For an instant, Hunter felt his scalp go numb. He slowly straightened up and looked around with trembling eyes.
People held utensils in their hands, ate the food on their plates, chatted with one another, while some leafed through the Holy Scripture.
No one paid any attention to the knives, forks, and plates in their hands, much less to the material beneath their feet or above their heads.
As if they were the most ordinary things in the world.
Hunter lowered his head and looked at his own plate.
The plate had been stamped crudely, its edges roughly finished—just enough to ensure it would not cut one's palm. It was nowhere near as exquisite as those utensils forged from silver.
The tables and chairs beneath him were similarly ordinary in design, without the slightest pattern or decoration. Only numerical serial numbers and places of manufacture were stamped into the corners.
Everything was laid bare. These were ordinary daily necessities, consumables no one cared about, things not worth mentioning at all.
Yet Hunter felt a chill run through his entire body.
Had he gone mad, or had the world gone mad? Had he been bewitched, mistaking everything he saw for steel?
Such precious strategic resources were being used to pave the floor?
Wait—Hunter trembled as he raised his head and looked at the ceiling above.
Ah. That was steel too.
A mad thought suddenly surged from the depths of his heart. Ignoring everything else, Hunter charged straight toward the ship's railing.
The dining hall immediately erupted into chaos. The two Faithguard Army soldiers watching him reacted a moment too late, then hurried over and pinned him to the ground.
Hunter did not resist. He had already seen what he wanted to see, and his face was now filled with shock.
"Steel,