Pirates had set their sights on the treasure of God Valley. The Navy was on its way too, aiming to protect the Celestial Dragons stationed there. Though driven by different motives, countless ships now converged toward the isnd.

  Yet none of that disrupted what was already happening on God Valley.

  The Celestial Dragons' "hunting game" proceeded as usual. Even though the commanding officers had received word of the approaching armadas, they made no move to halt the festivities. To them, such matters were nothing but trivial noise.

  The squad sent to recapture the escaped Buccaneer sves hadn’t returned, but the Celestial Dragons didn’t bother sending reinforcements. In their eyes, no sve could possibly escape the isnd. If one did manage to flee, it merely added spice to the game — a high-value target running wild would make things more entertaining.

  In fact, from the very beginning, the Celestial Dragons had intentionally released some of the sves, telling them to hide as best they could — all for the sake of making their twisted game more enjoyable.

  Cidriel Oran’s group had begun to grow, starting with a familiar face: the previously escaped Buccaneer sve, Bartholomew Kuma.

  He was the rgest among them physically, but ironically, also the youngest. Oran had needed a moment to reconcile the boy in front of him with the man he knew from the future — the Warlord of the Sea, Tyrant Kuma.

  Like the Lunarians, the Buccaneer tribe had been hunted to the brink of extinction by the World Government. Their biggest crime? The whispered legend of Nika that lingered in their bloodline — a tale that made them a thorn in the side of the ruling powers.

  When Kuma was born, someone in the hospital leaked his bloodwork. That was all it took. The World Government's hounds came knocking, ensving his entire family. His parents died one after another, and Kuma himself was eventually handed over to the Celestial Dragons, marked as a high-priority sve and sent to God Valley.

  “Your recovery is insane, Kuma. Are you really okay now?” Oran asked, watching the boy move around as if nothing had happened. He’d taken a blow to the back of the head hard enough to knock him out, then been beaten with clubs. Yet now, only minutes ter, he was walking freely again. Oran couldn't help but marvel at the Buccaneer physique.

  “I’m fine. Thank you for caring. You’re a good person.”

  Good person. That word made Oran pause.

  Ever since the Celestial Dragons killed his father simply for "being too noisy," Kuma couldn’t remember the st time someone had called him by name. He was a number. A designation. Nothing more.

  Oran gave a small sigh. “Good person, huh? That’s a bit of a stretch for me. Anyway—everyone here should already understand the situation, right?”

  He looked around at the gathered crowd, now more than twenty strong.

  Most were sves, though a few were stunned natives of God Valley, still trying to process the chaos. Some had tried to cozy up to the Celestial Dragons for survival—like Kuma's old group—but there were always those who chose to fight back. With the chance to escape suddenly real, people were starting to pick sides.

  While tending to the wounded, Oran moved with practiced precision. Beyond being a scientist, he had substantial knowledge in medicine, especially in areas involving drug synthesis and cybernetic enhancement. These weren’t tasks he was willing to delegate. He had to do them himself.

  Part of it was strategy — helping the wounded would make future pns go more smoothly. But it was also a gesture of goodwill. First impressions mattered. If people trusted him, they’d be more cooperative when it counted.

  Meanwhile, Emporio Ivankov was expining the full situation to the group.

  “Plunder the resources. Drive out the natives. And while they’re at it, py a little murder game.

  “There are about a hundred thousand people on this isnd. And in the Celestial Dragons' grand pn, every st one of them is going to be sughtered — three weeks from now. Hard to believe? Maybe. But it’s the truth.

  “Lucky for you, today’s your lucky day. We’ve got not one, but two ways to survive this. So what’s it gonna be? Join us, or... what?”

  Ivankov had id it out pinly. Yet some still clung to a pathetic illusion.

  “B-but… didn’t they say if we survive the three weeks, we’ll be free?” a middle-aged man finally asked, shattering the tense silence.

  “You actually believed that crap?!” Ivankov snapped. “This isn’t the first time the Celestial Dragons have done this. And guess what? Not a single person has ever survived it!”

  Of course, the Celestial Dragons would never come right out and say, "We’re going to sughter you all." Instead, they used the promise of freedom as bait.

  Every time, they wiped out the test subjects, leaving no survivors. Then they’d go back to the Holy Land, spin a few fake success stories, and wave them in front of the remaining sves to give them hope. Just enough hope to keep them docile. Just enough to make them look forward to the next game.

  They loved that feeling — giving people hope, then snuffing it out with their own hands.

  “That’s… horrible…”

  “It’s simple,” Oran cut in, finishing up the st round of bandaging. “Think of it this way: if you were served a fresh, lively fish and a dead, bloated one, which would you rather eat?

  “People fight harder when they think there's a chance. That’s the entire point of this game — to make you run, struggle, beg. But it’s a rigged game. There’s no winning by pying their rules. The only way out… is to break them.

  “If you still want to believe in fairy tales, go find a corner and wait to die.”

  Oran’s voice was cold, but steady. Then he looked around again. “Everyone understands the situation now. Anyone want to leave?”

  Silence.

  That was answer enough.

  “Good. Then it’s simple. Our goal is to survive. And for that, everyone—man, woman, child—has to contribute. Tell me what you're good at. We’re pnning our next moves now, and I won’t allow dead weight to drag us down.”

  With that, Oran pulled out his Hextech teleportation gate model again, demonstrating the feasibility of his pn.

  Humans were social creatures. When panic spread and people were lost, Oran had stepped forward and pointed the way. Naturally, that made him the de facto leader.

  The native isnders were familiar with the terrain and quickly sketched out a rough map. With their input, the team split up to begin preparations.

  Ivankov and Jhinny headed toward a shipyard they’d previously scouted, hoping to gather a few reliable craftsmen and bring them to a secure meeting point.

  The ships were a delicate matter. Oran had no intention of exposing them to just anyone.

  Meanwhile, Oran led another group to a nearby granary, stocking up on supplies — just in case.

  Before they split up, Oran called Ivankov and Jhinny aside. They were the first people he’d met in this world, and the ones he trusted most.

  “Ivan, I gave you that net uncher for a reason — but you know it can fire more than just nets. If things get serious, you won’t hesitate, will you?”

  “Hee-haw! Don’t worry. If the time comes, I’ll pull the trigger.”

  Ivan took the special ammunition Oran handed him. In response, Oran reached into his storage case and pulled out several vials of glowing purple serum.