We Are All the Cost

The curtain of night gradually fell over the land, yet it brought not a shred of peace to the embattled city of Tiandu. The siege had reached its fifth day, finally entering the bloodiest and most brutal phase of street fighting. The Imperial Guards defending Tiandu broke into small squads and dispersed into the various avenues, trading fire alley by alley and street by street with the rebels pouring into the city. Yet in the end, they were no match for the endless numbers. They had no reinforcements. The enemy, however, had an unending stream of reinforcements, and their weapons and ammunition seemed limitless. Five thousand against five hundred thousand. In this battle of overwhelming disparity, the outcome seemed sealed from the very beginning. The floating "palace" was entirely useless. Though the starship serving as its foundation was still operating, the only components capable of running were its reactor and anti-gravity apparatus. It was simply too old. Constructed during the Three-Year War, it had hovered in an oxidizing environment for more than two hundred years, and the people living on this land had even erected an opulent imperial palace upon its spine. The burden it bore was far too heavy—so heavy that it could not even ascend into the clouds. It could only watch helplessly as soldiers swarmed around it like an army of ants. Once again, it bore witness to the turnover of a dynasty, yet still it never met its true master. "Aaaargh! Treacherous dogs! I wish I could slaughter every last one of them, skin their hides, and rip out their tendons!" Below the palace steps, the commander of the Imperial Guard stared at the capital engulfed in a sea of fire, his eyes bloodshot. The final line of defense leading to the palace had already fallen! Stumbling forward, his subordinate dropped to one knee before him, bearing the pain of a gunshot wound in his shoulder as he pleaded, "General! Fall back, quickly! The men are almost wiped out! Tiandu... can't be held anymore!" "Retreat?! Never!!" The commander roared in fury, snatched the rifle from his subordinate's hands, and charged to the front lines himself to trade shots with the rebels beneath the steps. Gunfire thundered before the imperial palace! The streets below the steps were carpeted with corpses! Men stacked bodies into breastworks, crawling behind the makeshift barricades to shoot at one another. The thick, murky blood surged backward up the steps from below, finally breaching the palace gates. Surrounded by rebels, the commander was riddled with bullets, collapsing before the bloodstained palace gates with his eyes wide open. All five thousand guards perished for their country; not a single man retreated. In the end, their corpses were strung on flagpoles and hung at the entrance of Tiandu's North Gate. Word was that the Emperor had fled in that direction. Tiandu had fallen into new hands after all... ... That night, Janusz ordered a grand banquet to reward the entire army, then swaggered into Wutuo's imperial palace to take up residence. When announcing his "northern hunt," Wutuo had fled in such haste that he left behind the rare treasures, eunuchs, and female kin in the palace. Those fair-skinned, beautiful consorts and court maids, along with the gold, silver, jewelry, artworks, and sacrificial vessels piled in the storerooms, were all accepted with open arms by the Heavenly King. Some he kept for himself; others he bestowed upon the soldiers and confidants who had fought bravely, earning himself a glowing reputation for spreading favors generously and maintaining strict fairness in rewards and punishments. As for the eunuchs, Janusz did not waste them either. He ordered the castrated men to stand upon the palace's giant chessboard, clutching swords and daggers while wearing animal headpieces, and made them play "human chess" by the light of bonfires to entertain his ascension. Meanwhile, he sat upon the Emperor's throne, taking his pleasure with an earl's young daughter whom Wutuo had not even had time to touch. He savored her tear-streaked, delicate frailty while watching the bloodbath of screams and weeping upon the chessboard. "Magnificent! Hahaha! Bloody magnificent!" Janusz laughed uproariously, slapping the armrest of the throne. "That MacLaren always looked down on wargames, but I find it quite amusing!" The advisor standing beside him chuckled obsequiously. "It is Your Majesty who has bestowed new joy upon it." "Your Majesty..." Janusz narrowed his eyes slightly, a thrill of unspeakable delight surging between his brows. Enfeoffing kings and appointing chancellors—what peak of life could compare to this! "The Heavenly Wolf devours the Sun—it is time for the prophecy to come to pass... We can spare the Bull Clan for now; after all, this is Bull State. But the reckoning for the Sun Clan can begin." "Pass down my order: confiscate all their property and reduce them to slaves. Finders keepers." "And as for the nobles invested by Wutuo, order them to stay in their homes awaiting judgment. If anyone dares step foot outside, kill them without mercy!" Standing respectfully at his side, the