A DROP OF MERCY

Tons of different cargo was being unloaded from Extensive Voyage near Bravery Port, at the edge of a city with torn walls.

"It's quite an honor to meet you, Madam Stussy. You look far prettier than in the portraits," the Port Captain in suit formally bowed to her. At the edge of the ship, both of them were standing under the shade of a tree, overseeing the ongoing exchange of goods. There was enough wind blowing around to make some leaves fall or drift about aimlessly. "I didn't expect that someone of your stature would be assigned to captain this ship."

"I didn't expect that your city would grow to the extent it did either, and it's still growing just like you are," Stussy said in a rather friendly tone. "I am happy for you, but I'm not quite sure whether to feel good for your city or feel bad for all the poor towns and villages it has working in bondage."

"Haha," he didn't seem much surprised, which showed that he had come prepared to face many things, "the tides of the ocean are ever-changing, and so do the wind currents and minds of men. As the sun and the moon shift spots in the sky, some waves never break to the shore, some winds never rise to the clouds, and some minds never allow themselves to do new things. So it's only natural that one who's living in a village and one who's living in a city sweat for different reasons."

"Stop quoting Elvyck."

"Haha, I've been seen through." He rubbed the back of his head. "I've embarrassed myself."

"Trying new things in new places with shallow pockets is rarely rewarding," Stussy calmly replied, her eyes looking in the city's direction in a knowing gaze. "Only a few places I've been to were free from filth, and a city isn't among them. Cities, as they're now, don't quite provide opportunities for the poor to get rich as they do for the rich to get richer. Whoever knows how to neatly[1] steal from the rest through deft dissembling will presumably end up among the richest, and those with pockets full of coins are likely to indulge in all forms of sharp practices than those who feed their children dirt-cakes. Wherefore, cities often engender concentration of evil." Her eyes briefly glanced up at the towering ship that looked like an artificial-tiered mountain. (Without the fair and strict rules, this ship would also become another city, the only difference being that it can move, which makes me wonder what the builders had in mind when they built this distinctive vessel. If cities were to fall into the wrong hands, there's no saying what disasters will spring out of them.)

"Uh," the Port Captain took in a deep breath and smiled. He took his time before replying as confidently as he could, "I'm afraid I'll have to disagree, Madam Stussy. Those who can't hold themselves from having kids until they can feed their young properly; those who get a day older and deeper in debt with every night sleep, they're asking for a hand-to-mouth existence, don't you agree?"

Stussy cast a rebuking glance at him, but she patiently replied, "Everyone experiences life in different yet similar ways. Some are elegant. Some are not. You can't look down on others just because your views are at odds with them. Is this the gratefulness you show for all the food you eat produced through the perseverance of the poor?"

"Well," he cleared his throat and somewhat frowned. If it were any other person, he'd have broken out against them and called them an armchair critic with no experience but plenty of advice. However, the woman standing before him was someone who had probably seen a lot of the world than he could ever see in his lifetime, so he could only keep his impatience in check. Still, he replied a bit bluntly, "For all practical purposes, someone has to do the labor, and we are paying the laborers as we see fit. So, what's the big deal?"

"The deal is this—the lack of appreciation," Stussy's gaze turned a bit cold. "A drop of mercy if you can call it that for all the sweat and blood they shed to bring food straight to your repository. Or are you saying that the poor have nothing to gain but poverty?"

"That's…" he didn't know how to respond, and his feet couldn't stay on the floor quietly. He had to choose his words correctly, or even his head was separated, no one in the city would dare wage war with her, let alone with the sect she was part of.

Stussy briefly glanced at his feet. She then softened her expression and voice, not wanting to intimidate him without good reason, "Money makes it hard for a man to do the common things of the poor. Do you know any rich folk in your city who work hard with little pay? Can they swim through squalor for anything noble? Can their pride bring prosperity to the poor? You see, more often than not, those with deep pockets hardly struggle to correct their wrongs when a matter concerns those with shallow pockets. It's an irony how the richer one gets, the more they lose the sense of the value of a coin." She glanced at him and made eye contact, "I can go on, but the gist of it all is this: Can you tell apart the rich and the poor by their ashes?" she asked, and he silently shook his head. "The issue is not about being rich or poor, but about one's character. Richness is never as much in coin as it's in character. You can't buy character once you lose it, so don't let coins cloud your character. We already have enough lost souls ravening about in this world seeking everything save themselves."

