Immediately, the agent adjusted her elegant monocle with a chain and glanced curiously at the brown-haired girl squatting beside her, diligently filling out a form:
"Officer, why is a Feis Person here to apply for a sailing permit?"
"It’s all the doing of a foolish merchant named ’Dean’. That old fellow somehow got lucky and managed to get his name on an official document."
The officer filled out the permit proactively, sneering as he said, "The most ridiculous thing is, not only did that guy fail to seize the opportunity to climb up, but after he came back, he started giving free money to these ’hats’ that can’t be propped up."
"That’s truly a disaster..." The agent chuckled softly, covering her mouth.
The officer and the agent didn’t lower their voices; even with her insulated hat on, Molly could hear their nasty remarks.
The girl’s expression turned gloomy.
Hats...
At some point, the term ’hats’ had become an inescapable label for the Feis People.
All Alliance citizens knew that the Feis Race was inherently inferior and could never become explorers of the great ocean.
In the mysterious ocean, the abilities of the Feis People were purely negative effects.
They had fragile nerves yet were naturally perceptive, so even if they covered their senses, they often heard things that shouldn’t be heard or saw things that shouldn’t be seen, putting the entire sailing crew in danger.
Even on safe routes, Feis People could hear the temptations from the deep sea. In a country that revered freedom and adventure, they were inherently burdened with detestable shackles.
Fortunately, they were quite suitable as low-status citizens.
To many upper-class citizens, Feis People were quite useful as expendables, with their weak character and incredibly cheap labor, a slight increase in basic commodity prices would make them work tirelessly like donkeys.
"I really can’t understand why the higher-ups would want to unite with these filthy beggars?"
The officer shook his head haughtily and said, "I think that Lord Roland is just the same, that broken Ark is full of unsophisticated bumpkins and substandard sun creations that nobody cares for."
He mocked, "He relies entirely on collections without practical use to get close to the Alliance’s big ship because, after all, our scholars of the White Oak like that sort of thing."
"Actually, Madam Nightingale is also quite interested in those artworks."
The agent smiled politely, "Any collection is very important, you know."
"Oh yes! Artworks! But I think, what would Lord Roland know about artworks? He doesn’t even deserve to lick Miss Nightingale’s shoes."
The officer stood up and handed over the sailing permit covered with seals with both hands, "Good luck to you, esteemed lady agent."
At the same time, Molly had also finished filling in her information. She cautiously approached but was pushed away by a frowning bodyguard, causing the girl to fall to the ground in confusion, with her white dress getting stained instantly.
The agent turned and left, stepping over the paper on the ground, elegantly crossing over Molly as if over an insignificant pebble.
Molly stared blankly for a while, her furry ears twitched, and she silently picked up her hat and the trampled permit, carefully wiped away the dust, smoothed it out, and handed it back to the officer.
"So dirty..."
The officer frowned, casually stamped a crooked permit, and shooed her away, "Alright, alright, you can go now!"
Molly took that sailing permit, and even though the permit itself was extremely cheap, she held it close to her chest as if protecting a treasure.
The girl murmured softly, "Mom, Dad can be saved..."