Food City, harbor.
Masts of all kinds of ships stood like a forest. Among them, an ornate—almost ostentatious—government ship flying the World Government flag was particularly conspicuous.
On the road from the commercial district to the docks, the crowd parted to either side like a tide and knelt on the ground.
A Celestial Dragon wearing a transparent spherical helmet sat arrogantly atop the back of a muscular slave. In his hand, he held a ring of refined steel from which extended five slender chains, their other ends fastened tightly to the explosive collars around the necks of five young dancers.
Their eyes were vacant, their steps unsteady, and their exposed skin bore a crisscrossing patchwork of old and fresh scars.
CP agents and fully armored Holy Land Guards clustered around them as if facing a great enemy, their wary gazes sweeping over every bowed head.
Suddenly, a laborer by the roadside, his body bent from prolonged hunger and toil, could no longer endure the long kneeling. His body tilted, and with a thud, he collapsed into the middle of the road, directly blocking the procession's path.
"You filthy lowlife! Who gave you the nerve to block the path of a descendant of the Creator?!"
The Celestial Dragon's small eyes widened behind the glass helmet before filling with rage. He immediately drew a gold-inlaid flintlock pistol and fired three shots at the trembling body on the ground.
The pungent smell of gunpowder spread through the air. The laborer let out a muffled groan and collapsed into a pool of blood, his fate unknown.
The crowd stifled terrified gasps. No one dared move, and no one dared speak. Only the faint sound of fingernails digging into the dirt and teeth grinding together could be heard.
The Celestial Dragon spat, as though he