After Clay finished explaining everything, he stood up and headed toward his home.
After he left, the small house instantly erupted with voices as everyone began discussing whether this was feasible.
Clay naturally heard them. A smile appeared at the corner of his lips before he continued onward.
Scenes of his childhood life here kept replaying in his mind.
Clay had been born into a rather tragic family. Perhaps that was the sorrow of the Fishman race—their strength and worth were utterly mismatched.
He had never seen his mother after his birth. He could only see her true face in the photographs left behind. His father had told him that she had been captured by a slave ship. Human traffickers on the sea were becoming increasingly rampant, but because of him, his father had not chosen to abandon him and search for his mother. Instead, he had raised him.
When he was twelve, his father somehow received news about his mother and hurried to the surface to look for her. Naturally, he vanished without a trace as well. He had most likely been captured by traffickers too.
He was the only one left in the family. From the age of twelve, he had survived alone in the Fish-Man District.
He had done every filthy and exhausting job and endured every hardship, yet he had never complained. He knew there was no point in complaining. No one would help him. He had experienced far too many cold, indifferent stares.
Even so, he had still grown strong on this dark land. As his body grew larger and larger, he gradually gained a voice here and became one of those supposedly above others.
Perhaps this was what it meant to emerge unstained from the mud. After becoming someone above others, he had not