"I think I somewhat get what you're saying, Madam Stussy. The more coins one has, the harder it gets to maintain a good character in and out. And since cities glorify wealth..." The Port Captain's lips stretched out in an awkward smile. "I give up. Winning an argument with a mighty martial is more demanding than what my current mind can bear."

"I wasn't trying to win in an argument," Stussy looked into the distance. "A brother once told me, 'the rich man is a creature born to eat the poor.' I wouldn't go that far, but…" she smiled a little. "What he said can't be disregarded either. In most societies, since long ago, while the poor strive, the rich forever thrive. The poor get forced to feed the rich with their flesh and blood, increasingly, with every year. And cities are places built with the ever-rising standards of the rich in mind, which the poor can never catch up with. One such standard is that everyone tries to get rich through money and not other means. No one tells them, 'you can always have enough money to fritter away, but you can never have enough for invaluable experiences.' One empties the pockets of riches, while the other fills the heart with substance. It's clear to see which way is worthier to walk, yet most fail to take the right one. They choose to live with tornadoes of smoke and tall walls of brick rather than breathing wilderness and openness. And after they stack enough coins, they all look for ways to extend their pathetic lives. How can one who can't respectably walk the Mortal Way hope to fittingly walk the Martial Way? It is but a doggy dream.[2]"

A few seconds of silence passed. "I'm already in my late forties," the Port Captain sighed. "Can I still start pursuing the Martial Way?"

"Some things in the world have no set beginning or end." A paper slip slowly drifted through the wind and fell in Stussy's hand. She then handed it to him.

Upon taking a look at it, his expression hardened. "The herbs, meat, and the grains… all their prices went up significantly compared to last year." He folded the paper in frustration. "This isn't fair, Madam Stussy. I mean, even though your sect doesn't let us levy taxes on our people for your exports and forces us to follow many other conditions, we still deal with Exvo because you don't take brokerage fees. Your sect has high credibility, but if the prices of the goods alone are so high, it feels like we're at the short end of the stick."

"Mr. Bryan," Stussy put her hands behind her back and turned to face him. "What would you give in exchange for your health?"

Bryan couldn't answer in return and went expressionless.

"As easy as it may sound, there is no denying that health is one of the most precious things in the world, and we do our utmost to harvest and hunt food from the flourishing mountains and forests. We don't export goods grown from the same region every year, so prices vary every year depending on the efforts we exert to procure great, quality things," Stussy's voice contained no hesitation or hurry. "Every blade of grass, every piece of grain, and every chunk of meat we trade heals people's bodies like they were meant to, yet some fools, who can't go out into nature and get food for themselves, complain that our herbs don't taste good and wish they were as sweet as candy. Unlike those fat-heads, if you have a legitimate problem with our products, then we're willing to listen, but as long as the prices we've set are within the agreed limits, there's no room for negotiation anymore. There are many people out there who put more care on their clothes than on their own bodies and health. If you want to be like them, then please go ahead and send a request for the termination of our trade."

"P-Please don't misunderstand me, Madam Stussy. I'm not foolish enough to suggest my superiors to break this trade," Bryan said and smiled, but then quickly hid his face and frowned. If he had even an inch of ground, he would've fought his way back into the conversation, but he knew that all the meat was of animals that naturally grew up in the wild and not raised in the farms. Even the grains were of top quality. As for the herbs, their results were too evident to even raise doubts about their quality. Still, he kept looking at the list to find something that would help him gain the upper hand, and his eyes eventually stopped on a particular item. "This Mock Sand… Three silver pieces per ton? Why is it so expensive?" He made a baffled expression. "Isn't the current international price only a little over forty copper coins?"

Stussy slightly took a breath before responding, "It's in the name. What we sell is not natural but mock sand. Unlike those who steal sand from lakes or river banks or beaches and disturb the neighborhood, we make our own sand by breaking down the rocks using our own ways. Still, producing sand in large quantities in a short period isn't an easy task."

