Wild Bazaar was a lawless wilderness. The White Deer who cast laws, regulations, morality, and justice behind them fought and slaughtered one another like beasts, and naturally, there were ranks among them. The chieftains of the main association were like tigers guarding mountains; the Four Systems of scales, horns, claws, and fangs were like battle-hardened wolves. The local spokespersons were like far-sighted eagles, while the Red Pole loyalists were like faithful dogs—among countless others.
But compared to these larger-than-life figures, the Thousand Isles' most famous export was: "Where'd these maggots come from?"
Maggots.
Pure, unadulterated maggots!
At the heart of the Federation and Empire, even Wild Bazaar affairs placed greater emphasis on rules. When they picked up chopsticks, they cared about table manners; when they went out, they cared about saving face.
But the Thousand Isles were different, and different from Central Earth as well.
Central Earth had endured war after war, where people lived in the morning and died by night. They cared only about today, not tomorrow. To hell with long-term planning—draw your blade in anger, and fight a life and death struggle.
Yet this place was too far from both the Federation and the Empire, and not particularly close to Central Earth either.
As a result, it gained none of the advantages of either side, but learned all their dregs thoroughly—the Thousand Isles' warped output and local character meant there could be no subtlety or dignity here. Yet neither could it be called bold or unyielding. It was simply damp, vile, and disgusting, like an old gob of phlegm in the corner.
There were people of unyielding spirit and vast ambition, of course, but there were far more wriggling maggots and shit all over the ground.
These sons of bitches were best at following the wind, loved