Heaven Has No Limit Chapter 4 - Know Your Opps

There were too many fat bitches in Heaven.

This was the consensus that came to Noah as he officially attended his first Celestial Dragon House Council Meeting. It was like an AA Meeting where people did not gather to complain about how liquor had ruined their lives, but how their lobster was too buttery, their steak was too juicy, and their slave-pussy too tight.

That was, in fact, an actual complaint lodged by a slovenly whale of a man who could out-Jabba the Hut. There were more folds on his body than in an Origami competition, and he sweated so profusely that there were three slaves who stood beside him purely for the purpose of wiping those excessive excretions. There were many individuals present who made the stars of My 600-Pound Life look like they’d been weaned on Ozempic. Noah saw one such Celestial Dragon who needed sixteen slaves to carry him, one whose every breath was a wheeze, with a dry, raspy, nasal sound as if someone had put autotune on Darth Vader’s respirator.

There were a few handful who weren’t as obese, or perhaps, they used Devil Fruit Powers or some other methods to avoid being obese; Noah did not know. 

What he did know was that there were too many fat bitches in Heaven.

There were more than he remembered ever seeing or reading about, in both the Manga and Anime, but it did not fully surprise Noah. The One Piece World was large, and the majority of the time, the individuals who attained the spotlight were the pinnacle of the world, the peak of the peak, the elite of the elite, and the average Joe and unimportant loser could never get a moment’s spotlight. That, and there were differences between a tale and reality, one of such being the natural consequences of a group of people who did nothing but sit on their asses all day, eat, sleep, fuck, and were carried wherever they needed to be by slaves.

One day, I’m going to make all these bitches run like Forrest Gump… 

Some waves he could make, such as killing Fisher Tiger, because he had the foreknowledge of knowing what Fisher Tiger would do, and no one else did, and absolutely no one cared for the fate of one Fishman slave. Other waves he could not make, like committing an ethnic cleansing of the obese in Heaven.

Without possessing sufficient strength, that act would end with his execution.

“Er-hem! Er-hem! Quiet! Quiet, all of you! Today on the Agenda, we are discussing an important topic! The next Native Hunting Competition!”

Cheers erupted all around, glasses were raised, glasses were tossed, and because many were in a good mood, several gunshots were fired and several slaves were killed.

Noah stood out from them. For one, he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that horrible spaceman-esque costume, and had instead ordered to precise specifications a flawless, pristine white suit that would have metrosexual designer weeping, ‘Beautiful, Darling! Beautiful!’

A hint of Armani, a dash of Ford, a sprinkle of Brioni, all made with the finest materials money could buy. A simple, elegant white tie, knotted in an Eldredge knot, accentuated the fit, as did a set of glossy white Oxford-style shoes. He was the Boy in the White Suit, but Noah did not choose white not only for a fashion statement, but because it was easier to distinguish himself from the rest of the filth.

He was also using his white suit to train his Color of Armament Haki.

It took a few years to figure out the Color of Armament, but Noah was not content with just using a surface-level hardening. One of the advanced applications of Haki involved coating an object with it, such as the Kuja tribe, who could coat their arrowheads in Haki and fire them. The fact that the Haki remained on the coated object despite being shot out of a bow had gears turning in Noah’s head. That, and the ridiculous Conqueror Haki Knot created by Jokeboy, proved that Haki could be stored in an object for a long time.

If Haki could remain on an object even after it left the hands of the user, even after the user was dead, Noah was going to ensure his suit was filled with his Haki, which meant, at all times and all moments, he did not and would not need to consciously use Armament Haki on it.

His end goal was for his white suit and white clothes to become permanently and completely black.

No paint needed. He wasn’t Mihawk.

“The house that shall be in charge of the organization of this year’s Competition is—”

Noah’s gaze returned to the one in the center. He was told that attendance at these meetings was mandatory. The only reason he had been exempt for the past few years was because of the death of his parents. Noah had not believed it possible for anyone to be able to force a Celestial Dragon to do anything, and he learned that not attending these meetings would mean a reduction of the portion of the Heavenly Tribute that went to his family, his House.

It was like telling Elon Musk he would lose some tax benefits if he didn’t come to the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Undoubtedly, he’d hop into a Tesla and be speeding down to snort coke with Minney faster than Goofy could say “A-Hyuck!”

“House Manmeyer!”