"That's what the high price is for, huh," Bryan narrowed his eyes.

"If our mock sand was not different from desert sand, you think anyone would even be willing to buy it? Besides, the prices we set have nothing to do with the prices of products sold internationally. We sell to our clients as we see fit. Don't you even know that?"

"S-Sorry," Bryan had no answer, but he came to his own conclusion. (I see. That's how it is. If the price were to be between one to two silver, then there'd be more demand, so they kept the price high enough to make sure they won't overburden themselves and, at the same time, will make enough profits out of the limited clients. What a smart business tactic! Moreover, the contracts they make are confidential, so we have no idea how they're selling to other parties. This isn't possible with just brains. No wonder their sect 'stays' near the top. Shambala Sect, huh. Never in my life, the name itself made me feel practically nervous.)

To add to that, the beauty and the calm-yet-powerful presence Stussy held was second to none among all the women he had come across, at least up until now. (She surely must be a big cheese in the sect.) At this point, he couldn't hide his envy. He was used to having the upper hand in general, but now, he felt like he was tasting his own medicine. Still, he didn't give up and tried the sympathy route.

"Madam, you should already know that eight months ago, our city suffered a lot of property damage due to a felon summoning a terrifying beast that our metals couldn't pierce. We've suffered great losses, and the fact that we just watched as the beast took the criminal and flew away into the night didn't help settle down the masses either. An economic conflict arose between different classes, even though a 'everknight' stated that he would catch the criminal. Our economy soon fell off the cliff but somehow miraculously survived at the cost of some sacrifices, broken bones, and loss of faces. Even though those affairs affected the trade business, we're slowly starting to pick ourselves up again. So please consider offering some help, however much you can. Fortto will never forget favors."

"So you're saying…" Stussy calmly said, "your city is as wide as an ocean but only as deep as a puddle."

"Uh," Bryan was left frozen for a short while. He tilted his head down. "We are, after all, just a city full of hollows. Though we try to stand on our own feet, given the monstrosity of the world we live in, we're not inane enough to push away all help that comes our way."

Seeing how he bowed his head, Stussy didn't think much before replying, "Since everyone has to eat and also have a roof over their head, I'll reduce the prices of all products by five percent, but that's all. No more bargaining."

"I'm deeply grateful for your change of mind," Bryan's head was still tilted down. He was pretty happy for more than one reason. Though he wanted to try and test his luck to see if he could ask about including war weapons of at least Minimal Grade in the trade, he couldn't dare speak his mind, afraid of losing the discount, for he was sure that she saw through his little veil of haggling.

At that moment, a fat man dressed in green approached them and kneeled before Stussy, revealing even more clearly that he was thin on top. "Chief, I've come bearing bad news. A number of deaths were reported in the tenth belt yesterday, seventeen to be exact."

"Is there any death that we need to look into?" she asked, trying not to look at his not-so-beautiful head.

"From what we gathered till now, the information looks clean, Chief. But two of those deaths are from the thirteenth deck."

"Thirteenth, huh… Is it because of the scamps in the sand, or..."

"It's the deltas who passed away in their sleep."

"The poor deltas..." She squinted her eyes to a slit.

At that moment, a group of nine men in their sixties was unloading dozens of barrels by themselves. One of them, who had the most sweaty face, took secret glances at Stussy a couple of times, with a hint of fear and maybe also lust dwelling in his eyes.

Just then, Stussy's eyes made contact with that sweaty-faced man, causing him to look away lickety-split. She walked past the fat man, puzzling him, and then approached the group of nine men and asked in a calm yet commanding tone, "Which one among you is the leader?"

One among the nine men quickly stepped forward, with his hands folded and shoulders squeezed in tightly. "Captain Commander, it's me," he politely bowed, and Stussy's eyes had long settled on him before he even came forward. "My name is Znoja Schweess."

"What's in those barrels?"

"Nerve wine, madam," Znoja replied in a respectful tone.

"Nerve wine?" Bryan got a little excited. "Isn't it one of the strongest white wines? One that stimulates the nerves and forces the brain to work extra-hard and heal the body. However, there's also a major side effect of people suffering from hallucinations if they drink too much. I heard stories of people doing more than just sleepwalking after taking that wine."

