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Fisher Tiger had done it.
Defying the impossible, he had scaled the Red Line with his bare hands.
He hauled himself onto the plaza, taking a quick moment to get his bearings. The map Dragon had given him flashed in his mind. He pinpointed his location, chose a direction, and vanished into the shadows of the Holy Land.
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Whap! Whap! Whap!
The sharp crack of a whip echoed through the empty street, accompanied by a voice dripping with arrogance and disdain.
"Move it, you useless trash! You're blocking the path of the Great Saint Rosward! Faster, you lowly filth!"
A bloated, overdressed butler strutted down the cobblestones, his nose so high in the air he could drown in the rain. In his left hand, he held a chain leash. Attached to it were three mermaids, crawling on their hands and knees across the rough stone, their eyes dull and lifeless, their spirits long since broken.
Behind this disgusting parade waddled Saint Rosward himself.
He was a middle-aged, obese man with a hairstyle that defied logic and good taste, his head encased in the signature bubble helmet of the World Nobles. He leaned heavily on a cane, flanked by three black-suited bodyguards, radiating an aura of absolute, unearned superiority.
He was late. For some unknown reason, Saint Rosward hadn't retreated to the underground bunkers with the rest of his kin.
Fisher Tiger, hidden in the shadows behind them, trembled with rage.
The vile insults, the casual cruelty, the sight of his own people reduced to pets… it triggered memories of his own enslavement. His blood boiled. His vision went red.
He scanned the area. No high-level threats. Just the three bodyguards, who looked tough but manageable.
'The slave quarters are just ahead,' Tiger thought, his jaw clenching. 'But first… I have to kill him.'
The burning hatred consumed his reason. He forgot he was facing a "god." He only saw a monster.
"DIE!! FISH-MAN KARATE: FIVE THOUSAND BRICK FIST!!"
Tiger chambered his fist at his waist, compressing every ounce of his fish-man strength, and then unleashed it.
The shockwave hit before the fist did. The air itself distorted.
Before the bodyguards could even draw their weapons, the force of the blow slammed into them. It punched through the first man, carrying his body into the second, and then the third, skewering them in a gruesome line against the stone wall.
One punch. Three kills.
The impact shook the street. The arrogant butler and the oblivious Saint Rosward collapsed in terror, staring at the gory remains of their protection.
"A… a filthy fish-man??" Rosward stammered, his brain struggling to process the reality. "YOU DARE ATTACK A CELESTIAL DRAGON??"
He screeched the words, his voice cracking with incredulity. In his world, fish-men were property, not threats.
"You parasites," Tiger growled, stepping over the corpses. "Even facing death, you still can't see the truth. You are trash. And it's time to take out the trash!!"
His killing intent solidified. He didn't hesitate. He snapped the butler's neck with a single, efficient twist, then turned on Rosward.
Snap.
The "God" fell limp.
Tiger slumped against the wall, panting heavily.
Huff… Huff… Huff…
Killing a Celestial Dragon was exhausting—not physically, but mentally. The weight of the act was crushing. He had just invited the full wrath of the World Government. An Admiral would be dispatched. A Buster Call might be summoned. There was no going back now.
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The area around the slave quarters was eerily silent. It was the calm before the storm, a pressurized silence waiting to explode.
Fisher Tiger pushed down the thrill of his vengeance and focused on the mission. He reached the gate.
The sight that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs.
Rows upon rows of cages stretched as far as the eye could see. Humans, giants, fish-men, minks, longarms… thousands of them.
They huddled in the corners of their cells, shivering, their eyes empty voids of despair. They saw no hope. Escape was a myth. Anyone who tried was dragged back and subjected to torture so horrific that death seemed like a mercy.
CREAAAK…
Tiger forced open the heavy iron gate. The screech of metal on metal made the prisoners flinch. They looked up, confused, staring at the red fish-man standing in the doorway.
"STAND UP! RUN!!" Tiger roared.
His voice startled them, but he didn't stop. He moved to the next cell, and the next, ripping the doors off their hinges.
"EVERYONE!! YOU ARE FREE!!"
"Band together! Break out of here! We are leaving this hellhole! The Revolutionary Army is here to save you!!"
"Don't give up hope! Help each other! The strong carry the weak! Only together can we escape Mary Geoise!!"
His voice thundered through the dungeon, a clarion call that pierced the fog of their despair. Slowly, life began to return to their eyes. The spark of survival, long extinguished, flared back into a raging fire.
"Let me out!!"
"Fish-man! Over here! Open this door!"
"Hahahaha! Is this a dream? Am I dreaming??"
Tears streamed down faces caked with dirt. Hands reached through the bars, desperate for salvation.
The locks on many of the cells were old and rusted, neglected by guards who believed escape was impossible. With a solid kick or a hard shove, they gave way.
Chaos erupted.
Some prisoners, broken by their trauma, bolted the moment their doors opened, running blindly into the night. But others, inspired by Tiger's words, stayed behind to help free their cellmates.
The silent tomb transformed into a riot.
In less than thirty minutes, thousands of slaves were free.
"Do not panic! Head North! The Revolutionaries are waiting to extract you!" Tiger shouted, channeling the leadership he had learned from Dragon.
"RUN!!"
"FREEDOM!!!"
"WORLD GOVERNMENT! I'LL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS!!"
But in the frenzy of liberation, order collapsed. The mob mentality took over. They scattered like headless flies, running in every direction, ignoring Tiger's instructions.
WOOO-WOOO-WOOO-WOOO!
Someone must have triggered an alarm. Klaxons began to blare across the residential district, adding to the panic.
But the alarm was futile. The Celestial Dragons were huddled in their bunkers, and the guards were either dead or occupied with the war in the sky. No one came to check.
In their rage, the escaping slaves set fires.
Flames licked at the opulent tapestries and gilded furniture of their former masters. The fire spread with terrifying speed, turning the district into an inferno that painted the night sky a blood red.
The sounds of smashing glass, screams of liberation, and the thunder of running feet filled the air.
Mary Geoise had descended into anarchy.
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