The bitter taste of disappointment was still thick in Ragnar's mouth, a foul film that even the chaotic, blood-soaked air of God Valley couldn't wash away.
He stood in silence for a long moment, the cacophony of the war around him fading into a dull roar. He stared at the crimson Paw-Paw Fruit in his hand.
It was a king's ransom, a power that could reshape nations, and all he could feel was the ghost of the Azure Dragon fruit slipping through his fingers.
'Get a grip,' he scolded himself mentally, shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the frustration. So you didn't get the Uo Uo no Mi. Big deal. The meta-knowledge, his true compass in this world, provided an immediate alternative for him.
There was still the artificial one. Vegapunk's flawed copy, the one that would eventually grant Momonosuke his pink dragon form, was sitting in a lab on Punk Hazard. It wasn't the same, not nearly as potent, but it was a mythical zoan-shaped placeholder. A backup plan.
But first, he had to get out of this hellhole. Alive. His original goal was accomplished, even if it felt incomplete. The Time Travel Card was spent.
He was now a temporal stowaway in the most dangerous place in history at the moment, and his number one priority was to return to his original timeline before the real final boss showed up.
His mind, a living library of One Piece chapters, pulled up the insane revelation from the final saga. Imu. The shadowy ruler of the world, possessing powers so grotesque that they could transform a person into a demon.
That was the real fate of Rocks D. Xebec. He hadn't just been a power-hungry megalomaniac, he'd come to God Valley for a reason the world never knew, to save his wife, Eris, and their son, the child who would grow up to be Marshall D. Teach, otherwise known as Blackbeard.
And for his defiance, Imu had twisted him, corrupted his very being into a monster, forcing an alliance between the Pirate King and the Marine Hero just to put him down.
The sheer scale of it sent a chill down his spine. This wasn't just a pirate battle, it was a demonic purge.
He threw the thoughts aside. They were too big, too dangerous to dwell on. He needed to move, to flow like water away from the epicenter of this cataclysm.
He tucked the precious Nikyu Nikyu no Mi securely inside his coat, its weight both a comfort and a reminder of his failure. He took a step, ready to melt into the environment and find anything of value before slipping back into his own timeline.
That's when he heard it. A weak, gurgling sound, barely a whisper against the backdrop of destruction.
"Help... please..."
It was an old man's voice, frayed with pain and desperation. Ragnar's first instinct was to ignore it. Sentality got you killed in places like this. But his eyes, scanning the rubble, landed on the source.
Not far away, propped against the splintered wheel of a destroyed cannon carriage, was an old man. His skin was like wrinkled parchment, and his left leg was gone from the knee down, a ragged, bloody stump that pulsed dark crimson onto the churned earth.
The amount of blood was staggering, it was a miracle he was still conscious. Yet, despite the agony that must have been consuming him, the old man's arms were wrapped tightly, possessively, around a small chest.
It was no bigger than a loaf of bread, but it was crafted from what looked like solid gold, intricately carved with spirals that seemed to move in the flickering firelight.
A Devil Fruit. It had to be. Why else would a dying man cling to it so fiercely?
Curiosity, that deadly sin, overpowered his caution. In a shimmering motion, he was at the old man's side, his form solidifying from a puddle. He loomed over him, his featureless white mask giving nothing away.
The old man's clouded eyes struggled to focus, looking up at the masked, blue-haired stranger. He wheezed, a bubble of blood popping on his lips. "Are... are you a pirate?" he managed, his voice a dry rustle.
Ragnar didn't even hesitate. Lying served no purpose here. "Yes."
A strange sense of relief washed over the old man's pained features. He didn't ask for his name, his crew, his allegiance. The simple, honest answer was enough. With a trembling, blood-slicked hand, he pushed the golden chest toward Ragnar. The effort seemed to drain the last of his strength.
"Take it... to Lord Xebec," he pleaded, his eyes burning with a final, desperate fire. "You must... It is the hope... the Davy clan's final hope... forged over eight hundred years... to defeat the Demon at the top of the world... It is our only... only..."
The words hit Ragnar like a physical blow, freezing him in place.
The Davy clan? Hope? Forged over eight hundred years?
His meta-knowledge scrambled, connecting fragments. Vegapunk's theory, revealed to the Straw Hats on Egghead. Devil Fruits weren't just random curses of the sea, they were the manifestations of human hope and desire, given physical form in a fruit.
And this one... this one was created with a single, focused, generational purpose. It wasn't just a mere fruit, it was a weapon. A bullet crafted over centuries specifically to kill Imu.
His gaze snapped from the dying old man to the golden chest in his hands. Its weight felt different now. It wasn't just heavy; it was significant. It was history. It was destiny, his destiny.
The old man was trying to speak again, perhaps to give a name, a location, a final instruction. But Ragnar's mind was already made up. Sending this to Xebec was pointless, and stupid.
The man was about to be turned into a demon himself, or he would die here. This power would be lost, wasted, buried with the legend of God Valley.
The old man had served his purpose. He had delivered the package.
"Thanks, old man," Ragnar said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion through the mask.
Before the man could utter another syllable, a needle of water, sharper than any steel, condensed from the moisture in the air and pierced his heart with surgical precision.
It was a mercy, in its own cold way. The light in the old man's eyes extinguished instantly, his body slumping into final stillness. The secret of the golden chest died with him.
Without a second glance, Ragnar snatched the chest and vanished, flowing away from the corpse and into the skeletal remains of a nearby guard tower. He found a dark corner on the second floor, shielded from view by collapsed beams.
His hands, for the first time, trembled slightly as he worked the intricate latch on the golden chest. It opened with a soft, resonant click.
Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, was a Devil Fruit unlike any he had ever seen, in the manga or in reality. It was breathtaking.
The fruit itself was a perfect sphere of pure, lustrous gold, as if sculpted from a single ingot. And from its sides sprouted two delicate, perfectly formed wings, small and feathery, crafted from what looked like white jade or polished bone.
It emitted a soft, warm glow, a gentle radiance that pushed back the shadows of his hiding place.
And his body... his modified body, engineered to house a second devil fruit power, reacted violently. It wasn't a subtle craving.
It was a visceral, all-consuming hunger. A deep, cellular-level scream that this fruit, this golden-winged marvel, was meant for him. The empty slot within him wasn't just accepting it; it was demanding it.
There was no more pondering, no more weighing of pros and cons. The old man's words, the fruit's impossible beauty, and his body's primal scream coalesced into a single, undeniable imperative.
He reached into the chest, his fingers closing around the warm, metallic skin of the fruit. He brought it to his lips. He took a massive bite.
The taste was… indescribable. It wasn't the legendary foulness of other Devil Fruits. It was complex. It tasted like sunlight on the ocean, like the first breath of spring, like the triumphant shout after a long victory, and underneath it all, a sharp, metallic tang of immense, concentrated power.
As he swallowed the first piece, the knowledge flooded his mind, not in words, but in pure, instinctive understanding. The name of the fruit, its nature, and its capabilities, seared themselves into his consciousness.
His golden eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, stared into the darkness, seeing nothing of the ruined tower around him.
The information was… impossible.