Celestial Dragons

"Now! Go!"

Though Amamiya was also caught in the dust cloud, he gritted his teeth against the discomfort, seized the chaos, and charged forward with his longsword, heading straight for the direction where Hikari's sniper fire was covering them.

Gal followed closely, carrying Scarface on his back.

The three Fishman Boys nimbly wove through the disordered guards, keeping pace.

"Stop them! Cough... Don't let them escape!"

The Vice Captain's eyes were bloodshot from the chili powder as he roared in fury, unable to suppress violent coughing.

A few brave guards forced their eyes open and swung their blades in an attempt to block.

But the sniper rifle on the opposite side fired again!

Bang! Bang!

Two bullets struck the floor precisely in front of their feet, sending stone chips flying!

Though they weren't hit, the precise intimidation made their movements involuntarily falter!

That falter gave Amamiya and the others the chance to escape.

Amamiya was the first to crash through the side door, bursting out of the Auction House and instantly vanishing into the bustling, chaotic crowd of Sabaody Archipelago's streets.

Seeing that Amamiya and the others had successfully withdrawn.

From a distant rooftop, Hikari quickly stowed her sniper rifle, then flickered and disappeared from the roof as well.

"Chase them! Go after them! Search the whole city! Notify the Sheriff! Seal off the harbor!"

The Vice Captain bellowed, wiping the chili powder and tears from his face, trembling with rage.

The Auction House was in shambles—smoke, powder, and blood mingled together, with injured guards groaning everywhere.

The high-priced merchandise that had been won had escaped, the captain was dead, and they'd lost so many men.

This was an unprecedented humiliation for the Donquixote Family on Sabaody!

"Heh heh heh~"

Saint Charlos suddenly laughed in the Auction House.

The sound was jarringly loud in the gradually quieting hall.

His obese body swayed slightly in the oversized custom chair, and behind his glass visor, his face wore a childlike yet spine-chilling expression of delight.

As if what he'd just witnessed wasn't a bloody fight and escape, but a carefully staged farce.

"How amusing. Truly amusing."

Saint Charlos clapped his pudgy hands, his small eyes behind the visor narrowing into slits.

"Scuttling around like rats, and actually managing to get away in the end. These lowlifes can be entertaining to watch sometimes."

His voice came through the visor with a strange buzz, his tone as light as if he were reviewing a circus performance.

But the Auction House manager, kneeling beside his chair with his forehead pressed to the floor and trembling, felt as if he'd fallen into an icy abyss.

"S-Saint Charlos-sama."

The manager's voice quivered, sweat already soaking through the back of his expensive suit.

"A thousand apologies for disturbing you! It was our guards' failure, letting those filthy pirates ruin your enjoyment! We will definitely catch them all and bring them before you for whatever punishment you see fit!"

"Punishment? How shall I punish them?"

Saint Charlos tilted his head, seeming intrigued by the word.

The manager, grasping at a lifeline, quickly replied:

"Flog them! Tear out their tendons! Or throw them into the colosseum to feed the beasts! Whatever you prefer, any method is fine!"

"Hmm~"

Saint Charlos rubbed his thick chin, as if genuinely considering it.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, his tone turned icy:

"But the things this Saint bought seem to have run off too."

He was referring to the three Fishman Boys.

Though the pirates had snatched them away at the last moment, legally, Saint Charlos had already purchased them—they were his property.

The manager's body went rigid, cold sweat pouring down like a waterfall.

"L-Lord... that... that was an accident... we..."

"An accident?"

Saint Charlos cut him off, all trace of amusement gone from his voice, replaced by cold indifference:

"This Saint's desired purchases were stolen right under his nose by a pack of rats. And you tell this Saint it was an accident?"

His gaze, through the visor, fell on the manager's trembling back.

There was no anger in that look—only the detached scrutiny of one looking down at an ant.

"In other words, you useless trash failed to maintain order in the Auction House, letting a bunch of lowly pirates cause chaos and kill people.

You also failed to protect This Saint's property, letting it be stolen.

And in the end, you let those rats escape right before This Saint's eyes!"

Saint Charlos summarized in a slow, deliberate tone.

Every word struck the manager's heart like an ice pick.

"No! That's not it, milord! We can make amends—another batch of fish-men will arrive on the island soon."

The manager lifted his head in terror, trying to plead his case.

But what he saw was Saint Charlos slowly raising his right hand.

That plump, pale hand gripped a gaudy, jewel-encrusted golden pistol.

The muzzle was aimed directly at his forehead.

"Trash."

Saint Charlos uttered the word softly, his tone as casual as commenting on the fine weather.

Bang!

The gunshot rang out crisp and clear, echoing through the silent Auction House.

A bloody hole instantly appeared in the manager's forehead.

The terror and pleading on his face froze forever. His body slumped backward, blood gushing from the back of his head, soaking the ornate carpet.

Dead silence fell over the venue.

Even the wounded guards instinctively lowered their groans.

Everyone kept their heads down, not daring to look at the corpse, let alone the Celestial Dragon who had fired the shot.

Saint Charlos blew the smoke from the gun's muzzle.

He casually tossed the priceless golden pistol to the black-suited bodyguard standing behind him.

As if discarding a toy he'd grown tired of.

"Boring."

He yawned, shifting his obese body in the seat:

"Back to the palace. The air here is tainted by the blood of lowlifes."

"Yes, Lord Saint Charlos."

The bodyguards bowed in acknowledgment, expertly lifting his specially made palanquin, which resembled a miniature palace.

The palanquin rose steadily and, surrounded by a retinue of black-suited guards, headed out of the Auction House.

As it passed the corpse, the palanquin didn't even pause, as if it were just an insignificant stone on the road.

Only when the Celestial Dragon's procession had completely disappeared through the entrance did the frozen air inside the Auction House seem to start flowing again.

The Vice Captain stared grimly at the manager's corpse, forcing out orders through clenched teeth:

"Clean up the scene. Send all the wounded for treatment. Contact the family headquarters immediately and report the situation—especially Saint Charlos's reaction."

He paused, a ruthless glint flashing in his eyes:

"As for those pirates, issue a top-level pursuit order. Wanted alive or dead. Especially that swordsman and the three fish-men—they must be captured!"

"Yes!"

Inside the Auction House, the smell of blood mingled with dust. Servants began silently cleaning up the bodies and bloodstains, repairing the damage.

Meanwhile, the nobles, under the protection of their bodyguards, filed out contentedly.

As if they had just enjoyed another fine show.