Every rise and fall seemed to speak of life's helplessness and tragedy.
They had once belonged to living people, yet now they had been reduced to commodities for sale.
Gibson stood not far away, his gaze sharp and vicious, like a beast ready to devour anyone before him.
In his hand was the latest version of the bounty notices, while a scalpel flashed coldly between his fingers.
He used the sharp blade to lightly cut open the bounty notices, and the sound of paper tearing was especially grating in that deathly quiet environment.
The photos of the Four Emperors' officers were exposed one after another, gradually soaked by the surrounding pools of blood until their outlines began to blur.
Their once-distinct faces now looked twisted and terrifying, foreshadowing the disaster about to come.
"Spread the word on the black market. Say that the Beasts Pirates are purchasing spinal fluid from Fish-Men…"
Gibson's voice was low and hoarse, carrying a tone that allowed no refusal.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, revealing a cruel smile.
The assistants nodded one after another, quickly turned around, and left. Their figures soon disappeared into the darkness.
Suddenly, Gibson seemed to be stimulated by something and broke into a neurotic laugh.
That laughter echoed through the enclosed space, full of madness and distortion.
The mist of preservatives slowly rose around his body, and through the haze, he revealed a mouthful of shark-like steel teeth.
Those sharp teeth gleamed with a metallic shine, making people shiver.
"Let the war come even harder! This is the best era for us!"
He shouted loudly, his voice filled with hunger for war and the pursuit of profit.
At the same time, when the first ray of dawn struggled through the thick clouds and illuminated the rows of cold cannon barrels at Marine G-1 Branch, the ledgers of the underground world had already been filled with shocking blood-red numbers.
Every number represented a living life being taken away. Every transaction was stained with the blood of the innocent.
The vultures swarming in after smelling blood were like hungry jackals, their eyes shining with greed.
They had long since calculated everything with golden, jewel-studded abacuses. To them, war was the most profitable commodity in the world.
To obtain enormous profit, they would stop at nothing and push countless lives into the abyss.
In this dark world, morality and ethics had long been thrown aside. Only naked profit and desire remained, driving them ever forward.
...
On the sea.
The salty wind roared and surged like an untamed beast.
It carried a thick, choking smell of smoke, like the breath of demons rising from the depths of hell, heavy with death and destruction, and swept mercilessly over this small island that had once been as peaceful as a paradise beyond the world.
Pale sunlight fell across the pier, revealing a bleak and desolate scene.
Mottled light and shadow flickered over the old wooden boards and damp ground, as though trembling for the tragedy that was about to unfold.
On that pier filled with despair, the last Marine warship was slowly raising its heavy anchor chain.
The thick iron links scraped against one another, giving off a dull and grating sound like the pained groan of a wounded beast.
The steel hull struck violently against sharp, jagged reefs, every collision producing a deep and suffocating thud.
The sound was like a wail rising from the depths of the earth, or the funeral bell of fate announcing the end of this island's peaceful days.
"Mom, aren't the Marine uncles supposed to protect us?"
A young, confused voice broke the deathly silence.
The little girl stood on tiptoe, stretching her neck as hard as she could, trying to see farther.
Her small hand trembled slightly, her childish finger pointing straight toward the white sails gradually moving away.
The sails snapped in the sea wind, drifting farther and farther until they carried away the people's final hope.
She raised her head, and in her clear eyes was reflected her mother's paper-pale face.
That face was filled with a terror she had never shown before, and the fear in her eyes seemed capable of freezing the air around them.
The mother's lips trembled slightly. She wanted to say something, but endless fear lodged the words in her throat.
"Shh…"
Her voice was so soft it could barely be heard, like a plea squeezed from between her teeth.
Her trembling hand, like a fallen leaf in the wind, covered her daughter's mouth tightly. Her rough palm clearly felt the child's warm, hurried breathing.
Her gaze passed over the girl's soft hair, sharp as two blades, and fixed tightly on the direction of the harbor square.
In the center of the harbor square, several Divine Kingdom soldiers in blue-gold uniforms stood straight, yet they gave off a chill that made the skin crawl.
Their movements were perfectly uniform as they slowly raised a flag embroidered with the emblem of the Eternal Divine Kingdom.
The flag unfurled in the sea wind, its vivid colors painfully glaring, like a curse dyed in blood.
Beneath the flagpole, the pitiful mayor knelt on the ground with his hands tied behind his back.
Large beads of sweat rolled from his forehead, mixing with blood and sliding down his cheeks, staining the sash on his chest, which had once symbolized honor, a deep red.
His eyes were filled with helplessness, anger, and despair, yet he could only endure it all in silence, powerless to resist.
In the alley.
The dim light seemed like an imprisoned ghost, barely passing through layers of cracks between the walls and casting mottled shadows.
Within that oppressive atmosphere, scattered sobs could faintly be heard. The sounds seemed squeezed from the depths of the heart, carrying endless fear and despair as they spread slowly through the deathly quiet space.
Several half-grown boys, childishness still lingering on their faces, had panic and confusion filling their eyes.
At that moment, they were being roughly shoved forward and forced into a neat yet helpless line.
Standing before them was an officer of the Divine Kingdom, his expression cold and indifferent, a burning branding iron in his hand.
With a sharp hiss, numbers were branded mercilessly onto the boys' slender necks one after another. The piercing pain made their bodies tremble uncontrollably, yet they did not dare make the slightest sound and could only grit their teeth and endure.
Farther away, the familiar blacksmith shop looked especially bleak.
Old Tom sat collapsed on the threshold as if all his strength had drained away.
His hollow eyes stared blankly at the yellowed recruitment notice in his hand, filled with deep helplessness and despair.
"The Marines are no longer Marines, and pirates are no longer pirates. Does a world like this… still have any hope left?"