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Chapter 35: The Night Before the Carnival
🕑 Added 2025-08-23 06:21:24 +0000 UTCCompared to the turbulent seas, the pinnacle of world power – the holy land of Mary Geoise – was immersed in an eerie kind of commotion.
There was no rolling of ships, no battle cries, only a disgusting fanaticism wrapped in false tranquility.
Inside the palace, ornate carpets were piled high with all manner of luggage.
Servants knelt on the ground, carefully packing diamond-encrusted hunting rifles, golden goblets, and silk pajamas into specially crafted leather cases.
"Father, did you bring my 'little cutie'?" A ten-year-old Celestial Dragon boy with the trademark bubble-shaped hairdo, Saint Markus, excitedly tugged at his father's sleeve.
His "little cutie" was a custom-made small pistol crafted entirely from Sea Prism Stone and ivory.
"Of course, we brought it, my dear Markus." His father, Saint Torp, patted his rotund belly, wearing an indulgent smile. "This year's 'competition,' you must claim the first 'prize' – you can't lose to that snot-nosed brat from the Musgarud family again."
"Don't worry, Father!" Saint Markus waved his chubby fists. "This time I'm going to hunt the fastest one! I'll turn him into the most beautiful specimen in my bedroom!"
Their conversation was light and matter-of-fact, as if discussing an upcoming picnic rather than a bloody hunt.
The surrounding servants and slaves buried their heads even lower, their bodies trembling slightly with fear, not daring to make the slightest sound.
To them, the "competition" the Celestial Dragons spoke of was a word more terrifying than hell itself.
This was the World Nobles' triennial celebration.
They would randomly select one "lucky" country from the World Government's non-member nations to serve as the venue for their "entertainment competition."
And this year's "lucky winner" was a country in the West Blue called "God Valley."
Soon, an unprecedented fleet slowly departed from the Red Line's harbor.
Dozens of the Navy's most elite warships formed a steel barrier, escorting ships decorated in gold and splendor like moving palaces at the center.
Aboard the ships, the Celestial Dragons sat in transparent bubble helmets, isolating themselves from what they considered "filthy" air, excitedly pointing at the sea surface below.
The protective force was luxuriously excessive. Elite CP agents were scattered like shadows in every corner, their gazes sharp as blades. And sailing at the very front of the formation was an imposing unit – the Holy Knights.
Their leader, a man with a distinctive crescent-shaped hairstyle, had a stern face and emotionless eyes, silently carrying out his duties.
The fleet broke through clouds, crossed the Calm Belt, and finally arrived at that valley "blessed" by god.
God Valley.
This was a peaceful, beautiful nation. The island was lush with greenery, waterfalls cascaded like silver rivers, and the townspeople lived simple, quiet lives.
They never imagined that disaster would fall from the sky in such a brutal manner.
When that sky-blocking fleet appeared on the horizon, the island's residents came out of their homes, curiously watching.
However, what awaited them wasn't a divine blessing, but doomsday judgment.
"To ensure the 'fairness' and 'entertainment value' of the competition, clean up the venue first!"
The next moment, the Holy Knights and CP agents descended like hawks from the sky. Without warning, without mercy, a one-sided slaughter began.
Peaceful streets were instantly consumed by explosions and flames. Sharp sword light flashed, and children running and calling for their parents fell in pools of blood alongside the fathers who came to protect them.
God Valley's soldiers took up arms to resist, but their proud swords were as fragile as rotten wood before those battle-hardened monsters.
The Celestial Dragons sat comfortably on their ships, raising their goblets and watching the "fireworks show" below with great interest.
"Look, Markus!" Saint Torp pointed to a village razed to the ground, laughing at his son. "What an entertaining game!"
Saint Markus nodded vigorously, his small face filled with fanaticism and excitement inappropriate for his age. He gripped his small pistol tightly, already unable to wait to personally shoot those scattered, fleeing targets.
The massacre didn't last long.
When the last resister was beheaded by the Holy Knights' captain, the entire island fell into deadly silence.
What was once a beautiful nation was now nothing but ruins and rubble, thick smoke rolling, the air filled with the pungent smell of blood and burning.
"Venue cleanup complete." A cold report was transmitted back to the flagship.
Only then did the Celestial Dragons contentedly board bubble cable cars and slowly descend to this blood-soaked land.
Their ornate shoes stepped on charred corpses without even a frown, as if they'd merely stepped over some insignificant mud.
Slaves were driven to quickly erect luxurious tents beside the ruins, setting out exquisite food and fine wine.
A feast centered around death and destruction was about to begin.
Saint Torp placed the pistol in his son Saint Markus's hands, affectionately patting his head.
"Go ahead, my child." His voice was as gentle as a loving father's, but his words were as venomous as a viper's. "The competition hasn't started yet, so you can practice beforehand."
"Yes, Father!"
Saint Markus excitedly responded, gripping his gun and skipping toward the destroyed forest depths like a child searching for Easter eggs.
Behind him were the "gods" clinking glasses and a valley that was weeping.
Unknown to all, beyond this hellish scene, a pair of eyes was taking in everything through high-powered binoculars.
"Jihahaha... Celestial Dragons, disgusting as always." Golden Lion Shiki stood on a ship far from the battlefield, his mouth twisted in a cruel smile. "But that makes it interesting. What Rocks wants isn't just this little island."
And in the waters near Hachinosu, Rocks D. Xebec himself stood at the bow of his flagship, shadows obscuring his features, only his eyes gleaming with ambition darker than the abyss.
He gazed toward God Valley's direction as if he could see through space to those fools who fancied themselves gods.
"Enjoy your carnival..."
His low voice scattered on the wind.
"...because your divine throne is about to change hands."
