Chapter 78: The Tyrant's Whim
The order was given with crisp efficiency. Jock Ian took down his navy uniform from the wall.
"Assemble all stationed Marines. Prepare for combat," he commanded. "Also, prepare a field kit for me. Emergency supplies."
Everything had been calm moments before, and now they were preparing for battle. Skylark didn't question it; she snapped to attention.
"Understood, Major General Ian!"
…
Not long after, in Grove 15 of the Sabaody Archipelago, the usual bustle had frozen into a scene of terrified submission. Residents and passersby knelt on both sides of the road, their faces pressed to the ground.
In the center of the path, an obese man wearing a pristine white robe and a spherical bubble helmet swaggered past, seated on the back of a scarred and bruised slave. This was Saint Charlos, a World Noble, a Celestial Dragon.
"Remove all those hideous dolls from that stall ahead," Saint Charlos declared, his voice a nasally whine of displeasure. "The sight of them offends me. Leave none behind."
The CP agent bodyguards in black suits flanking him immediately bowed. "Yes, Saint Charlos!"
The sounds of shattering and looting soon echoed from the stall. Neither the other civilians nor the stall owner dared to utter a word of protest.
Amidst the kneeling crowd, Marshall D. Teach pulled his turban lower, a wide, contemptuous grin splitting his face as he knelt. "Zehahaha… What a bunch of idiots in power," he muttered under his breath. "What a bullshit 'creator'! It's about time for a change!"
Beside him, Van Augur whispered a sharp warning, "Captain, keep your voice down. Causing trouble with the Celestial Dragons now would be… problematic."
"Hm?" Saint Charlos's gaze, wandering and bored, suddenly fixed on a point in the crowd. He tugged the chain on his slave mount, bringing it to a halt. "That woman over there. Tell her to look up."
A simple sentence, yet it sent a fresh wave of terror through the onlookers.
The lead CP bodyguard followed his master's gaze and immediately strode into the crowd, stopping before a young, fashionably dressed woman. "Did you not hear? Saint Charlos is speaking to you. He commands you to raise your head," the bodyguard stated, his voice devoid of all emotion.
The girl trembled violently. With shaking limbs, she raised her head, meeting the greedy, acquisitive stare of Saint Charlos.
"Sir, I… I am just a traveler passing through," she stammered. "Soon… soon my family and I will leave. Please, my lords… Master Celestial Dragon, please let me go!"
Her delicate, frightened appearance only seemed to please Saint Charlos more. He dismounted from his slave and waddled over to her.
Only one elderly man, his body shaking with fear, shifted on his knees, moving as close to the girl as he dared. She was his daughter.
"Wha…" the girl gasped, covering her mouth in panic.
Now, Saint Charlos's bloated face was inches from hers. "Hmm, not bad. I am satisfied," he declared, clapping his hands with childish glee. "It's decided. You shall be my wife."
The lead CP bodyguard bowed. "Understood, Saint Charlos. I will immediately arrange for your eleventh wife to be moved into the Holy Land of Mary Geoise."
The girl's face turned deathly pale.
"No… please, Master Celestial Dragon!" she begged, collapsing into sobs on the ground.
"Master Celestial Dragon! Master Guardians!" the old man cried out, kowtowing repeatedly.
"My daughter is still so young, please let her go! I am willing to be your slave, to give you everything! As long as you let my daughter go, I will do anything…"
"Oh?" Saint Charlos turned his bored gaze to the old man. "You are my wife's father. 'Willing to sacrifice everything'… that should include your life, correct?"
Click!
He produced an ornate pistol and pointed it directly at the old man's forehead.
"Line up!!"
Dengdengdeng...