advisor bowed. "Your Majesty's wisdom is boundless!" Thick plumes of smoke veiled the night sky. The coronation ceremony was set for three days later. Janusz proclaimed that the Xilan Empire had fallen and the Xilan Dynasty was no more; the new empire would be called the Janusz Empire, and the new dynasty the Janusz Dynasty. Like many great families, his name became the future clan's surname, crowned with legends to carry supreme glory, as if he were the earthly incarnation of the Wolf God. The entire Heavenly King Army celebrated from top to bottom, slaughtering pigs and sheep, reveling in meat and wine. A pity that the Wilante in Tiandu had fled quickly, leaving not a single soul behind. And the nobles were clever as foxes, fleeing even faster than their Emperor! Only the nobles of military background had stayed behind to resist alongside the Imperial Guard. And then there were the diehards, still clinging to delusions of the Xilan royal court. They soon paid the price. Not only were all males in their households slaughtered, but their women were reduced to slaves, becoming playthings for the Heavenly King Army. In the northern suburbs of Tiandu, Absaik's lion banner fluttered amid the night and the glow of bonfires. Though Absaik was a member of the Wolf Clan and hailed from the Gray Wolf Army, that did not stop Janusz from enfeoffing him as the Lion King. In the future, the Grand Duke of Lion State would also have to be of the Wolf Clan; the Lion Clan had to submit to Wolf Clan leadership. This was considered an improvement made by learning from the previous dynasty's mistakes. Inside the command tent, cups clinked and laughter rang out among the chiliarchs. Only one man was fraught with worry. That chiliarch's name was Anwo. Like the others seated in the tent, he was of the Wolf Clan, and furthermore, a trusted confidant of General Absaik—the future Grand Duke of the new empire. He had even worked on the same docks as Absaik. The only difference was that his faith lay not with the Wolf God, but with the Silver Moon Goddess. While faith was hardly an identity label in Brahma Province—bloodline was—his brooding expression still clashed starkly with the jubilant atmosphere around him. Absaik walked over, laughed heartily, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Anwo, cheer up! Haha! From now on, the Empire belongs to our Wolf Clan! Whether it's the hardworking bulls or the arrogant sun, they will all bow their heads before us! Once the Heavenly King makes me a general, everyone here—including you—will be a myriarch commanding ten thousand men!" He enunciated each word of that last sentence deliberately, then drained the wine in his cup. His boisterous capacity for alcohol and stirred cadence drew a round of cheers across the tent. Watching his beaming commander, Anwo could not muster the slightest joy. He raised his cup and drank it down, but the worry in his eyes did not diminish in the least. In fact, it deepened. "I am grateful for the General's promotion, but perhaps I am overthinking things... I just feel our troubles have only just begun..." Seeing that troubled look, Absaik burst into loud laughter. "Are you still worrying about those big-noses?" "Shouldn't we worry?" Anwo looked at his superior, the future Grand Duke of this new empire, his voice low. "We killed so many of their people and seized their munitions... Those Wilante won't let us off." Hearing this, a sharp gleam suddenly flashed in the drunken Absaik's eyes. Looking at his subordinate with a meaningful gaze, he laid a hand on Anwo's shoulder. "Don't be so naive, Anwo. On this cruel wasteland, naivety is the deadliest poison." Anwo's Adam's apple bobbed. "What does General mean?" Absaik grinned. "People will die, yes, but not us. It will be the Emperor of the 'old dynasty'... It doesn't matter if you don't understand that right now. But why don't you guess why our victory came so smoothly?" "Isn't that obvious?" Anwo replied without thinking. "Because we were united. When others were just smashing things to vent their rage, we organized ourselves and led them like a wolf pack driving prey—" "Hahahahaha!" Booming laughter cut Anwo off. Absaik slapped his shoulder hard, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Just that? You think that alone could overthrow an empire? Anwo, my brother, I consider you a brother, so I'll give you a piece of advice: that naive mindset wouldn't even pass Sanjay, the Grand Duke of Lion State!" "You've handled your duties well, but that's not enough. Don't just believe everything you see or hear. Use your own head to think about the 'why' and the 'what.'" Anwo stared blankly, his expression suddenly turning solemn. He respectfully poured a cup of wine for the general, filled his own, and downed it in one gulp. "Please enlighten me, General!" Pleased with his thirst to learn, and with the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in his head, Absaik patted his shoulder and sat down beside him. "I'll teach you... but you must take these words to your grave." Anwo nodded earnestly, leaning in respectfully. "I will engrave General's teachings in my