Pirate World.
West Blue.
Orute Kingdom.
The blazing sun hung overhead.
The royal capital's Central Plaza was covered in a lavish crimson carpet.
Both sides of the carpet were packed with kneeling commoners.
Everyone lay prostrate, their foreheads pressed tightly against the scorching stone slabs, not daring to even breathe heavily.
At the very front.
The king, wearing a golden crown, had gone limp as mud, sticking his rear out trembling like a groveling lapdog.
"Tap, tap."
At the other end of the red carpet.
A fat, ugly man wore a bubble helmet over his head.
A collateral noble of House of Saint Rosward—the younger brother of Saint Charlos and a distant relative of the Charlos Family—Saint Morde.
This esteemed Celestial Dragon was riding a burly slave covered in blood, gripping an iron chain with an expression full of annoyance.
"A bunch of lowly trash."
"Even the air you breathe is polluting my lungs."
Saint Morde muttered resentfully, casting a sidelong glance around him.
Several CP0 agents standing guard nearby wore white coats and strange masks, their bodies radiating chilling killing intent.
Suddenly.
A frail commoner kneeling by the roadside convulsed violently from overwhelming fear and heatstroke, then collapsed at the edge of the carpet.
That slight disturbance instantly shattered the deathly silence.
Saint Morde abruptly yanked the chain tight, making the slave beneath him halt in pain.
"You lowborn bastard, how dare you move in front of me?"
Saint Morde widened his eyes.
He drew a jewel-encrusted pistol from his waist and aimed it directly at the trembling commoner.
The commoner's mother kneeling nearby was scared out of her wits, yet she bit her lip hard and did not dare make a sound, her eyes filled with despair.
The hearts of everyone around them leaped into their throats, as