The time returned to a few minutes earlier.
GR1.
Transparent bubbles floated above the streets. The shops lining the road displayed a dazzling array of goods, while finely dressed nobles and merchants moved among them. Yet beneath this false prosperity lurked the most revolting evil in the world.
Saint Rosward rode atop a slave covered in wounds, moving leisurely down the center of the street. He wore the distinctive bubble helmet that concealed his greasy, bloated face. At his side followed a squad of Holy Land Guard clad in full armor, along with expressionless CP Agents.
The slave beneath him wore an Ice-cold iron collar around his neck, and his back was covered in crisscrossing whip marks.
With every step, he staggered as though he could collapse at any moment. Yet he did not dare stop—any sign of sluggishness would earn him a vicious lash from Saint Rosward's whip.
The surrounding pedestrians all dropped to their knees, burying their heads low and scarcely daring to breathe.
Everyone knew that on the Sabaody Archipelago, the people one must never provoke were the Celestial Dragons. Even accidentally looking at them could bring about a fatal disaster.
A little girl with braided pigtails was kneeling on the ground as well, holding her mother's hand.
Every so often, she lifted her head and curiously watched the bubbles floating overhead. She was only five or six years old, her eyes still filled with a child's innocence, utterly unaware of this world's cruelty.
At one moment, she happened to see Saint Rosward riding on the slave's back. The strange bubble helmet and the uncle being ridden made her unable to resist taking another look.
That single glance brought calamity upon her.
"Hm?"
Saint Rosward noticed the little girl's gaze. A flicker of violence instantly flashed through