In the ever-expanding ocean of One Piece theories, few have captured the imagination of fans like the mysterious tale of the “First World.” For years, Eiichiro Oda’s masterpiece has hinted at a forgotten civilization buried deep within the tides of history — a world erased by time, secrecy, and deliberate destruction. But a new fan theory making the rounds across community forums proposes something even more haunting: that the “First World” wasn’t destroyed by gods, warlords, or divine judgment, but by its own technological hubris.
According to this “ultimate theory,” the world that existed before the Void Century — before the rise of the World Government — was not mythical or magical in nature, but scientific. It was a society so advanced that it rivaled or even surpassed Vegapunk’s genius. And, just as humanity in countless cautionary tales, they may have reached too far.
This world, fans argue, destroyed itself — possibly through weapons on a scale so devastating that they scarred the planet, creating the seas, continents, and environmental anomalies that define the One Piece world we know today. In other words, the Great Cleansing was not merely political extermination. It was an extinction event.
It’s a theory that blends science fiction, myth, and real-world allegory — and one that, if true, would transform One Piece from an adventure story into one of the most ambitious and tragic commentaries in manga history.
The Seeds of an Ancient Apocalypse
To understand the “First World” theory, we must first revisit the bedrock of One Piece’s greatest enigma: the Void Century.
The Void Century — that hundred-year stretch of history deliberately erased from the world’s records — has long stood as the central mystery of the series. We know the World Government was formed in the aftermath of that period. We know the Ancient Kingdom once opposed them. And we know that the Poneglyphs, massive stone tablets inscribed with forbidden knowledge, were created to preserve the truth of that lost age.
But what kind of world produced such stones? What kind of people could create indestructible monuments scattered across the globe, or machines like the Pluton battleship, said to have enough power to destroy entire islands?
The “First World” theory suggests that the Ancient Kingdom wasn’t a medieval empire like Alabasta or Dressrosa. Instead, it was a hyper-advanced civilization, possessing technology far beyond anything we’ve seen — even compared to the inventions of Vegapunk, who himself claims to be “400 years ahead of modern science.”
If that’s true, then Vegapunk’s futuristic creations — his floating islands, cloning projects, and memory-transplanting devices — are merely rediscoveries of knowledge once possessed by this lost age.
And if such a world truly existed, what could have wiped it away so completely that even its name was erased?
The Great Cleansing: Political or Planetary?
Traditionally, fans have believed the “Great Cleansing” referred to the World Government’s campaign to exterminate the remnants of the Ancient Kingdom. But this new theory redefines the event as something far bigger — a cataclysm so massive that it reshaped the very planet.
Proponents point to the Red Line and the Grand Line, two massive geographical features that divide the world in seemingly unnatural ways. Why does a single, unbroken landmass — the Red Line — stretch across the entire globe, bisecting oceans and creating impassable barriers? Why does the Calm Belt, completely devoid of wind and current, border the Grand Line like a dead zone?
Geographically, it makes little sense — unless these are not natural formations, but wounds.
The theory posits that a catastrophic event, likely caused by the Ancient Kingdom itself, shattered the planet’s crust. The Red Line could be the result of tectonic upheaval from massive energy release — a scar of destruction sealed over centuries. The Calm Belt, meanwhile, could represent regions where the planet’s electromagnetic field or atmosphere was permanently destabilized, preventing normal wind and current patterns from returning.
In this interpretation, the seas that now define the One Piece world are not natural oceans at all, but floodplains left behind by destruction — the aftermath of an apocalypse hidden under myth.
This would also explain the World Government’s obsession with suppressing the truth. If humanity’s greatest sin was not rebellion, but self-destruction, revealing that truth could shatter their control. After all, how could a ruling class built on “order” survive if the world learned that the “gods” they revere are the descendants of those who unleashed the apocalypse?
The Science and Symbolism of Oda’s World
One of Oda’s most brilliant traits as a storyteller is his ability to merge mythology and science into seamless allegory.
We’ve already seen this fusion throughout One Piece: the mysterious Sea Prism Stone, which nullifies Devil Fruit powers, behaves like a perfect energy absorber — a concept rooted in modern physics. Weatheria, the floating sky island, employs artificial climate control, hinting at geoengineering. Vegapunk’s laboratory combines DNA manipulation, robotics, and energy transformation on a level resembling quantum science.
These examples suggest that Oda has been quietly preparing the foundation for a scientific explanation behind the fantastical.
If the “First World” truly perished through radiation, nuclear energy, or other scientific misuse, it would make perfect thematic sense. The story of One Piece has always championed freedom — but it also warns about the cost of knowledge untempered by empathy. Vegapunk himself embodies this duality: a man of pure intellect whose creations can save or doom the world depending on who wields them.
The Ancient Kingdom may have been the same — a civilization that unlocked near-godlike powers through technology, only to bring about its own annihilation.
Imagine a world that discovered the Ancient Weapons — Pluton, Poseidon, and Uranus — not as mystical relics, but as energy-based technologies capable of planetary-scale destruction. Such tools, if misused, could easily explain the environmental fractures we see today.
If the “First World” destroyed itself with these weapons, the World Government’s decision to bury its memory might not be born from arrogance, but from fear. Fear that history could repeat itself.
The Radiation Hypothesis: A New Layer of Horror
The term “radiation” carries heavy symbolic weight in this theory. While One Piece is not a post-apocalyptic story on the surface, the concept of lingering contamination — a world poisoned by the sins of the past — fits shockingly well within Oda’s narrative themes.