At the announcement, there was a series of despondent cries.

“I didn’t get the spot this time?!”

“No! I wanted to be the organizer!”

“Slave 41! This is your fault! You should have carried me here faster!”

“S-Saint, I—”

“Quiet!”

Blam!

Blood splattered into the air. Towards him. Noah took a single breath. With a single step, he vanished from his spot with a blur and reappeared behind the idiot who had almost stained his suit with the blood of a slave. 

Wiping off the imaginary dust from his suit, Noah turned his attention to the noble.

“Hey,” Noah snapped. “Watch where you kill your filth. Bastard.”

“Ah— r-right, Saint Jaygarcia… I apologize… I didn’t know you were there…”

Several pairs of eyes turned towards him, and whispers travelled.

“Is that him…?”

“It is… rumor says he killed his entire family…”

“What a terrifying child…”

“Did you see him disappear just now…? What was that…?”

“Don’t stare too long… you don’t know what he’s capable of…”

“I hear the Knights might recruit him…”

“No, that’s just a rumor…”

Noah became the center of attention, but his mind was not on it at all.

Tch. Need to be faster. I’ve got to take Soru into some Instant Transmission, Goku shit. I’ve got anime-power at my fingertips! There’s no reason not to crank it up to eleven. I should be able to Omae wa mo shindeiru this shit…

He had always known that of all the Rokushiki Arts, Soru would be the easiest to learn and grasp, but it surprised him just how easy it was to actually get the basics down, and how hard it was to master properly.

The secret to using Soru is to kick off the ground at least ten times in the blink of an eye.

As long as one had that in mind, the rest was simply about increasing speed with the number of kicks. The only difficulty he had initially was perception, but Guernika had given him the cheat answer as to how to solve that problem, which was to rely on pre-memorization of scenes and have ‘anchor’ spots before moving. It also explained why no one used Soru for long-distance transportation, but only in short bursts to evade attacks or attack others. 

Can’t let my head swell from an entry-level feat. As the GOAT-to-Be, I need to keep calm and not try to aura farm too much in front of fodder characters. Even a no-name chump on Syrup Village can move faster than the eye can see…

Black Cat Kuro’s rapid movements relied on his Nukiashi and Shakushi, and Noah figured it was probably a bastardized version of Soru he reverse-engineered. Kuro had been a primary villain in East Blue, the weakest of all the Blues, and yet, that guy had figured out how to move faster than the eye could see. He was someone the Straw Hats faced off before they even had a ship, which meant he’d be outscaled by the weakest Grand Line Pirate, the likes of Mr. 13 and Miss Friday, a fucking otter and vulture. He’d be doubly outscaled by the weakest New World pirate, the likes of Pinkbeard and Brownbeard, yet someone that weak in this verse could move faster than the eye could see.

If Noah couldn’t figure out how to move at supersonic speed when some chump ass East-Blue villain could, it’d be a disgrace to his identity as a reincarnator and a transmigrator.

I need to fucking train more. I can’t be outshone by fodders… Gonna be the true GOAT with a perfect career run, zero L’s taken, zero battles fled from, zero chances for slander—

Can’t be called a fucking fraud in front of the huzz… 

Speaking of the Huzz, he should be getting the Boa Sisters delivered to him soon.

“Was that Soru you just used, boy?”

Boy?

Noah turned his attention to the side. There was a tall, fucking tall —  fuck he’d forgotten how fucking bullshit tall people in this world could get — bastard with a dark-colored tunic held together by light colored strings, a belt, and decorated with a shit ton of medals that were all probably perfunctory, a rose pinned on his left breast, with long light gloves and dark boots. The first thing Noah caught sight of was the light-colored armband on his left arm with the Knights of God insignia depicted on it.

With a fancy cape sporting a furry collar and epaulets draped over his shoulders, and four pentagrams decorating his attire at various spots, Noah instantly recognized just who he’d met.

…Where did he come from?

Noah had been certain he hadn’t seen any of the Knights present when he’d entered. Sure, his Observation Haki was still weaksauce, and it could, at the moment, only sense rudimentary level presences in a small area, but even then, how the fuck did this guy manage to completely evade him?

“...Saint Shepherd Sommers.”

Saint Shepherd blinked. “Oh? You know me, boy?”

