The pirates had set their sights on the treasures of the Valley of the Gods, while the Navy aimed to protect the Celestial Dragons on the island. Though their reasons differed, countless ships were heading toward the Valley of the Gods.
However, these events did not disrupt what was already unfolding on the island.
The Celestial Dragons' hunting activities continued as planned. Even though the higher-ups leading the event had received news of the approaching forces, they showed no intention of stopping. To them, these were trivial matters.
The team sent to recapture the escaped Buccaneer tribe slave had not returned, but the Celestial Dragons didn't bother sending more people after them. In their eyes, it was impossible for a slave to escape the island. An escaped high-value target like this only added excitement to their game.
To be precise, starting just recently, the Celestial Dragons had begun releasing some slaves, encouraging them to hide as best they could to make their game more enjoyable.
Meanwhile, the size of Oran, Ivankov, and their team was growing. The first new member was the escaped Buccaneer tribe slave—Bartholomew Kuma.
Despite being the largest in stature, Kuma was the youngest in the group. Oran had to think hard to connect him to the future timeline, where he would become one of the Seven Warlords, the Tyrant Kuma.
Like the Lunarian tribe, the Buccaneer tribe had faced extermination by the World Government due to their race. The Buccaneers were particularly targeted because of the legends of Nika circulating among them, making them a thorn in the World Government's side.
When Kuma was born, someone at the hospital leaked information about his blood, leading the World Government's agents to his family. From then on, Kuma's family was enslaved. His parents died one after another, and Kuma himself was marked as a slave to be dealt with, sent to this island along with others.
"Such incredible resilience, Kuma. Is your body already fine?"
Oran looked at Kuma, who seemed perfectly fine, and marveled slightly at the physical constitution of his tribe. Despite being knocked unconscious by a heavy blow to the back of his head and beaten with sticks, Kuma was able to move freely within minutes.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern. You're a good person."
Since his father was killed by a Celestial Dragon for being "too noisy," Kuma couldn't remember the last time someone had called him by his name. Slave, or a numbered code, had been his identity.
"Good person? That term doesn't exactly suit me. Alright, everyone, you should all understand the situation by now, right?"
Seeing Kuma suddenly label him as such, Oran found it a bit naive. He then turned to the people around him. Their group had grown to over twenty members.
Most were slaves, with a small number of bewildered Valley of the Gods natives.
Just as there were those, like the group Kuma had been with, who only wanted to grovel before the Celestial Dragons, there were also those willing to resist and escape. When opportunity presented itself, people naturally made different choices.
While treating some of their wounds, Oran demonstrated his knowledge beyond that of a scientist. He had considerable expertise in medical research, particularly in potions and cybernetic enhancements, which he preferred to handle personally rather than entrust to others.
Treating these people served two purposes: it ensured smoother execution of future plans and acted as a gesture of goodwill.
First impressions would theoretically make them more cooperative.
Meanwhile, Ivankov was explaining the specifics of the situation to the group.
"Plunder resources, drive out the natives, and play a killing game on the side.
There are about 100,000 people on this island. According to the Celestial Dragons' plan, every single one of them will be killed within three weeks! Hard to believe? Well, that's the reality!
You're all lucky today. We have one—no, two ways to survive! Make your choice, everyone. Join us, or what?"
Ivankov felt he had laid out the situation clearly, but some still clung to inexplicable fantasies about the Celestial Dragons.
"Didn't they say that if we survive these three weeks, we'll be granted freedom?"
Ivankov's words plunged the small group into silence. After a brief pause, a middle-aged man was the first to ask this question.
"You actually believe that nonsense?! This isn't the first time the Celestial Dragons have pulled this stunt. In the past, not a single person has ever survived!"
"We're going to kill you all, so be good targets." Of course, the Celestial Dragons wouldn't say that outright.
Instead, they dangled the promise of freedom to lure people in.
Though they always slaughtered everyone, it also meant there were no witnesses. After the event, they could say a few words to the slaves back at Mariejois, give a few fabricated examples, and instill hope for the future, even making slaves look forward to such events.
Giving hope only to crush it—that was a feeling the Celestial Dragons relished.
"How could this be…"
"It's simple logic. Between a lifeless fish floating belly-up and a lively, fresh one, which would you rather eat?
Having something to hope for makes you run harder. That's their so-called game, but there's no way to win it. Breaking free from the rules is the only way out.
If you want to believe the Celestial Dragons' lies, go ahead and find a corner to hide in."
At this point, Oran finished bandaging the last person's wounds and picked up where Ivankov left off.
"I've explained the situation. Anyone want to leave now?"
After a brief pause, seeing no one speak, Oran understood their intentions.
"Then it's simple. Our goal is to survive, so everyone—man, woman, young, or old—needs to contribute. Tell us what you're good at. We need to prepare for the next steps. I don't want anyone dragging us down at a time like this."
Oran then displayed the Hextech Teleportation Gate model again, proving the feasibility of the plan.
Humans are social creatures. When everyone is at a loss, Oran provided a direction, naturally becoming the leader of that path.
The natives of the Valley of the Gods were more familiar with the terrain. After they summarized the island's layout, the team split up to take action.
Ivankov and Ginny headed to the shipyard they had previously contacted, aiming to bring some craftsmen to the agreed-upon rendezvous point.
The ship was a sensitive matter, and Oran had no intention of revealing it to everyone just yet.
Oran, meanwhile, led a group to a nearby granary to stockpile food for future needs.
Before parting ways, Oran pulled Ivankov and Ginny aside. As the first people he'd met, Oran trusted them relatively more.
"Ivan, the net gun I gave you can also fire different types of ammunition. Sometimes, nets won't scare off enemies. When it comes down to it, you'd better be ready to shoot."
"Hee-haw, leave it to me. I won't hold back when the time comes."
Ivankov accepted the special ammunition Oran handed him. Oran then reached into a storage box and pulled out a few purple syringes.