Radiation in fiction often represents the unseen consequence of human ambition. It’s power that remains long after the creators are gone, reshaping the world in invisible ways. And in One Piece, the idea of lingering consequences is everywhere.
- The Demon Fruits, born from mysterious energy that grants power at a cost, may be remnants of altered biology from the old world — products of genetic experimentation or radiation-induced mutation.
- The Sea Devil legends might stem from the same energy that created the Devil Fruits, explaining why the sea “rejects” those who consume them.
- Even the Will of D could be tied to genetic inheritance — a lineage of survivors carrying the ancient world’s final spark of rebellion or consciousness.
Under this framework, the One Piece world is not a fresh start — it’s a mutated world. The oceans, islands, and weather patterns that define the Grand Line could be symptoms of a planet still healing from an ancient nuclear winter.
And perhaps the treasure itself — the One Piece — is not gold or glory, but knowledge: a complete record of how the world ended once before.
The Mythology of Punishment and Renewal
Oda’s world draws heavily from real mythological cycles — creation, destruction, and rebirth. Nearly every major saga echoes this rhythm. Skypiea’s fall, Enies Lobby’s fire, Dressrosa’s revolution, Wano’s liberation — all depict the destruction of corrupt systems to make way for renewal.
If we apply that cycle to the entire world, the “First World” theory becomes not just plausible but poetic.
The idea that humanity reached its peak only to destroy itself resonates deeply with Oda’s moral philosophy. He often portrays power as morally neutral — it’s the intentions of those who wield it that define its outcome. Whether it’s Luffy’s Devil Fruit, Enel’s godlike lightning, or Blackbeard’s darkness, every ability carries the same lesson: unchecked ambition leads to ruin.
The “First World” could be the ultimate example — a society that played god, believing it could control the forces of life and death, only to be consumed by them.
And that theme aligns perfectly with the story’s spiritual undertones. The “Sun God” Nika, the liberator of slaves, represents freedom and laughter — the antithesis of fear and control. If the First World was destroyed by those who sought to dominate the world, Luffy’s emergence as the modern Nika could symbolize the restoration of balance — humanity learning to wield power without repeating the sins of the past.
Vegapunk: The Echo of the First World
No character connects more directly to this theory than Dr. Vegapunk.
Throughout the Egghead arc, Oda has positioned Vegapunk as a living bridge between past and future — a man rediscovering the forbidden truths of the Void Century. His technology mirrors relics of the old world, from energy weapons to cloning facilities, suggesting that his inventions are not new, but recovered.
Vegapunk’s obsession with “infinite energy” also feels like deliberate foreshadowing. He dreams of creating a power source that could sustain the world forever — but we already know from fiction and history how such pursuits end. The Ancient Kingdom may have achieved this same dream, only for it to become their downfall.
The irony is chilling: humanity’s brightest minds, seeking to end suffering, accidentally destroy the world instead.
This connection raises a fascinating possibility — that the World Government keeps Vegapunk alive not because they trust him, but because they fear he might recreate the First World’s mistakes. His existence is a reminder of the thin line between enlightenment and extinction.
If Vegapunk’s technology mirrors the ancient civilization’s, then the end of One Piece could see history repeating itself — unless Luffy and his crew can break the cycle.
The Symbolic Role of the One Piece
So where does the legendary treasure fit into all this?
If the “First World” truly existed, then the One Piece — the singular treasure left by Joy Boy — could be the key to understanding its fall.
Rather than material wealth, the treasure might be the truth itself: a record, a device, or even an energy source capable of revealing how the world once was. It might hold the memory of the First World’s rise and destruction — a revelation that would either unite humanity or destroy it again.
This interpretation aligns with Gold Roger’s infamous laughter at the end of his journey. What if the “One Piece” wasn’t a treasure to be owned, but a realization so profound it could only be met with laughter — the absurd truth that humanity’s greatest dream and its greatest disaster were one and the same?
Such an ending would transform the story’s meaning. Luffy’s goal to become Pirate King would not end with ruling the seas, but freeing the world from the fear of repeating its past.
The Cautionary Epic
If this theory proves true, One Piece would not simply be a story about adventure or freedom — it would be a parable about civilization’s relationship with knowledge.
The destruction of the First World would stand as the ultimate warning: that progress without humility leads to annihilation. The World Government’s suppression of history, while tyrannical, would also be understandable — they fear what happens when truth and power coexist.
And in that fear lies the final contradiction: the world must remain ignorant to survive, yet it cannot truly live without knowing the truth.
This is the paradox that defines One Piece — and perhaps the very heart of Oda’s philosophy.
A World Built on the Ashes of Its Own
Whether the First World theory is canon or not, it adds haunting depth to the world Oda has created. It recontextualizes every island, every sea, every ruin not as isolated wonders, but as echoes of a civilization that reached for eternity and fell.
It transforms the Grand Line from a path of adventure into a scar of memory. It makes Joy Boy not just a symbol of hope, but the survivor of humanity’s greatest mistake.
And perhaps, most importantly, it reminds us that One Piece is not just about finding treasure — it’s about confronting the truth that the treasure represents.
Because if the “First World” did exist, then the story of One Piece is ultimately about healing the planet — about humanity’s second chance to live freely without destroying itself again.