Yeah, I know you, you pimp-named-slickback, Shakky-slapping bitch…

One of the weirdest things Noah could not explain was how his knowledge of the One Piece world kept updating the more he trained his Haki. As if someone was livestreaming Oda’s panels straight into his brain. New information about things kept popping into his head as he trained it and used it. One such thing was the fact that the entire world was going to sink in a few years, which would suck for everyone except the Celestial Dragons at the top and the Sky Island folks, and the other was the events and cause of the God Valley Incident.

Saint Shepherd was a member of the God’s Knights, and also part of the Shepherd Family, which held another member of the Five Elders, Saint Shepherd Ju Peter. Whether or not they were directly related like he was to Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, Noah did not know, but he did know that the bastard in front of him was a tricky one.

“Hmmm… It was Soru. You’ve trained your body well, boy… I’m surprised… No, given who your great-grandfather is… I’m not completely surprised…”

Sommers stroked his chin. He glanced up and about before he glanced down at him.

…Don’t offer me any goddamn invitations.

Noah had no intention of playing errand boy for Imu and his Nefertiti fetish. He wanted to leg it out of there as quickly as he could, but his pride told him he’d not be caught dead fleeing from anything or anyone. 

He was gonna out-Whitebeard old Whitebeard himself. 

The GOAT did not run. 

I swear to Top-G, if you offer me an invitation into your little Imu Club…

“Ho-ho, what terrifying will you have…” Saint Sommers laughed. “You know your worth. The worth of a well-trained body. That is rare amongst our… kind.”

Saint Sommers glanced about to that lard who was being lifted by sixteen slaves, and his features contorted in clear disgust. Noah had to admit, finding someone who was just as disgusted with some of those fat fucks was a pleasant surprise.

“What do you want?”

“You should be… how old? Seven? Eight?”

“Five.”

“Five,” Saint Sommers repeated. “Five… and already… ho-ho. I’m impressed. Even amongst all the Elite Agents of Cipher Pol, one would be hard pressed to find someone who has mastered Soru to your level at your age… of course, it is to be expected. A martial art created by mere mortals, it can only be elevated to its greatest levels in the hands of gods. Is that not so?”

…Is this pimp-ass bastard trying to Insight Check me?

“It’s pathetic,” Noah said, nodding. “I thought there would be something more to it. But if this is all those worms are capable of, then I’m not surprised.”

Saint Sommers smiled. Saint Sommers nodded.

The pimp bastard had been probing him. Trying to figure out whether he bought into the Celestial Dragon hype. Noah didn’t; he was well aware that Celestial Dragons weren’t gods. But he couldn’t let others know he didn’t buy the bullshit. Especially not one of the God’s Knights. 

The God’s Knights were the only people, bar Imu and bar the Elders, with the power to give him a You Died screen if he royally fucked up in front of them. Worse, these bastards were all Immortal. The only way to truly hurt them was, to Noah’s current knowledge, by using Conqueror’s Haki.

If I didn’t have Conqueror’s Haki…

Haki Conquers All was not a joke. 

“Though I wonder…” Saint Sommers stroked his chin. “What is it about the God’s Knights you seem to dislike so much?”

Did he… read my—

No, he didn’t.

He’s got Observation Haki… he’s still probing…

Noah couldn’t outright say, I don’t want to receive Imu’s Tramp Stamp. Being immortal sounded like a guaranteed win-condition, except that immortality was at the whim of some yandere Shadow Monarch, and he’d be sworn to either protect that loser for his life, or get fucked.

No matter what, Noah did not want to join the God’s Knights.

However, he had a perfect excuse, which was one-hundred percent legit.

“It’s because you don’t kill them.”

Saint Sommers blinked. “Kill?”

Noah blatantly pointed to the fat fucks around him.

“Every second they draw breath, every second you do not cleanse such filth that sully the image of Divinity… my opinion of you falls.”

Several fat fucks he pointed at held their chests in shock. One fainted. Another started wheezing so loudly it was like a diesel generator had been wound up in the room.

“If I join you, the first thing I will do is cleanse Heaven. Cleanse it of the fat,” Noah pointed.  “And of the ugly.”

Several women he pointed at made sounds like a molested duck.

“Only the fittest should be worthy to inhabit the Kingdom of Heaven. We are meant to be Gods,” Noah said. “I look around and all I see are pigs.”

“Y-you dare!”

“Watch your words!”

“Saint Sommers, silence that impudent child—!”