"Sir is quite knowledgeable," Znoja nodded and paused a moment before continuing, "but we carefully dilute the wine so that it doesn't diminish the positives as much as it does the negatives. So, drinking our product is not only safe but will also make you immune to the pure and original wine in the long run."

Bryan was surprised to hear that. "Only expert brewers are capable of making such beverages without breaking a sweat. Did you guys make such a fruitful wine?"

"Yes, sir," Znoja humbly said. "We are not experts by any means, but we do have decades of experience. And I believe anything done without breaking a sweat isn't satisfying."

"Talented yet modest. You've come to the right city to sell," Bryan started to walk toward them with a big smile on his face. "I'm Bryan, the Port Captain. If you can impress me with your wine, then consider yourself to have landed a lucky deal with our city."

"That's very nice of you to say, sir," Znoja looked at one of his associates, and he quickly served Bryan nerve wine from a bottle hanging by his waist.

After taking a sip, Bryan closed his eyes and squeezed his lips tight. A second later, he opened his eyes.

"How was it, sir?"

"Strong." Bryan leaked out a big smile and nodded twice. "It left a taste in my throat. This is good stuff. How many barrels do you have in total?"

"About 400 or so."

"Alright, I'll be buying half of those, and you can do business with the rest."

Znoja hardly smiled. He could guess that Bryan would probably throw a big party soon and use this wine to impress the rich folks of the city and even gift them some wine. Whether that was the case or not, if the leader didn't oblige with the Port Captain's wishes, he wouldn't even be allowed to step foot on the city grounds, so he could only swallow his disappointment. "Sure thing, sir."

Bryan then looked at Stussy. "You should also taste some, madam. It's darn delicious."

The leader of the group himself hurriedly tried to pour a cup of wine for her; however, she walked over to the barrels and tapped at different spots on numerous barrels with her fingers, and though it produced soft sounds, she was able to tell the difference. "Open one of these."

"Pardon?" the leader of the group looked confused.

The fat man, who was standing in the background till now, slowly closed in.

"I said open one of these," Stussy stressed her words.

"U-Uh, sure," the leader glanced at one of his associates. "Open it."

Bryan silently watched with intrigue.

With a nail and a hammer, one of the associates carefully broke the earthen sealing around the cap of the barrel, and when he removed the cap, the fat man took a glance inside before he looked at Stussy and nodded. "It's full of wine as they say."

Stussy's eyes swept over the nine men once, and their faces put up pleasant smiles. She tapped on top of another barrel twice. "Open this one."

"Yes, Chief," the fat man quickly came over and started to unseal the sealing by himself with his bare fingers. As he did that, all the nine men kept looking at each other's faces, and beads of sweat formed on their faces. With a wine bottle in one hand, the leader's other hand slowly gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

When the fat man undid the sealing and opened the lid, there was an eyeful of white wine inside. "It's wine." He looked at her as if asking what to do next.

All the nine men silently breathed sighs of relief.

"Look closely," Stussy said.

"Mm?" the fat man then put his hand into the barrel, but it only went down to his wrist. "Chief! It's not going in full." He bent the barrel to the side. All the wine gushed out onto the floor, causing twitching in the noses of horses in the distance.

"How can you waste our wine like that!" the leader barked and tried to get near to stop what was happening.

"Shut up," the fat man coldly said, stopping the leader from approaching any closer. "What's this, huh?" he looked inside the barrel again. "Looks like you guys built another compartment in here. A barrel with a bucket inside, aye? I wonder what's hidden under the bucket? I bet it's drugs or some stolen stones," he quickly removed the wooden basket, and to his shock, there was an unconscious child inside, with his mouth sealed and limbs tied up tightly. "What the—" the fat man was stunned.

The leader, Znoja, straight away sprang forth and flung the wine bottle at Stussy. "Twenty Halls of Dusk—" in a flash, he unsheathed his sword, covered the distance in quick streaks, and appeared behind Stussy and thrust the blade straight at her heart, "Sunless Strike!"

Stussy caught the wine bottle with ease using two of her fingers, but the sword of the leader almost got to a touching distance to her back.

