In the underground chamber, light poured through a cracked opening in the ceiling.
What it revealed was not just treasure—but truth.
The stone inscription was not a Road Poneglyph, yet it confirmed a truth long whispered:
that an ancient, colossal kingdom had once possessed advanced technology and weapons far The treasure before them was proof that those who left behind the Poneglyphs had never lied.
It was real—an unerasable relic of civilization, gleaming across eight hundred years.
The light glimmered on a massive shape in the shadows.
At first glance, it seemed to be made of iron. But its surface, though metallic, was of an unknown ancient material—smooth, resilient, and still humming faintly with dormant power.
A towering giant, seated with its head bowed. A warrior at rest, as if caught in the final moment of its life.
Two horns were etched into its helmet—markings of ancient design.
This was no statue.
It was an Ancient Weapon, a creation of the lost kingdom.
Centuries ago, during the dark oppression of Fishman Island, one such machine had risen—marching toward the Red Line, intent on vengeance.
From the moment of its creation, these machines had only one purpose: war.
To destroy the false gods who ruled from above—to burn the tyrants of the Red Earth to ashes.
Even in their slumber, their hatred endured.
Even without life, they carried the echo of freedom.
According to Vegapunk's later research, no one had ever identified what kind of power source the ancient kingdom used.
But Sharn understood. He knew what such a relic meant.
Even without its heart beating, it remained indestructible—like the Poneglyphs themselves.
Imu feared this technology.
He feared progress, feared the dawn of the next age.
So for eight centuries, he ruled by erasing every trace of what came before—until the world itself forgot to question.
And yet here, before their eyes, stood a piece of that forgotten world.
A true Ancient Weapon.
If the Five Elders or Imu learned of this, they would burn the desert itself to nothing just to erase it.
It was this same fear that had led them to order Vegapunk's death—for daring to uncover ancient truths.
He had learned too much. He had begun to understand the source of that lost power.
Words were carved beside the dormant giant:
"We left behind these weapons not for war,
but so that war would never again consume the world.
There is no sound more beautiful than the drumbeat of freedom.
Should anyone awaken that rhythm once more,
the Ancient Weapons shall rise again.
We also leave behind the power that has been passed down for eight hundred years.
Though our time wanes, we record this proof—
For a world without dreams is a world without life.
And if no one can become Nika, then let them eat this fruit.
This is our treasure."
As Olvia finished reading, a mechanism clicked.
Before the giant, a stone pedestal opened.
Upon it rested a transparent cube.
Inside, untouched by time, lay a Devil Fruit glowing softly in the light—its swirls distinct, its form perfectly preserved.
A Mythical Zoan, crafted through ancient science—the Nika Form.
It was both a creation and a legacy, a man-made Devil Fruit infused with the will of joy and freedom.
This was the last act of the ancient kingdom before its fall—a final safeguard, in case the true Nika disappeared from the world.
They had poured their dying strength into creating it.
A fruit born from bloodline engineering, symbolizing the dream of freedom itself.
All around it, gold and gemstones littered the floor, enough to bury a city.
The patterns on the gold matched those once found in Shandora—the City of Gold.
The wealth here could have sustained an entire kingdom for a hundred years.
"Treasure, Ancient Weapon… and Nika," Sharn murmured.
He had imagined many things: that the treasure might be a powerful fruit, or mountains of gold and silver.
But never this—a living relic of a civilization erased by gods.
He had thought the last of the Ancient Weapons had been destroyed centuries ago.
And as for the fruit, he expected something like the Dark–Dark Fruit, the one Rocks had sought before being consumed by his own ambition—
or perhaps the Time–Time Fruit, capable of bending reality through imagination.
But never this.
A simple, silent fruit with the body of rubber.
Unlike the mythical dragon he had once consumed, this fruit had not yet awakened.
Its only nature was its vitality—elastic, enduring, alive.
The true Nika Fruit had fled across the seas, guided by its own will.
But this—this one waited here quietly for a successor, a guardian of freedom's promise.
Had he not visited Drum Kingdom, Sharn might have hesitated to take a fourth fruit.
But now that he had learned to awaken power in every organ, he no longer needed to rely on the heart alone.
He turned to his crew. "Take whatever treasure you can carry. The fruit belongs to your captain."
Opening his jaw wide, Sharn swallowed the Nika Fruit whole—sending it into the Swallow–Swallow space within him, awaiting its turn to merge.
Three hearts already held three fruits. The rest of his body—the other organs—waited to be filled.
Using the Paw–Paw and Swallow–Swallow Fruits together, he would merge each organ with a separate Devil Fruit, creating a living, composite being.
The Rumble–Rumble Fruit was first—destined for his kidney.
The Rubber Fruit, second—for his spleen.
Each would become an independent vessel, yet all part of one greater self.
"And next," Sharn whispered, "comes you."
He turned toward the motionless giant.
Once, he might have ordered a crewmate to drag it out, or used his Paw–Paw powers to hurl it back to the ship.
But now, he needed no such effort.
Transforming into his hybrid form, he opened his jaws and devoured the Ancient Weapon whole.
The Swallow–Swallow Fruit consumed all things—metal, flesh, and machine alike.
Within him, the weapon would sleep until he chose to awaken it, or fuse it with himself to fight.
When the Nika Fruit merged with his body and reached awakening, the weapon's power would ignite once more.
Sharn patted his stomach, feeling the weight settle inside him.
A mythical fruit, a slumbering weapon, and enough treasure to buy eternity.
He had claimed everything.
As the crew hauled chest after chest of gold and gems onto the ship, Sharn couldn't help but laugh.
Had Alabasta known this secret—had they found this tomb—they would have ruled the seas.
Their royal Poneglyph, the one that spoke of Pluton, was nothing but a distraction.
The plans passed down through Tom's shipwrights, the legend of the weapon hidden in Wano—
It was all a diversion, a shadow cast by the true legacy buried here.
"This explains why their ancestors were branded traitors by Imu," Sharn said softly.
He stepped out into the sunlight, surfed across the desert sands on a sandboard, and used his Paw–Paw powers to launch his crew back to the port one by one.
As the compass of fate turned once more in his hand, Sharn smiled.
A new opportunity had appeared—
and he knew he could not linger in Alabasta any longer.
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