“Ha… hahahaha!”

Saint Shepherd Sommers burst out into laughter. Wild, uncontrolled laughter. No one said a thing to him. No one dared. The Celestial Dragons, though usually arrogant, stupid, reckless, and fearless, had a sense of self-preservation that prevented them from speaking up or offending against a God’s Knight.

When Saint Shepherd Sommers’ laughter stopped, he finally smiled at him.

“In many ways… You are correct. However, to my displeasure, letting one’s body be reduced to such states is not a crime.”

“It should be.”

Saint Sommers patted his shoulder, grinning.

“You are still young. In a few years, you will understand.”

Understand…? Was there some sort of plan that needed the Celestial Dragons to be fat, lazy fucks?

Saint Sommers handed him a small, thorn-covered piece of paper, a Vivre Card, alongside a slightly spiky Den Den Mushi.

“With these, we’ll keep in touch, Little Saint. I haven’t laughed so much in a long time. Consider it as me owing you a favor. I am pleased to confirm that those unsavory rumors about you are all wrong.”

“Rumors?”

“Oh, you’ve not heard?” Saint Sommers chuckled. “The slaves call you the Saint of Liberation. They say that you free slaves, give them riches and happiness with games. I heard, recently, that you even promised to put a Kingdom in the hand of any slave who brings you girls from the Isle of Women…”

Saint Sommers laughed.

“At first, such rumors had been concerning. Meeting you in person now… I can see they were nothing but baseless accusations. You, who can barely stand your own kind for failing to exemplify true godliness, there is no possibility you can stomach those insects and truly give them such privileges they do not deserve. Warmth? Beds? Hot Meals? Even Royalty? Surely, they must be mistaken. You’d not grant such concessions.”

Noah said nothing. 

“It is quite fortunate I’ve seen your true colors. Because, had those rumors had even a snippet of truth, had I sensed you had such sympathies, I would have had you executed for forgetting your station.”

Noah remained quiet.

“After all, a God cannot sympathize with the plight of an insect, because we are far removed from insects. To do so is to debase oneself and one’s conduct, to forget one’s worth, and to reduce oneself to being beneath that very insect. And you, surely, who hold gods to the highest standards of godhood, would never perform such deeds, would you, Little Saint?”

Saint Sommers smiled at him. 

“Would you, Little Saint?”

The room became suffocating. 

“...No.”

“As I thought,” Saint Sommers nodded. “All baseless rumors. It is quite unfortunate to have your name dragged through the filth, but I am certain putting an end to those rumors should not be a challenge for you. Executing the ones spreading it… perhaps… hmm… that will be a bothersome task, as it has spread quite far… but what are the lives of thousands of insects compared to your good name?”

Saint Sommers patted his shoulder.

“I’m certain you’ll have such rumors put to rest in no time. When next we meet, no doubt, I shall be hearing only the tales of your true nature. Your devotion to godly conduct. Wouldn’t that be for the best, Little Saint?”

Noah said nothing.

Saint Sommers chuckled, and without saying anything else, the man simply vanished from his spot. Whether it was Soru or whether it was pure speed, Noah did not know. He did know it was a blatant flex. Just as he never sensed the man arrive, he also did not sense when he left.

Noah tasted copper. He realized he'd been grinding his teeth hard enough to draw blood. His hands were trembling. He balled them, squeezed them, to stop the shaking, to swallow down the rage bubbling within him. 

Fuck.

He grit his teeth.

…Fuck.

Noah took a deep breath.

I just got out-aura'd.

He was too greedy and too eager to get his dick wet. That was his mistake. He could not waste time fucking around. Hundreds of thousands of pre-GOATs all died because of a bitch-addiction. Bitch-dependency was no laughing matter. He'd gotten too eager to test Hancock's gag reflex that he'd overplayed his hand.

…Shit, I need to fucking lock-in.

He needed more training.

Ten times, no, a hundred times, no, fuck it, a thousand times more…

I need… to fucking… LOCK. IN.

Power was the name of the game. Power first. Power always. Once one had that, it was GG for every other loser who didn't.

His real opps, it turned out, was not going to be the Four Emperors, the Shichibukai, or even the Nepo Hats. He'd use them all as his stepping stones to take on the real g's.

His real enemies were the only people in the world who could get him to say 'sir, yes sir.'

The God’s Knights.

