Chapter 179: Forging Gods and Fates
"Why?"
Ross's gaze lingered on her, heavy with intent.
"Because I trust you more than anyone else."
It was the simple truth.
Unlike the others, he'd never pressured Sora or dragged her from her personal hell. But Nico Olvia and her daughter? They were different. Without his intervention, those two wouldn't have survived the purge. Even in the original timeline, Kuzan had set Robin free—but with Ross pulling the strings now, the admiral wouldn't dare meddle.
Still, Ross wasn't chasing some debt of gratitude. That was pointless.
The World Government had razed Ohara, and that fact was ironclad. He'd been the architect of Olvia and Robin's despair, no matter how noble his excuses. Forgiveness wasn't on the table.
So why not lean into it? Do what he wanted, consequences be damned.
One thing he knew for sure: if Olvia or Robin got the chance, they'd slit his throat without a second thought. That's why he never fully trusted Robin. They were raising her only to keep her leashed—for control over what came next.
"I've heard about them," Sora murmured, her expression neutral. She shifted closer, her body brushing against his.
She'd been kind once. But after everything with Judge, she knew better. Kindness was a luxury for the strong. This world was rotten at its core—only those who clawed to the top could afford mercy.
"Are you letting them out to help spread our version of history?"
"Not just that."
Ross's lips curved into a faint smile. "People believe what they see with their own eyes. We'll craft a tale without Poseidon, centering everything on the Sun God Nika. The sea god, the lord of the underworld, the sky king—they'll all tie back to Nika. Even the Shandians of Skypiea will be his ancient allies."
Sora's brow furrowed. "You really think Robin will turn on us?"
If memory served, the girl wasn't even ten yet. Could a kid that young really be beyond saving?
"A girl who deciphers Poneglyphs at eight? She's no ordinary child." Ross chuckled softly. "She's sharper than most adults. Why risk her loyalty when we can chain her from the start?"
"But what if she doesn't betray us?" Sora pressed, her voice laced with doubt.
Always plan for the worst. If Robin stayed true, Ross's scheme would backfire spectacularly.
"Betrayal or not, we win either way," he replied casually.
"Why's that?" Curiosity sparked in her eyes.
She hadn't seen the final draft of Ross's fabricated lore yet, so no point in speculating. Better to hear it straight.
"In every version, we'll hammer home that the Sun God Nika is the world-ender—the child of destiny. That alone makes us untouchable. What if the destroyer-god actually wins? Not my problem."
Twisting prophecies and histories was just a game to him—a way to spice things up. His real foe wasn't some Nika reborn; it was the shadow at the pinnacle of the World Government.
"Oh, and add this to both drafts: Poseidon ruled first, only to be toppled by Nika's reincarnation. The World Government barely scraped by to finish her off." Ross grinned.
"Anything else?"
Sora nodded, piecing it together. Win or lose with Robin, they came out ahead. And she could see the bigger play: pit Nika's legend against the World Government, let them bleed each other dry, then swoop in for the spoils.
She knew little of the inner workings up top, just that the Ross family sat among the Five Elders. The Holy Land Mary Geoise housed eighteen other Celestial Dragon clans, including four more Elder bloodlines. One against eighteen? Suicide in their rigged system. Target one, and the rest closed ranks.
But introduce an outside threat to rattle the whole machine? Let the chaos erode their power while the Ross clan waited in the wings. Brilliant.
"I'll draft the histories," Ross said, his voice steady. "You'll handle the prose and weave in the Age of Gods era."
Chaos was key to his endgame. Only when the world burned would the government's grip slip. His enemies weren't just the shadowy head honcho—they were the other four Elders, the Figarland clan. Pirates? Mere stepping stones, fodder for leveling up.
"Got it."
Sora was all in now. If Ross had a vision, she'd back it to the hilt.
"What about this inscription?"
Her eyes flicked to the golden pedestal beside the Poneglyph, where Roger had etched his mark in plain script for all to read: I have come here to lead this text to its final destination. — Gol D. Roger
"Just leave it. It'll lend authenticity to our fake," Ross said with a smirk.
"Roger could read Ancient Script, then. If we're rewriting history, we'll have to wipe out his whole crew before we kick this off," Sora mused.
"Not many loose ends. I'll handle them quietly, before we launch."
Roger had cut a deal with the World Government before turning himself in—Saint Saturn had let that slip once, though details were scarce. Probably leveraged some secret to buy his crew's freedom.
Irrelevant to Ross. He was knee-deep in fabrication; a few true-history preachers wouldn't derail him. Worst case, he'd flood the world with a dozen conflicting versions until truth drowned in the noise.
But that was a last resort—too blunt, no real bite against the government. Better to play it subtle.
"Let's wrap up. Copy the new Poneglyph, then we head out. Angel Island's almost behind us."
Sora moved without a word, unpacking her kit. Replication was second nature; tools slung in her pack made it quick work.
Ten minutes later, the text was transcribed, snapped in a photo for the records. No reason to dawdle. Ross slung an arm around her waist, and they slipped from Shandora like ghosts into the mist.
—
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