When Señor Pink followed Doflamingo into this country, he found it even poorer than he had imagined.
There were no skyscrapers or mansions. Even the decent-looking houses were dilapidated.
As far as the eye could see, ramshackle wooden huts and stone houses lay scattered haphazardly along the streets.
Yes, these so-called "streets" were merely paths of varying widths left between the buildings.
No one managed these illegally built houses. The maze-like streets stretched into the distance, though the roads lined with shops were somewhat better, looking far neater and cleaner.
In those disorderly clusters of huts, pedestrians inevitably stepped in all kinds of filth, because the mercenaries here would get drunk and stop caring, simply finding a small alley to relieve themselves.
This was where the poorest people on the outermost edge lived.
The outermost roads were all dirt paths. Further inward, the ground in the small towns was covered in broken stones that had never been repaired, the gravel trampled into an uneven mess.
If it rained and one was unlucky enough to step on one, mud might spurt out from the cracks between the stone slabs.
Once they reached the town, the buildings looked much better. There were even two- and three-story houses, and as they continued forward, it was clear that the streets were gradually becoming more prosperous.
Better houses could even be seen standing here, and the area around them had begun to grow lively, no longer filled with nothing but numbness and desolation.
Continuing toward the center, they could see an incomparably tall and magnificent city in the middle, surrounded by bustling activity that stood in stark contrast to the outskirts.
And in its center stood an extravagantly luxurious castle!
There was no need to say more. This was where the king lived—the royal palace