The Nation of God floated like a fairy tale carved into the clouds. At the crown of the massive vine Roger had mentioned, there truly hung a golden bell—not gilded, but cast of pure gold.
Last time, Dimon had deliberately left it alone. That bell wasn't mere treasure; it was the promise between two men. He respected that kind of vow. Some stories, you don't spoil.
"Mm. Since I'm here anyway, might as well ask for directions—and maybe pick up a Devil Fruit to go…"
With that thought, Dimon winged toward the temple.
The ruler of the sky was not a king but a "God," hence the Nation of God. This god's name was Gan Fall, and he lived at the temple built into the great vine's middle.
Inside, Gan Fall was enjoying a servant's tray of simple sky-fruits when his Mantra pricked—some powerful "voice" was closing fast. He squinted upward. The tiny speck became a figure in a blink.
"Black wings?" he murmured. "Who are you? Our skyfolk have white wings. A mutation?"
Dimon didn't bother with small talk. "You're Gan Fall, the 'God' here?"
He looked the man over—quite different from the elderly face in his memory; this Gan Fall was still in his middle years.
"Whatever. Whether you are or not doesn't matter. I'm only here to ask something."
"…I am Gan Fall. 'God' is just a title. I can't grant wishes," Gan Fall said, gaze fixed on those black wings. They didn't look like decoration.
Skyfolk wings were white, small, and not for flying—more like hair; tear one off and it barely hurt. Plenty of blunderers went around wingless and earned nothing worse than teasing.
"I'm looking for the sky island Birka. Where is it?"
"Birka? That's a small sky island in the southern reaches," Gan Fall chuckled, catching on at once. "You're not skyborn, are you? From the Blue Sea?"
"If you wanted Birka, any person on Angel Beach could tell you; no need to come to me. Blue Sea folks rarely reach us. The last one was a man named Roger."
So the sky islands did keep contact among themselves. Dimon's curiosity ticked. "What do you mean by 'small sky island'?"
"Like countryside—a lone, modest island in the clouds. Maybe a few hundred people."
"I see… I know of one called Visalia. That's 'small' too?"
"That's the closest one to the Blue Sea, the only island with a free descent. Very developed weather science there."
Gan Fall was easygoing—almost every question, answered. Dimon liked that.
"So where exactly is Birka, and how do I reach this 'southern reach'?"
"Simple. Go to the cloud-sea terminus port and rent a Super Express Lobster. It'll carry you."
Dimon was already gone. Gan Fall stared after the fading dot and sighed, almost disappointed. "Left just like that? I was going to invite him to sit…"
Following the directions, Dimon reached the Angel Port at the end of the cloud seas. In that endless white, the docks were hard to miss.
Renting a Super Express Lobster required 1,000,000,000 Extols—which came to about 100,000 Berries. Steep for a "ticket," but Dimon couldn't care less. He paid, took a whistle, blew it, and a colossal lobster surged up from the cloud ocean.
"Ride it along the sky highway. You'll arrive at Birka in about three days."
Dimon thanked the clerk, sprang onto the shell, and set off. At first the novelty of it amused him; after a few hours he was bored, idly wondering how this thing might taste…
Birka came into view—a single island tucked in the clouds. Compared to the Nation of God, it was indeed small. He spread his Haki; the whole island pulsed with perhaps a thousand souls, a surprising number of them stronger than most tens-of-millions pirates.
From higher sky he swept the island and found a warrior training ground—a clutch of children, junior priests in training by the look of it.
"That one's Enel… about ten," Dimon spotted him instantly. Those long earlobes were impossible to miss.
In training, Enel suddenly looked up, as if he sensed something. Nothing in the sky but cloud.
"Sharp. Born with a loud Mantra, huh?"
Invisible, Dimon smiled. Should he go down, say hello, stamp a [New Age] sigil? He decided against playing Kid King today. He was here to find the Rumble-Rumble Fruit, not recruit.
Half an hour later, he had it—sitting right there in Birka's temple, offered on a stone dais, guarded by sky warriors whose Mantra still never brushed him.
Dimon pocketed the fruit and etched a pentagram array in a corner of the temple as a back door, then warped away.
Wano, the Shogun's Manor.
He stepped off the five-pointed glyph, tossing the Rumble-Rumble Fruit in his hand. Eat it—or cash it?
A Logia like this was easily worth 1,000 Devil Points, exactly what his wallet needed. But power like this was priceless; devouring it for points felt… wasteful.
"Is there a way to consume and still have the fruit respawn nearby?"
"Looks like I'll have to bother Vegapunk."
No rush; it was already his. If he wanted to eat, he could, anytime. If he could force a controlled respawn radius, future point farming would be a breeze. Also… artificial fruits…
He rang for Abel.
"How's Vegapunk's research?"
"No breakthrough yet, my lord."
Two years and change, and still nothing conclusive on Pluton's fuel.
Abel suddenly remembered, fished a poster from his pocket. "Ah—two days ago the World Government issued a new bounty for you."
Dimon blinked. So the Five Elders finally hiked his price?
"Brewer" Dimon
Bounty:5,077,500,000 Berries
He couldn't help a low whistle. "From a bit over a billion to five-point-zero-seven-seven-five in one jump… not bad."
He flicked the poster aside. "What else happened while I was out?"
"While you were away… Kaido returned."
"His expedition's over?" Dimon's eyes brightened. Nearly three years since they'd met.
"Yes. The Beasts Pirates are back at Beast City in Kuri." Abel paused, voice turning oddly cautious. "And… Lord Kaido brought back a daughter. Her name is Yamato."
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