Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 701: They All Came For The News

...The Festival of Magnus

The day of the festival arrived, bringing with it an overwhelming energy that transformed the island town into a vibrant, chaotic spectacle.

According to legend, this was the day the sea god Magnus used his great, flowing beard to pull the island from the depths of the ocean, granting its people a home above the waves.

To honor him, the town erupted in celebration, with every street, dock, and alley bursting with life.

At the dock, the waters churned with activity as ships of all kinds arrived—massive galleons, sleek privateer vessels, and battle-worn pirate ships, their sails fluttering in the salty wind.

Merchants from all corners of the sea had come, their decks overflowing with crates of exotic goods, ranging from rare spices and shimmering pearls to bizarre sea creatures sealed in glass jars.

But it wasn't just traders who had come.

The docks were loud with laughter, arguments, and drunken cheers, as pirates, mercenaries, and bounty hunters drank cheap, burning sea-wine straight from barrels, gambling away their plundered loot in reckless bets.

Women in bright, revealing outfits moved through the crowds, offering trinkets, charms, and sometimes, much more.

In some corners, street performers danced with flames, while in others, mysterious figures in hooded cloaks whispered about rare, forbidden artifacts.

Fish beast meat was stacked high on grills, their fat sizzling as they released a mouthwatering aroma into the air.

But not all was as it seemed.

Among the authentic treasures were fakes—cheap charms pretending to be ancient relics, and false potions sold with empty promises of power and longevity.

A merchant with too many gold teeth tried to convince a drunken sailor that a barnacle-covered sword had belonged to a sea god's fallen knight—only for a passing child to point out that the "legendary blade" had "Made in East Port" etched at the bottom.

The town itself was decorated in deep blue and silver banners, each one bearing the symbol of Magnus—a beard of cascading waves.

From wooden poles, shell ornaments and elemental lanterns hung, rattling softly in the breeze.

The air smelled of brine, grilled seafood, and the unmistakable stench of cheap alcohol, which poured freely from every corner tavern and street stall.

Children ran through the cobblestone paths, wearing carved wooden masks of sea creatures, playfully chasing each other with toy harpoons.

The festival had only just begun, yet many were already too drunk to stand, their boisterous laughter mixing with the music played by traveling minstrels.

The true heart of the festival would come at night, when the grand parade of Magnus' statue would make its way through the town square—a towering figure with a beard of flowing water, pulled along by a mass of devoted followers.

It would culminate in a speech by the elusive mayor, a man so rarely seen that some questioned whether he was real at all.

This was what Chiron was waiting for.

---

Yet, even before evening arrived, a new development shook the island town.

A new fleet of ships appeared—not from the sea, like all the others, but from the sky.

High above, black silhouettes broke through the clouds, descending toward the festival grounds like predators drawn by the scent of prey.

And just like that, everything changed.

The Arrival of the Holy Church's Fleet

The skies darkened as the imposing vessels descended. Unlike the rugged, chaotic ships of pirates and merchants below, these were crafted with divine precision, their hulls lined with silver and gold engravings that shimmered under the sun.

Each ship bore the mark of the Temperance Family, one of the prestigious Virtue Clans of the Holy Church, a name feared and revered across the lands. Their mastheads were carved into the shape of angelic warriors, their eyes filled with cold judgment, while their sails gleamed white, marked with the sacred sigil of the Holy Church—a radiant wheel of fate, surrounded by wings of purity.

These ships easily outclassed any pirate ship below, their elegance and power unmatched. Even the most notorious captains among the pirates had no choice but to quietly step aside, knowing full well that crossing the Holy Church meant death—or worse.

As the floating armada anchored in the air, ethereal stairways of light descended from their decks, and from them, the soldiers of the Holy Church emerged.

Each soldier was a living symbol of authority, standing tall in impeccably crafted silver-and-white armor, their chests adorned with two emblems—on the right side, the crest of the Temperance Family, a golden sword piercing through a chalice, and on the left, the Holy Church's sacred insignia of the Sun.

They carried themselves with an air of absolute superiority, their expressions cold, their eyes filled with quiet disdain as they surveyed the island's inhabitants.

To them, these people of the sea were filth—pagans, sinners, lawless degenerates who lived beyond the righteous order of the Church.

Their boots struck the ground with controlled force, and with every step, the crowds instinctively parted, aware that these were not men to be trifled with. Even the pirates, infamous for their lawless ways, dared not provoke them.

The leader of the soldiers, a man with sharp features and cold blue eyes, turned to his second-in-command.

"Find them." His voice was calm, yet the authority within it left no room for defiance.

The soldiers moved with unwavering purpose, heading straight for the hotel where the two suspicious newcomers had been lodging.

But upon arrival, they found—

Nothing.

Chiron and Emma were gone.

The leader of the soldiers wasted no time. His boots struck the ground with urgency as he hurried through the elegant halls of the Holy Church's command vessel. The corridors were ornate but cold, lined with scriptures etched in gold, each word a decree of absolute faith.

As he approached the central chamber, he composed himself, but the moment he stepped inside—he halted abruptly.

There, before him, stood his commander, a Gold-Rank Knight—but unlike others of his esteemed rank, he did not wear the Holy Church's armored golden uniform.

Instead, he was draped in flowing robes of deep ivory, embroidered with intricate runes of authority. His very presence exuded an aura of overwhelming pressure, something beyond mere human strength, something blessed by the divine itself.

But what truly caught the soldier's attention was the woman standing before the commander.

She was a beastman—a Boar Beastwoman, to be precise. Her body was toned and strong, wrapped in a revealing set of pirate leathers, yet her posture carried an air of calm confidence. A long scar ran down her left cheek, a mark of countless battles, yet despite this imperfection, her smile remained seductive, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint.

The atmosphere in the room was tense—not of mere diplomacy, but of two powerful forces sizing each other up...