Three days later.
Great Xia's Imperial Capital.
The National Fortune Tournament was imminent.
The entire city was buzzing.
Since three days earlier, the runways at the Imperial Capital International Airport had never been empty.
Private aircraft descended one after another: a white papal plane from Europa, Skyhawk's Air Force One with the Stars and Stripes painted on its fuselage, and the Northern Plains' enormous airship, which had somehow squeezed into the military airport.
Red lanterns and golden ribbons lined the streets, with a Great Xia flag snapping in the wind every ten paces.
Both sides of the main street were packed with locals, tourists from all over, and reporters lugging cameras of every size. Even several foreign media outlets had set up livestreaming equipment.
"They're here! Those are the Northern Plains warriors! They're so muscular!"
Three hundred bare-chested Northern Plains warriors marched down the main street in perfect step, carrying battle-axes.
War paint covered their bronze skin, and each step made the ground tremble slightly.
The man leading them was bare-chested and carried an enormous Great Axe. His golden hair resembled a lion's mane, and his gray-blue eyes swept over the crowd like a wolf king surveying his territory.
"The Northern Plains Tyrant! It's Svarog, the Northern Plains Tyrant!"
The crowd parted on its own. His presence was so terrifying that no one dared come within ten paces.
Then a low roar came from the sky.
An enormous white plane emerged from the clouds, the golden cross emblazoned on its fuselage gleaming in the sunlight.
The cabin door opened, and Pope Pius I slowly descended the stairs, dressed in purple robes and holding a scepter.
Behind him came Angelina in a white dress, her golden hair loose and her blue-green eyes like rippling water, drawing countless glances. Yet her expression