Gern Reginald Sigmar landed lightly amid the shattered stone, his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths. His breathing was slightly ragged, a thin trace of blood lingering at the corner of his mouth.
The black shirt he wore was torn in several places, scorched and frayed—clear proof that even he had not emerged completely unscathed from that world-shattering final clash.
His gaze shifted at once toward the ruins where BIG MOM had fallen. In his perception, her presence still flickered stubbornly—fierce and tenacious as ever—
But unconscious.
For now, she could no longer rise.
"…Hah."
Gern exhaled softly. With a casual flick of his right wrist, he shook the blade of Eight Desolations. The pale vibration particles clinging to the black edge scattered like drifting stardust, dissolving into the air.
Around him, the gray-white bandage fragments that had shattered when the blade was unsheathed began to stir. Drawn by an unseen force, they reappeared from the air itself, winding swiftly around the dark blade once more, sealing it.
He reversed his grip and slid Eight Desolations back to his waist.
"As expected." He rolled his slightly aching right shoulder, a satisfied yet faintly weary smile tugging at his lips. "All those documents and schemes…"
"They're bullshit."
"Fighting like that—that's the real thrill."
With that, he stepped forward, clearly intending to walk toward the ruins to confirm BIG MOM's condition for himself.
"Wait. Heavenquake."
The voice cut across the ruined plaza.
Gern halted mid-step and tilted his head slightly.
Charlotte Katakuri, who had been escorting his younger siblings to safety, had somehow returned alone. He now stood squarely in Gern's path.
"Oh?" Gern's brow furrowed, irritation slipping into his tone at being interrupted. "Katakuri. Your courage is commendable."
"But…"
"I don't necessarily need a blade to kill you."
"Move."
Three cold sentences—each steeped in undisguised killing intent.
Faced with that naked threat of death, Katakuri's grip on his trident, Mogura, tightened involuntarily.
But he did not retreat.
Instead, he drew in a slow breath and met Gern's suffocating gaze head-on. When he spoke, his voice was low and composed—unnaturally calm.
"Heavenquake. The rubbing of the Road Poneglyph in Totto Land… I've already sent someone to retrieve it."
Gern's brows lifted slightly. A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes, and the tide of killing intent paused, just a fraction.
"Oh?"
Catching that subtle shift, Katakuri steadied himself and continued immediately.
"So please… show mercy."
He paused briefly, choosing his words carefully—seeking a logic the man before him might accept, something that could defuse the situation.
"Mother often spoke of the great figures of her era. Whether enemies or allies, most of them… upheld a certain 'code.'"
"Heavenquake. You've ruled the seas since the legendary age. You are, without question, one of the powers who stand at the summit."
"And I've learned from Perospero that you… came here holding a formal invitation. You were here to 'attend' Mother's tea party."
He deliberately emphasized attend and invitation, reframing Gern's violent intrusion under the banner of etiquette.
"Now… Mother's tea party has 'ended.'"
"And the 'return gift' owed to you as our guest—we have already taken the initiative to prepare it."
He drew in a steadying breath, dignity barely maintained, the tone hovering dangerously close to a plea.
"Let this… be the end of it."
He had not chosen to fight. That would have been like raising a mantis's arms against a carriage.
He had chosen the most rational path.
Pay the price. Preserve the foundation.
Exchange a rubbing for his mother's life—and for a chance that Totto Land would not collapse entirely.
Gern regarded the man before him—this warrior who had laid down his pride, who had even lowered his voice for the sake of protecting his family.
Most of Katakuri's words went unheard.
Only one phrase lingered.
A code.
He thought of BIG MOM's evaluation of Blackbeard. Thought of Whitebeard and the Golden Lion—men he had visited and honored before coming here.
So he really was…
Bullshit.
It was just that BIG MOM's territory lay too far away. He couldn't swallow it whole.
If Totto Land truly collapsed now, that damned dog Blackbeard would absolutely swoop in and pick the carcass clean.
At the thought, the sharpness in Gern's eyes gradually faded. The oppressive killing intent thinned, dissipating like mist.
"A code… huh…"
He let the words hang for a moment, affecting contemplation.
Then he looked at Katakuri—and laughed softly.
"Heh…"
"Charlotte Katakuri… you're impressive."
He didn't say yes. He didn't say no.
But that evaluation—and the complete disappearance of killing intent—was answer enough.
He stopped advancing and remained where he stood, waiting for the "return gift" that was now rightfully his.
Seeing the killing intent dissipate—and seeing Gern actually stop—Katakuri felt the taut string inside his chest finally loosen, just slightly. He exhaled quietly.
Facing a man like this—
Every second had felt like dancing on the edge of a blade.
Yet that fleeting relief was quickly swallowed by the sight behind him.
When he turned his head, the Cake Chateau—the symbol of Totto Land's sweetness and authority—had become nothing more than a vast smoking ruin. Black smoke curled upward amid scattered flames.
Worse still, the very foundation of Whole Cake Island was emitting a faint but continuous hum.
The residual vibration force left behind by Gern's battle still permeated the land. The island's structure had grown unstable—tilting, trembling, subtly but unmistakably compromised.
"So this… is the power of 'Heavenquake'?" Katakuri felt a chill creep through his heart once more.
The kind of destructive force that could permanently reshape terrain, shake an island's foundation with casual movement—this surpassed his previous understanding of what "strong" even meant.
At the same time, an idea—one that mirrored Perospero's thoughts—surfaced in his mind, unbidden and relentless.
Gern was terrifying beyond measure.
But there was another enormous variable now on these seas.
Marshall D. Teach.
The man who wielded two Devil Fruits.
The power of the Tremor-Tremor Fruit was already in Blackbeard's hands. If given enough time—enough time to fully digest and master both of his top-tier abilities—
If he used the strange properties of the Dark-Dark Fruit—its capacity to absorb damage, to negate abilities (even neutralizing the Tremor Fruit's recoil)—to control and amplify that apocalyptic power—
A conclusion formed in Katakuri's mind. Cold. Inevitable.
Wouldn't Blackbeard become… a weakened version of "Heavenquake"?
After all, Whitebeard had once contended with Gern for decades with nothing but the Tremor-Tremor Fruit alone.
The two had clashed countless times across the New World—so many that in one year alone they had fought more than fifty battles.
Neither had been able to destroy the other.
Whitebeard's existence had been one of the pillars maintaining the New World's terrible balance.
Now—
Katakuri gazed at the devastated expanse of Whole Cake Island, and a sigh escaped him, heavy with premonition.
"After Whitebeard's death…"
"The new era… is only now truly beginning to boil."