"Chief!" the fat man shouted in worry, for everything happened too quickly for him to react.

However, the sword suddenly stopped, and so did the leader, as if something promptly pressured him from every direction. The shockwave generated almost lifted people off their feet, but some tools and boxes in the vicinity flew away. "The hell?" the leader couldn't move his body anymore, and the shockwave died out quicker than it initially broke out. "A barrier? I can't move!"

A sharp, gruesome gust of wind blew him back. The sword in his hand fell, and even though he was bleeding from the nose, mouth, and ears, he somehow managed to land on his feet, but he seemed to have lost his grip on his senses, for he could barely hear anything and his sight turned blurry, too. What's up with this woman? (To think even I couldn't sense her attack coming. She hadn't even lifted her intent, and yet I couldn't move. This is bad. I can't control my 'ora' well anymore.) "I can't accept this." He ground his teeth and then charged at her with a roar, startling everyone, "We can't be that far apart." He unleashed his punch at her, but she also formed a fist and unleashed a casual punch at him. Just by looking at her fist approaching, his heart sank into his stomach and gave up on attacking and put his total concentration in dodging the punch. He bent his head to his left, and her fist went past his head, seemingly failing to hit him; however, the very next second, he got sent flying to his left as if a cannon struck him in the head.

Bryan looked utterly perplexed and stunned. (I thought her punch didn't land. Yet how did he get blown away like that?)

With his right half of the face disfigured and bleeding worse than before, Znoja could barely hold his senses together as he got back to his feet again. Stussy, even though she was simply standing, appeared like an unsurpassable monster in his eyes. Blood kept pouring down his ears nonstop. (She didn't even use layers, and my insides are burning, even though I've reinforced them with 'might.' This woman—I've never met someone with such scary Plenary Might.) He gnashed his bloody teeth, trying to keep his senses together. (If she gets serious, even the nine of us together won't be good enough to buy a second.) He tried to clench his fists, but his body wasn't fully under his control yet. (Why did this monster have to be captaining this ship of all people? Against her, our only hope is... )"Everyone, get a puppy!" he shouted and then ran in a specific direction.

"A puppy?" the fat man was puzzled, but he quickly yelled, "Someone, stop that guy!"

A few workers reacted quickly enough and chased him, but the first one who got to him was defeated with a single kick and then held hostage. "Let us go, or I'll kill this fellow," he shouted and looked at his associates who were struggling to get more hostages. Just then, something invisible struck Znoja's face and sent him flying back. His nose now got broken, and blood poured out like a fountain. (Argh! Shit! This bitch!)

"Shoot him!" the fat man shouted. Many workers took their pistols out and shot at Znoja. Many bullets landed, but they only left what seemed like tiny cracks on his skin.

"The bullets are not working!" the workers were shocked and puzzled. "Even his clothes look just fine! They have become like armor. What's going on?"

"Doesn't matter. Keep on shooting," the fat man said and folded his arms. (He has put up an exobody, but let's see how long his defenses will last.)

Dozens of bullets were being wasted, seemingly for nothing.

"I'm too strong for simple bullets, you fools," Znoja said, but then he soon remembered that he was still in Stussy's presence. Screaming at himself on the inside, he tried to flee.

"Is he trying to jump out of the ship?" the fat man's eyes broadened a bit, and he shouted, "Stop him!"

Other than the workers, even the nearby personnel, who were helping with the trade, acted right away. However, they were a second too late, for the leader had almost reached the edge of the ship by the time they took a few steps.

Znoja looked desperate. (There's still hope! If I can step on that land—)

At that moment, a bead of sweat slid down Bryan's chin and fell; however, just before it hit the floor, it changed its trajectory and took off with incredible speed like an arrow shot from a bow. In the twinkling of an eye, just as Znoja's eyes were turning to his right side from sensing danger to an extent, something pierced through the back of his head and came out from the mouth, leaving almost a fist-sized hole. As many eyes witnessed, he lost his life instantly, and his body fell into the waters below.

All the eight associates, who were fighting with the other workers, got scared stiff by what they witnessed.

"What just happened…" Bryan had his heart in his mouth.

