Orion personally took action and completely destroyed Hachinosu Island. Now... only Rocky Port remains; the rest has sunk beneath the sea."
Whitebeard seemed not to hear.
He raised a thick finger, pointing toward the bustling scene across the way, and asked curiously, "Marco, what are they doing?"
"Pops!" Marco glanced back, growing impatient. "This isn't the time to worry about that! Hachinosu is gone! Wang Zhi is dead too!"
"Wang Zhi should've died long ago!" Whitebeard's gaze remained fixed on the land. "From now on, there's no need to report such matters to me."
Pausing briefly, Whitebeard turned to look at Marco. "What you should be telling me now is what those Marines and the people of Sphinx are doing."
Hearing this, Marco let out a resigned sigh.
It was clear that his father's heart had completely withdrawn from the turbulent seas and returned to this land that bore him.
Coming to terms with it, Marco stopped caring about Wang Zhi.
"The Marines have established a construction corps in Sphinx to help the locals reclaim wasteland and farm," Marco explained. "Apparently, a scientist from Marine Headquarters came to survey the area and found that Sphinx could not only be developed into a tourist destination centered around cherry blossoms, but the soil here is also special—very suitable for growing red sum, white radishes, tomatoes, and small watermelons."
Whitebeard was taken aback. "If I recall correctly, a big reason Sphinx became a lawless land back then was its barren soil. Many couldn't make a living farming and had to go out to sea to fish. Later, when pirates ran rampant, even fishing became a luxury, and quite a few ended up as hoodlums in the city."
"That was in the past." A faint smile also appeared on Marco's face. "Ever since that scientist conducted the survey, the Marines immediately set up a construction corps and, following the scientist's recommendations, started large-scale reclamation with the locals. Not only that—after the pirates around Sphinx were cleared out, Sphinx has now become a major exporter of seafood."
"Gurarararara!"
Whitebeard burst into hearty laughter upon hearing this.
Then, he abruptly stood up, tearing off his cloak and casually tossing it, along with the IV line that sustained his vital signs, beneath the cherry tree.
"Reclaiming wasteland?"
Whitebeard stretched his muscles, joints cracking loudly, his eyes gleaming with unprecedented excitement and fervor.
"No one's more suited for this than me!"
Before the words had fully faded, he had already taken long strides out of the cherry blossom grove.
Sunlight sprinkled gently upon the earth like scattered gold, while a breeze brushed through the cherry trees like a sheer veil.
In the distant wasteland, children frolicked on the grass like a flock of cheerful birds, their laughter intertwining and rising and falling like the clear, melodious chimes of silver bells.
Emerging from the cherry blossom grove into the sunlight, Whitebeard narrowed his eyes slightly, feeling the soft breeze against his face, and revealed a long-absent, contented smile.
This was what one might call the tranquility of a peaceful era.