Mary Geoise's history of slavery had lasted at least eight centuries, and over time, humanity's threshold for excitement had only grown higher.
Perhaps in the earliest days, this arena had been a place for fair combat between slaves.
Gradually, it evolved into something far more extreme: humans versus animals, Devil Fruit users against ordinary people, and even members of the same race fighting each other.
The duel taking place now was a stark example of this progression: a battle between a Devil Fruit user and a non-powered slave.
Though the Devil Fruit user was only a Zoan type the Ox Fruit against an untrained non-powered opponent, the fight was overwhelmingly one-sided.
The Devil Fruit slave also understood the psychology of the elite.
He did not finish his opponent in a single strike. Instead, he toyed with him slowly, like a cat playing with a mouse.
The non-powered slave fled in terror, stumbling across the sand, while the Ox fruit user followed casually. Every so often, he would swipe at his prey, tearing off chunks of flesh as if to flay him alive.
Blood splattered across the arena, forming patterns that, from the elevated golden boxes above, looked like crimson lotuses blooming in a desert.
Black pushed open the floor-to-ceiling windows, letting the roar of the arena flood into the room.
"You bastard! Fight back! I bet money on you!"
"Ox! Tear him apart!"
Glancing at Robin and Perona, their faces pale from the spectacle, Black smiled.
"Feeling uneasy is natural," he said.
"Even I, after living in the Holy Land for over a decade, cannot fully adapt to this way of life."
Robin lifted her head in surprise. "Then why do you not try to change anything?"
Black stepped onto the balcony, resting his hand on the ivory railing and gesturing to the decorations.
"Every gemstone, every golden thread here was forged from the foolish notion of 'improvement.'"
He pointed toward the Ox Fruit user, now victorious, who knelt before a pink-haired female Celestial Dragon, his tongue tracing her boot in submission.
"See him? Kissing his master's boots? This is the true face of the world."
Robin followed Black's gaze. The Ox Fruit user had reduced his opponent to a skeletal husk and now demonstrated the absolute obedience expected of a slave.
"You feel discomfort because you are still thinking from the perspective of a lower-class person," Black continued.
"Consider this: if you were that young girl of the Donquixote family, wouldn't this excite you?"
Robin had read countless books but had little real experience with human cruelty and social hierarchies. Her values were still forming.
Instinctively, she let herself imagine the scenario. A subtle thrill coursed through her, making her body tremble slightly.
This reaction was instinctual, a high-level predator's response. Every human harbors a latent violent impulse; most learn to control it through upbringing.
The Celestial Dragons, as rulers entitled to every privilege, needed no such restraint.
If Black had not retained memories from his previous life, he might already have been no different from the other Celestial Dragons.
He offered Robin a glass of wine.
"You are lucky. By following me, you already have a chance to become one of the upper class."
"Either learn to drink from a golden goblet or lie down to be poured upon. That is the logic of this world."
His words were both reassurance and a personal affirmation.
Robin looked at the goblet in her hand and sipped the deep red wine. Observing her, Black smiled with satisfaction. No rush shaping her worldview required patience and gradual exposure. Today, this step was enough; there was a long road ahead.
After leaving the slave arena, the three girls displayed very different expressions.
The eldest, Stella, who had already formed her moral framework, was the most affected. As a former slave herself, it was impossible not to imagine being caught in the blood-soaked arena.
Robin had regained her composure, though her thoughts remained uncertain.
Perona, the youngest, seemed gloomy. Though playful, she was not cruel by nature and could not fully comprehend the brutality she had just witnessed.
Back at the estate, Black noticed Stella's absent-minded expression. Her usual smile had vanished; the arena had left its mark.
He offered no comfort. Celestial Dragons rarely concern themselves with the emotional states of slaves. Even if he cared for Stella, Black would never demean himself with overt consolation.
Instead, he gave simple instructions.
"You two, go play for a while. Do not leave the estate."
"Stella, come with me."
Black did not comfort her in words but intended to relieve her stress in other ways.
Sunlight filtered through the trees and stained glass, casting a soft blue-violet hue across a pearl-inlaid desk. Fragrant smoke from the greenhouse drifted through the open archways, mingling with amber-scented ointments to form a dizzying perfume.
Golden embroidery on Black's sleeve flickered in the sunlight. As he moved, the intricate vine patterns on his silk seemed alive, writhing across the fabric.
His fingers lingered on Stella's collarbone. The sweet scent of the ointment lingered between them as his fingertips traced down her neck, delicate and tentative as if caressing fragile porcelain.
The unfastening of her waist was deliberate, each motion slow, giving her the chance to refuse. She did not. Her eyes closed.
The aquamarine brooch on his lapel tapped against a crystal ashtray with a clear, ringing note. A sheer silk curtain stirred with the breeze, brushing against Stella's bare ankles.
Outside, the fountain's droplets struck the marble basin, their rhythmic patter blending with Stella's quickening heartbeat.
As the curtain fell, Stella glimpsed her distorted reflection in the vanity mirror. Melted wax on a gilded candlestick had cooled into coral-like shapes, a testament to the fleeting nature of time and beauty.
Darkness fell. The faint rustle of clothing against the carpet echoed in the room.
A soft sigh sounded, but Stella could no longer tell whether it was Black's or her own.
Her dress lay in crumpled heaps on the floor, like waves of the tide left stranded on the shore.