"You eight…" Stussy opened her hand, and Znoja's sword that was on the floor came flying and rested in her palm. Black marks began to spread over her hand. (A cursed sword?) She was a little surprised, but with a casual swing, she sent a vertical slash that cut up a bit of the floor and traveled all the way to the edge of the ship. All the spreading black marks on her hand vanished without a trace. All this while, her daunting presence weighed down on the eight men. "Move an inch, and I will shove this up so high it'll touch your thoughts." Her unnerving stare set off shivers from neck to knees for every single one of the associates, and they felt the air pressure around them climbing. "Surrender and spit out everything you know, and I'll think of a punishment that doesn't break your mind."

"We'd rather die than disclose even a word to you!" some of the associates shouted.

However, as the hollows were about to bind their wrists in ropes, they all tried to run away, desperate like deer cornered by a pack of wolves. The leaves drifting about in the neighborhood altered their course and swirled into a mini-tornado and forcibly picked all the associates off their feet.

"I'll give one last chance," Stussy said. "Speak, and you'll have my mercy."

"Fuck off, bitch!" they all roared in rage and resentment.

She exhaled a long sigh and turned around. The leaves soon cut the eight associates apart, and by the time the tornado stopped, all that was left of them were indistinguishable bits of flesh, blood, and bones. As the winds settled, the bloody leaves emitted steam and withered away as they fell either on the deck or got carried away by the wind toward the waters.

Bryan was dismayed. He pulled a never-before-seen face, aghast from what his eyes just witnessed. All that remained of the eight men, who were alive only seconds ago, were unidentifiable pieces of pulp. He just realized that only he was watching those eight people turning into nothing because all other workers had turned and looked the other way just like Stussy did.

"Check the barrels with a scar on their lids, until you find eleven more kids," Stussy sheathed the sword and threw it into the sea. All the workers wasted no more time and made checking the barrels their priority. After saying that, she looked at one of the workers, who got wounded by an associate of Znoja. He was bleeding heavily at the chest, and he couldn't even stand. She pointed her finger at his chest. A blue ball of energy shot out of the forefinger and struck his chest. The blue mass spread throughout the wound and solidified itself and stopped the bleeding at a stroke. He could see some strange blue substance on his chest, and though it uneased him a bit, he at least didn't feel as much pain as before. "I've just halted the bleeding, but the seal will wear off in a day. You have to find yourself a healer and live through this. This sentence is not for losing but for closing your eyes in the middle of a fight." Saying that she walked away.

"I-I'm extremely sorry, Captain Commander," the wounded man forced out a few words of regret as he tried to get up. "I won't repeat this."

Stussy just waved her arm without looking back as if telling him to take it easy. (What an idiot. I can also heal. If he had shoved his shame aside and asked me, I'd have restored his health right away.)

"Chief," the fat man voiced his mind as he followed her, "you could've left one of those associates alive for interrogation. Their accomplices might still be on the ship."

"I know this has happened before on this ship, but it's a first this year," Stussy said, her expression giving away that she wasn't so pleased with what had happened. "Spread the news that if this repeats, I will find every single soul involved in trafficking and hang their heads at the stern for ravens to feast upon."

"Y-You mean all forms of trafficking, Chief?" he asked, but her glance told him something. "I got it." (Lack of detail sows a seed of fear in every soul regardless of the type of trafficking they're involved in, huh. I thought Chief Commander Stussy was more benevolent than the previous one, but she's also menacing in her own right. Moreover, her ability to exercise her authority vastly outdoes every single one I've ever worked for. I must make use of this time to learn a thing or two from her.) "But what about the leopards who habitually do these sorts of things? They can't change their spots."

"Unfortunately, the hardest thing to do for some people is surrendering to someone better than themselves. Instilling fear may yield temporary results, but our advice or warnings will never truly reach such people unless they have a change of heart."

"I understand. Even if we use force and change them, they'll sooner or later fall back into their old ways."

"He said his name was Znoja," she put her fingers on her chin. "It felt like he was telling the truth, but it might also be an alias. Dig the name, starting with the logbook."

"Sure, Chief. But what about the 'puppy' word that guy used? It must be some sort of a code word."

