At the summit of the Red Line, Mary Geoise.
This was the sacred place on earth that countless people longed for. Its red-carpeted streets were broad and luxurious, and its magnificent yet classical buildings stood row upon row.
Whether one looked around or into the distance, everything glittered with splendor. Even the air was exceptionally fresh, making it feel as though one stood in the heavenly realm above the clouds.
But in this world,
the more glamorous something appeared on the surface, the more likely it was to conceal filth and ugliness that could never see the light.
The sun sank in the west.
Night fell, and the lights came on.
Mary Geoise entered its "city that never sleeps" state, with the faint sounds of music, dancing, and revelry drifting from its resplendent palaces.
Meanwhile, in the streets and alleys at the edges of the city, many slaves who had toiled all day were roughly herded by overseers and guards into dark, damp rooms like cattle.
Calling them rooms would have been generous. They were more like dungeons—dimly lit, overcrowded, and naturally appalling in condition.
But the slaves were exhausted beyond caring. Many did not even glance at dinner before collapsing onto their straw mats and falling asleep.
Only those who were exceptionally strong, or newcomers who had not been here long, forced themselves to stay awake and wolf down the swill-like food.
Sixteen-year-old Inazuma was one of them.
Rotten cabbage roots, fatty scraps, sour and stinking black bread... The contents of the basin were mixed together into something utterly nauseating, but before extreme hunger, none of that mattered.
The boy could barely wait to pick up his bowl. He buried his head in it and ate with relish, finishing every last bite in no time and even licking the