"Naval officers… and those so-called big shots…"
After hearing this intel, Will's eyes flickered with thought. Then, out of nowhere, he spoke up and asked:
"What's your name?"
"Name?" The bald man froze at the question, momentarily caught off guard.
Because for the slaves on this bridge, having a name of their own was something they weren't deemed worthy of.
The overseer soldiers either called them "slaves" or "trash."
Or they'd just whip and curse at them without a second thought.
After digging through his memories to recall his name, the bald man answered slowly, "Shet. My name's Shet."
"Shet?!" Will's eyebrow shot up, and he couldn't help but blurt out, "That's a pretty unique name you've got there."
"Huh?" The bald man blinked, his expression tinged with surprise.
And in the split second of that blink—
The next moment—
A hand suddenly patted Shet's shoulder lightly.
"So, Shet, huh? Haha, thanks for the intel," Will said in a low voice as he stepped up beside him, chuckling softly to himself.
Then, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he strode off toward the back of the bridge. As he walked, he tossed a pointed remark over his shoulder to the group behind him:
"As a little payback, I'll give you all a piece of intel too."
"This bridge is probably about to descend into chaos real soon."
"If you lot want to escape, you'd better seize the moment."
"Remember this: the world's a big place. If you want to survive out there on the seas, you've got to rely on yourselves."
Hearing these words, the bald man and the other slaves turned their heads, watching that figure gradually vanish into the swirling snow. A faint ripple of emotion stirred in the depths of their eyes.
…
Once he'd gotten a rough grasp of the situation inside the Kingdom on the Bridge, Will didn't linger in the construction zone wasting time.
In a flash, he turned into a blur, weaving effortlessly between the crowds and stacks of building materials.
Whenever he crossed paths with a menacing overseer soldier clad in a padded uniform, he'd take them out in one smooth motion—silently, without a sound.
Aside from the occasional flurry of snowflakes scattered by his passing, Will's figure all but vanished from the sight of everyone around him.
The slaves who noticed an overseer suddenly drop dead were startled at first, but none of them paid it much mind.
Some didn't even glance over. Others paused for a brief, dazed moment before turning back to their daily grind.
They moved like emotionless robots.
And these slaves didn't seem the least bit worried about being implicated in the overseers' deaths.
In fact, deep down, many of them might've even hoped to die as a result—maybe that'd be a kind of freedom too.
…
Meanwhile, on the other side—
In the fortified section of the Kingdom on the Bridge—
Where piles of construction materials should've been stacked, the center of the bridge had been deliberately cleared into a wide, open path.
At that moment, a middle-aged man strutted along this path with an air of arrogance. He wore a peculiar white outfit, his hairstyle was odd, his body bloated, his eyes narrow slits, and atop his head sat a square, transparent helmet.
He walked with zero regard for anyone else, taking his sweet time down the middle of the bridge.
Beside him trailed a towering, burly man dressed in a black suit, his face an unreadable mask.
Behind them followed a gaggle of attendants, all clutching various supplies and personal items.
Two of them even held up a massive umbrella together, carefully shielding the middle-aged man from the snow drifting down from above.
As for the space in front of him, two brawny slaves crawled along the ground, seemingly paving the way for the group behind.
Around their necks hung special collars linked to chains.
And the other ends of those chains? Firmly gripped in the right hand of that middle-aged man.
The whole entourage marched down the center of the path, exuding an intimidating aura that screamed trouble.
But that wasn't all.
The two Marine Headquarters Commodore originally tasked with guarding this fortified zone were there too, leading over a hundred rifle-wielding Marine soldiers in tight formation behind the middle-aged man.
Many of the Marines cast wary glances to either side.
They were on edge, terrified that the slaves—already herded to the edges of the bridge—might accidentally offend the big shot up front.
At that moment, one of the Commodore, a man named Flat, suddenly picked up his pace and maneuvered to the front of the group.
Braving the intense pressure from the hulking suit-wearing man's stare, he bowed low to the middle-aged figure and said with utmost respect, "Esteemed Saint Charloss-sama."
"Would you like your humble servant to head over to the construction zone ahead of time and have them clear a path there too?"
"So it's ready whenever you wish to go sightseeing."
He said this because Commodore Flat knew full well—
To these lofty Celestial Dragons, the Kingdom on the Bridge was nothing more than a playground smack in the East Blue.
Every now and then, a Celestial Dragon would show up here, slaughtering slaves for fun without a second thought.
Or they'd set bizarre rules just to toy with the slaves on the bridge.
And this particular Celestial Dragon? He was one who especially loved visiting the East Blue.
Every time he came, he'd have a wide path cleared down the middle of the bridge.
Then, under the terrified gazes of countless slaves, he'd leisurely stroll from one end to the other.
No one knew why this Celestial Dragon enjoyed doing it.
But that didn't stop Commodore Flat from using it as a chance to curry favor.
Because he really wanted to get ahead!
Yet, upon hearing this, Saint Charloss's face darkened instantly.
Without a word, he raised the staff in his left hand and brought it down hard across Commodore face, snarling under his breath:
"Who do you think you are, daring to address me by name?"
"And what's this? You think you get to decide where I go? Are you trying to tell me what to do?"
With that single move, it was as if this so-called Marine Commodore was no different from the slaves in his eyes.
And Flat? After taking the blow, he didn't show the slightest hint of anger. Instead, he dropped to one knee in a panic, groveling, "My deepest apologies! Cha—Celestial Dragon-sama!"
"It's my fault for running my mouth! I've ruined your mood—I deserve a thousand deaths!"
"Hmph."
Saint Charloss pursed his lips and let out a haughty grunt, his expression as lofty as ever.
Then, ignoring the man kneeling before him, he resumed his leisurely strut forward.
Seeing this, Commodore Flat's heart eased a fraction. He hurriedly shuffled aside on his knees, desperate not to block the group's path.
A moment later—
Once the Celestial Dragon had moved far enough away, Flat finally stood up, his face flickering between gloom and uncertainty.
Just then, the other Marine Headquarters Commodore, Conneau, happened to pass by. Seeing Flat's pathetic state, he sneered with open disdain:
"Heh, just a groveling idiot."
"Too bad the Celestial Dragon-sama didn't just execute you on the spot—what a shame."
"Hmph."
Flat shot back a cold snort but didn't bother saying more.
With a stormy expression, he turned on his heel and marched off toward his own squad of Marine soldiers.
--
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