And Imu.

=====)+(=====

There was a dead Fishman in a golden casket.

On one end, it was marked ‘Special Delivery.’ 

The casket itself was at least two hundred kilograms, and it was encrusted with diamonds, studded with rubies, and adorned with sapphire and jade. The solid, heavy gold casket had taken twelve Marines to lug it off their ship as their Vice Admiral, their commander, stood up above in the corner with a cigarette on her lips. Vinsmoke Judge had never known that Vice Admiral Tsuru was a woman who smoked, due to her reputation for cleanliness. Her brand of Cleansing Justice was well known across North Blue, and the number of pirates that she captured with bounties in the hundreds of millions made her akin to a local legend, so that the mere mention of her name could be seen as a deterrent to threats of North Blue.

That deterrent was the major reason he allowed her to dock at the Germa Kingdom, or rather, one portion of it, and that reputation was the only reason he had entertained this delivery, despite not knowing what it was, or why it was to be given to him.

Within the golden casket were gold coins. Two of which had been placed upon the Fishman’s eyes, and one placed in the center of the Fishman’s skull, barely covering a hole that ran through it. It was a fortune big enough to attract the greed of pirates and incite minor rebellions and revolutions; it was a fortune for which Kings would sell their daughters and Queens betray their spouses.

Within that golden casket, on the chest of the corpse,  was a special Den-Den Mushi. It was white. Pristine, shining, and spotless. The Den-Den Mushi, the snail, carried within it a haughtiness as if the world and all around it were not worthy of its attention, or of its notice. When it rang, Vinsmoke Judge hesitated to pick it up. Yet, his people were watching, and the Vice Admiral was still there, watching, and thus, in that heavy silence, the burden of leadership fell upon him, the burden of courage, the burden of being the one to either bring shame to his lineage and lead to its destruction, or elevate it to a level never before seen in the North Blue.

“...This is Judge.”

“Have you received the package?”

The voice was young. Extremely so. Yet, it spoke with authority. Vinsmoke Judge looked down at the golden casket. The riches within it. Wealth of that nature did not come easily, not even to a man of his status.

“Yes, Saint,” Vinsmoke Judge began. “May I know to what I owe this… gift?”

“CP0 informs me that the Germa Kingdom is the greatest in the world when it comes to cloning. You, Judge, have an intrinsic understanding of the Lineage Factor second to none.”

Vinsmoke Judge’s chest swelled with pride as his heart filled with dread. There was one person better at such things than him, but Vinsmoke Judge was not about to praise that fool, Dr. Vegapunk, behind his back, nor was he going to act as though he did not understand what the subtle praise demanded of him. 

“There is a letter in the mouth of that Fishman. Instructions are within it. Prove your reputation correct, and more gifts will follow. Prove your reputation understated, and the most valuable of gifts will come: a written word from me that you can use at those little ruler gatherings.”

Vinsmoke Judge’s heart leapt into his throat. A word from God amidst a Council of Kings was hundreds of times more valuable than gold, because it was something that could not be bought. Entire nations, entire dynasties had committed all sorts of atrocities and actions merely in hopes of fostering such a connection. Vinsmoke Judge was aware of one such person driven to desperation by that desire. The King of the Sorbet Kingdom in South Blue, Bekori, whom he had met many times during the Reverie, had made it clear how much he desired such a gift, to the point he would sell his own family members if it meant garnering the favor and attention of a Celestial Dragon.

That was a thing that could not be bought, regardless of how much wealth one had.

“However, should you prove your reputation wrong, I will have Vice Admiral Tsuru deliver Reiju to me in chains.”

Vinsmoke Judge froze.

“You have six months.”

The connection ended with a click. The Den-Den-Mushi went silent. Vinsmoke Judge almost collapsed where he stood. The smell of smoke came to him, and that was when Vice Admiral Tsuru, that woman, the aged woman, appeared beside him, looking older and more tired than she had any right to be.

“...Did he threaten your family?”

Vinsmoke Judge did not answer. Yet, he was aware his lack of an answer was an answer.

Tsuru nodded. The two fell individually silent. Both appeared, outwardly unbothered, but Vinsmoke Judge suspected the woman’s calmness was a facade, even carefully better crafted than his own.

The woman was no doubt in the same boat as him. 

Involuntarily anointed followers of a dangerous young Celestial Dragon.