The Harbor Guard soldiers gripped their guns tightly, only breathing a sigh of relief after the last Mother Goddess cultist vanished around the street corner.
It had only been a few minutes of confrontation, yet many people's clothes had already been soaked through with cold sweat.
They were not green recruits who had never seen blood. The Prince's territory in Blood Port had been fought for and won by these very Harbor Guards, but the Mother Goddess cultists were enemies they had never faced before.
These cultists were dressed in rags, like starving refugees on the roadside who could die of hunger at any moment, yet there was a spark in their eyes that such starving wretches lacked.
Every one of them was frail and short, but when they stood together in silence, they seemed like a towering wall.
The moment one saw their eyes, one understood—they were not lambs, not impoverished commoners who could be manipulated at will.
Erwin took a deep breath.
He had thought more deeply than the others. He had watched the Mother Goddess cultists closely just now.
Their stomachs were empty, and they held no weapons. They could only trade their flesh and blood for bullets fired from muskets.
But what if they had those things?
Mira, the Prince, the cult, Blood Port—the waters here were growing deeper and deeper.
"Everyone, the docks are not far ahead. Let us continue onward," the Prince suddenly said. When everyone looked over, his face once again wore a warm smile, as though what had just happened had been nothing more than an ordinary interruption.
But this time, the looks Castel's people gave him were full of wariness.
If storming the military camp and taking control of the situation could still be attributed to good luck, then forcing back