"Mm," she slightly nodded. "The moment he said those words, his men shifted their focus into running away, so it must've meant that, but write it in the records, just in case I'm wrong. If you happen to find their families, then send them adequate recompense."

"Surely," he said but then began to scratch his head a bit. (Is compensation really necessary?)

"And also…" Stussy said, getting the fat man's attention, and he put his hand down.

"Yes, Chief, what is it?" he excitedly asked.

"Not anyone can be fat and fast. If you aren't in that category, then you should consider watching your diet a bit, Gerett."

The fat man, Gerett, quickly pulled his stomach inside, and stood straight. His face reddened a bit. "Y-Yes, Chief." He somewhat understood why she gave such advice because he hadn't directly tried to stop Znoja but instead ordered the other workers to do the physical work.

Stussy then glanced in Bryan's direction and pleasantly smiled. "The time is over, Mr. Bryan. You should get going."

"A-Ah, yes," Bryan just came back to his senses, and smiling tensely, he climbed down the rope hanging at the edge of the ship and onto the nearby smaller ship.

"Chief," Gerrett asked in a low voice, "I think that guy probably knew about the children. Maybe we should've grilled him a bit?"

"He's not the fish that needs to be caught."

"But his smile looked just like my uncle's. Fake as my grandma's golden teeth.��

She let out a soft breath and asked, "Sometimes wilderness becomes safer than a society. Why is that?"

"Uh, well, that… because of the people, right?"

She silently stared at him.

"I butchered that one. I apologize, Chief. Please open my eyes."

"Morally speaking, one shouldn't be able to do whatever they want without consequence, but some places allow certain people to have inequitable privileges than the rest. You see, this invites all sorts of problems into ordinary people's lives. Is it worth living among those who talk about nothing important? When nothing in your neighborhood is plain anymore, wilderness becomes a better place to draw breath and support yourself because you can tell apart predators from the rest." Stussy started to walk away. "Be that as it may, everything is evermore plain for those that have eyes to see. Life beyond the grave probably won't be all lovely for the black-hearted, but be it now, or in the afterlife, those who don't lead their lives virtuously will only have themselves to blame."

"No matter how many times they may escape, the villainous hearts will have to suffer at the very end, but it is up to the ordinary to not fall prey to the predators, huh," Gerett bowed a little. "Moving out of bad places is indeed the best option when you can't recognize a bad face."

"Oh, no! My baby!" Just then, Stussy cried out as she just realized that the violin she had kept by the wall was now in pieces. "How did this happen? Who did this?" she looked around angrily at the workers.

"Ah, chief, that…" Gerett and the other workers couldn't speak a word out of discomfiture. "How, how can we say this?" they kept looking at each other's faces.

"Mm?" Stussy looked at the floor and saw a cutting mark on it that formed when she had casually swung the sword. She now rubbed the back of her head, and bashfully smiled. "So it was me."

Gerett tried to reassure her, "Chief, you can fix it, can't you? So nothing bad actually happened, right?"

Stussy's gaze somewhat sharpened. "Do you hurt someone or something you love for no reason just because you can fix it later?"

"I-I take back my words," Gerett turned away and shouted at other workers, "what are you all morons looking at? Get back to your work!"

Meanwhile, Bryan, who just set foot on the shore, looked at his hands, and they were still mildly shaking. He looked back at sea, and Extensive Voyage was almost at the edge of the scope of his vision. He took a breath and turned around. There were three words roughly written in the sand. "CURE THY CITY." His eyes swelled out for a second, and then a mighty wave broke to the shore and washed the words away.

Stussy glanced back at the shore. (Without knowledge, we will forever be at the mercy of those who wish to do our thinking for us. Mr. Bryan, will you at the least explore your city and one day expose its darkness to the world with the light of your heart, and show to one and all that man isn't just another animal, or will you let poison find a home in your heart? Either way, do not fall to pieces.)

.......

[1] Neatly: Neatly: Bending or breaking the laws in the shadows, so that the truth never reaches the public.

[2] Doggy Dream: Also known as Dog's Dream. Dogs do dream, but it's believed that they generally don't have the mental capacity to make those dreams come true.