Living people.

Those caged like beasts and mutant creatures.

In past matches, to make the mutants even more bloodthirsty, the arena personnel not only injected drugs but also put live human bait into the mix, letting the beasts taste blood after killing their prey.

Some people liked to watch that.

But having people fight against each other in the arena was truly a first.

In Southport, without sharp claws or pointed teeth, humans should have been the weakest creatures, yet they were born with hearts full of selfish desires.

How malicious, how maddening.

The twenty people released at once were now unrecognizable.

They were filthy, their hair and nails packed with dirt, some even dragging blackened feet, their clothes ragged, resembling walking corpses.

The host shouted from the high platform, "If you can kill the person in front of you, you will be set free!"

Freedom, like air, always seemed most precious when lost, irreplaceable.

To these people caged like livestock, freedom was an addiction, a mere mention could send them into a frenzy.

Twenty people charged without any hint of reason.

They opened their mouths, intent on tearing flesh.

These were people more beastly than the beasts themselves.

Even though Hannah was careful to avoid them, she couldn’t avoid getting hurt.

Her arm was almost bitten off.

The people kept swarming.

Seventeen yelled from outside the ring, "Hannah, kill them, don’t be soft-hearted!"

It was different, after all.

It was one thing to defend oneself in the refugee district because people wanted to kill her, but here... Hannah saw people from Southport.

Even though she had wandered alone, lived alone, faced death alone, she was still just a ten-year-old child.

People always long for home, seeking a sense of belonging.

Seeing people from Southport she once knew, charging at her with sharp sticks, Hannah still stopped.

Even after the planet was defeated and the people around her took out their hatred on her, she never thought of revenge.

Because—she indeed was a disaster.

A woman charged, like a wild beast, her legs bent and ready, then she pinned Hannah to the ground by her throat.

A sharpened wooden stake was raised high in her hand.

"Granny Mary."

The girl’s voice was a whisper, her eyes brimming with tears,

This was the person who had shielded her from the shells, the one who had grown up with her mother.

The woman’s motion halted, hidden behind disheveled hair were a pair of old, cloudy eyes.

"Little... princess."

The woman’s voice was stiff, as if struggling to remember something, but her mind was blank, inscribed only with the words "kill her."

No one could understand better than Hannah what defeat for a planet meant.

It meant being uprooted, having no home, and no kin.

And having lost their faith.

The woman swung the sharpened wood downward anyhow.

The wood pierced through skin, aiming lower, at the heart.

It seemed as though there were shouts in her ears, some crying, some laughing.

And someone yelling, "Hannah!"

It was Archer’s voice.

In the corner of her vision, it appeared someone was running towards her.

...

In the end, Hannah won the last match.

As she was being carried away, the woman’s grip loosened and the stick slid from her palm.

She watched in the direction Hannah was taken, her cracked lips moved, forming a smile.

The woman said, "Little princess, live well."