"Huff, huff!"
York panted after finishing, his DOM Boots scraping unconsciously against the floor as he stared intently at Gern.
Gern simply watched him in silence, the smile still on his face.
He neither argued nor agreed. He was merely a spectator, watching the twisted fruit borne from seeds Vegapunk himself had sown.
Only after a long while did Gern speak again, his voice calm. "Being a Celestial Dragon isn't all that great."
With that, he stood up and looked down at York, who remained slumped on the floor, his emotions still unsettled. Then he did something unexpected.
He reached out and gently rested his hand on York's goggle-clad head.
"Because," Gern said without the slightest change in his tone, "they aren't worth a thing."
"You... what are you talking about?" Bewildered by the sudden touch and the absurd statement, York tilted his head back, confusion written across his tear-streaked face.
"Exactly what I said." Gern withdrew his hand and slipped both hands back into his pockets. His tone was casual, yet carried an arrogance that made the heart tremble.
"Because they really aren't worth a thing. In fact, if I felt like going to the Holy Land right now and casually lopping off a few heads in bubble helmets..."
He paused briefly, looking down into York's eyes as he enunciated each word. "They still wouldn't dare make a peep."
"Do you believe me?"
York instinctively frowned, clearly unconvinced.
Celestial Dragons? The world's nobility? Descendants of gods? How could they possibly be as helpless as he made them sound?
From what York had been taught, and within his limited understanding, the Celestial Dragons stood at the pinnacle of power in this world.
The moment Gern saw his expression, he understood.
Clearly, Vegapunk hadn't taught these satellites responsible for specific tasks