The auction house was bustling with noise, the heat mingling with the scent of cheap perfume and sweat swirling beneath the domed ceiling.
The central display was encircled by ornate railings, with the most prominent spot occupied by a massive glass tank. Clear water bubbled with tiny air currents, yet it couldn't wash away the despair in the eyes of the Fishmen trapped inside.
Each of them wore a heavy metal collar around their necks, the chains anchored to the bottom of the tank. Male and Female Fishmen stood side by side against the glass, their backs rigidly straight, but their trembling bodies betrayed their fear.
The Male Fishmen were burly, their blue or dark green tails marred with fine scars, their muscles taut like drawn bowstrings.
The Female Fishmen had pale skin, their tails shimmering with a pearlescent sheen, their long hair floating like seaweed in the water. Yet their beautiful faces were drained of color, their lips pressed tightly together, turning white.
"See how shiny those Female Fishmen's tails are? They'd look perfect in an aquarium!" A merchant's coarse laughter cut through the clamor. "But the price… tsk tsk, enough to buy three merchant ships."
"Buying females isn't worth it," someone nearby chimed in, his tone calculating. "Better to bid on those Male Fishmen—throw them into the Arena to fight sharks. You'd make back the ticket sales in three days. Last time I saw a red-scaled one bite off a great white's fin in one go—now that was fierce!"
The crowd below erupted in raucous laughter, whistles and cheers rising in waves, interspersed with critiques of the Fishmen's appearances and squabbles over prices.
The Fishmen in the tank heard every word. Some clenched their fists so tightly their nails dug into their palms, while others shut their eyes in despair, their shoulders trembling slightly.
In the front-row VIP box, Saint Charloss and Saint Roswald sat side by side, their heads wrapped in thick bandages, clearly still recovering from the last "incident."
Saint Charloss shook his Bubble Headgear-covered head impatiently and nudged his father. "Why isn't Shalria here? She loves these exotic things the most."
Saint Roswald was scooping fruit puree with a golden spoon and pursed his lips at the question. "That bastard Bahr's escape has her locked in her room smashing things. She's in no mood for this."
"Hmph, what's so interesting about a bunch of lowlifes?" Saint Charloss scoffed, glancing dismissively at the tank. Then his eyes lit up as he pointed at the Female Fishman with the pink-glowing tail. "But that one's not bad-looking. Let's bid on her and send her over to calm Shalria down."
"You're so thoughtful," Saint Roswald nodded approvingly, picking up a golden bell beside him. "We'll have that pink one marked, along with two of the strongest Male Fishmen—send them to the Arena for your entertainment."
Their conversation wasn't loud, but it carried the natural arrogance of the Celestial Dragons. The surrounding nobles, who had been holding their breath, didn't dare respond, merely lowering their heads. Yet the corners of their eyes couldn't help but flicker toward the tank.
The Fishmen inside trembled even more violently at the sound of the Celestial Dragons' voices. The clinking of collars scraping against glass pierced through the noisy hall, sharp and unsettling.
The auctioneer banged his gavel, spittle flying as he shouted hoarsely: "First lot, a pink fishman! Starting bid, fifty million berries!"
"Fifty-five million!"
"Sixty million..."
The bids surged like a tidal wave from the audience, voices overlapping, churning the air thick with despair and greed.
Just as the auctioneer was about to bring down the gavel, a lazy male voice suddenly cut through the clamor from the entrance:
"I'll take all the fishmen here."
The moment the words fell, the auction house plunged into dead silence. Everyone froze as if paused, their heads swiveling toward the door in unison.
A group stood there, led by a man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, the Black Sword Autumn Water casually slung over his shoulder—Bahr, the "Blasphemer," with a bounty of one billion berries.
Behind him stood Enel, Mr. 1, Mr. 5, Paula, and Perona's Hollows floating in the air, flanked by four God Enforcers and the Ram-Headed Guardian. Their dark mass blocked the entrance, their oppressive aura freezing the very air.
"Who... who the hell has the nerve—?" someone blurted before being yanked hard by their companion.
"Idiot! That's Bahr! The Blasphemer who attacked the Celestial Dragons!"
"My god, he dares show his face here?"
The crowd erupted into chaos—gasps, shrieks, the front rows instinctively shrinking back, toppling those behind them.
In the VIP seats, Saint Charloss stiffened before leaping up, his face reddening inside his Bubble Headgear. "You filthy wretch! How dare you stand before this Saint!"
Saint Roswald clenched his fists, slamming his cane against the floor. "Guards! Seize this bastard! Flay him alive as an apology to Shalria!"
Enel rolled his dead-fish eyes, electricity already crackling at his fingertips. "These insects really don't know their place. Should this god teach them how to speak?"
Bahr exhaled a smoke ring, his gaze sweeping over the furious Celestial Dragons, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Go ahead. Just leave them breathing."
He knew these Celestial Dragons too well—arrogant fools who thought their "divine blood" made them untouchable.
"Hmph." Enel sneered, vanishing in an instant. The next moment, blinding lightning exploded above the VIP seats. Saint Charloss barely had time to shout "How dare—" before a bolt struck his Bubble Headgear. A crisp crack—the headgear splintered instantly.
"Move out!" Mr. 1 barked, his body morphing into blades as he charged the front-line guards. The metallic clang of steel and the guards' screams filled the hall.
Mr. 5 tossed bombs into the crowd, explosions rocking the room, sending nobles scrambling in panic.
Paula's arms twisted into sharp thorns, vine-like tendrils lashing out to ensnare the advancing guards. The thorns pierced fabric and flesh, leaving them howling in pain but unable to move.
Perona's Hollows drifted through the crowd. Wherever her Negative Hollows passed, guards collapsed, wailing, "I'm so useless..."
Four God Enforcers rose into the air on wisps of cloud, each unleashing their signature techniques. The Ram-Headed Guardian drew his scimitar, deflecting the onslaught of attacks from all directions with precision. Amid the flashing blades, not a single soul managed to get within half a step of Bahr.
Saint Roswald slumped in his chair, trembling as he pointed at Bahr. "T-treason! You filthy wretches! When the Marines arrive, they'll grind your bones to dust!"
Leaning against the doorframe, Bahr watched the chaotic scene unfold. The cigarette between his fingers burned down to its end. Glancing at the ashen-faced Fishmen, he called out, "Don't just stand there. I'll get you out soon."
The Fishmen in the glass tanks stared blankly at the smoke-dangling man. For the first time, a faint glimmer appeared in their dull eyes—this sudden "Blasphemer" might be their only hope.
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