heart!" Absaik lowered his voice to a whisper, letting his words drown under the noisy clamor of the tent. "Janusz came from the Gray Wolf Army. I did too. Many of us did... The kings of the thirteen armies are all his trusted men, his battle comrades. But within this, there is a circle he knows nothing about." "We rallied swiftly around him and pushed him onto the throne not because he held such immense prestige among us, but because we needed such a fellow... to shoulder the responsibilities that come with being king. Since he stepped forward voluntarily, let him take it." The reek of alcohol brushed against Anwo's ear. What the scruffy man said sent a chill straight through Anwo, turning his hands and feet cold. Especially the next sentence, which froze his breath as his tension mounted: "The munitions stacked in the port warehouses, the military train broken down on the railway line, the rations and supplies rotting in storage instead of going to the front lines..." "Do you really think... all of that was prepared for Alaiyang?" ... What the eyes saw was not necessarily real, nor was what the ears heard. Yet Eagle still had not expected the truth to be so shocking. Why were munitions meant for the front lines stacked in the port warehouses—and right when storage pressure was at its peak? Why were such vital supplies left unguarded, allowing the rebels to find them immediately and turn them upon the guards? And most crucially... why was it that when the crisis broke out, none of the people who truly deserved to die were there? When the final piece of the puzzle fell into place, all the perplexing doubts he could not resolve were linked together by interlocking clues... It was indeed an accidental upheaval. But an accident was not the whole story... After night fell. The old nun lit a candle and led the group down into the church's basement. This was Pastor Melchior's wine cellar and study. Because people were often here, the ventilation was passable. The Silver Moon Church did not forbid alcohol; in fact, it held wine in high esteem and frequently used it in rituals. According to the old nun, he would always sit at his desk immersed in the fragrance of wine, compiling stories about Boer and writing the Silver Gospel. When the upheaval occurred, the children had hidden in this modest basement. The wooden stairs were crudely made, squeaking underfoot, serving as an alert for anyone hiding below. Yarman had expected to see his wife here, but the basement was empty. However, upon arriving, the old nun holding the silver candlestick let out a sigh of relief, her tensed shoulders visibly relaxing. "...You were overwhelmed with grief at the time. I was afraid that if you knew she was alive, you would search for her recklessly or tell General MacLaren and his men." Yarman asked instinctively, "Shouldn't I have done that?" Shit Stirrer whistled. "Depends on the situation. If this were Dawn City, we'd definitely recommend calling the cops right away—after all, rescue missions pay the best. But in a godforsaken hole like West Port, even if you report it to the cops... you'd just get dragged back to the compound, wouldn't you?" "West... West Port?" Looking at the bewildered Yarman, Battle Wolf coughed and said in a stammering voice, "He... switched channels... That's a story from another dimension, nothing to do with here." "...?" Eagle gave a dry cough, cutting off his friends' banter. "Alright, remember your handbook... Cough, let's get down to business. Since you brought us here, Sister, I take it we've earned your trust, right?" "Indeed," the old nun nodded slowly. "Please forgive me for not being completely forthright from the start, and only now coming to beg for your help. After all, this concerns two hundred lives; I had to be cautious with every choice I made." Piping Dog chuckled. "No problem, aren't game quests always like this? I get it—" "Shut your trap." Eagle clamped a hand over the guy's mouth and signaled for the old nun to ignore him and go on. The old nun paused for a moment, then gave a gentle nod. "...So while waiting for Mr. Yarman to calm down, I was observing you. Now I am certain that if even you cannot be trusted... then there is probably no one in this world who can help us." Facing the gazes focused on her, she slowly began to speak, recounting the events of that night that no one in the settlement was willing to mention... ... Time rewound to the night that lit the fuse of everything. A crowd was waiting anxiously in the church when a devilish voice drifted in from outside. "Ruby? Tsk, tsk... what a lovely name." Just as the words fell, the church doors were kicked open with a bang. Commotion rippled through the hall as terrified gazes turned to the entrance. Mothers clutched their children tightly; husbands stepped in front of their wives. Looking at those loathsome faces, Anwo wore an expression of hatred and disdain. Flanked by more than twenty heavily armed soldiers, he stepped into the place where he had once devoutly prayed. "Anwo!" Recognizing the face, Ishel glared at him, barking in fury, "Do you have any idea what you're doing?!" "What am I doing? What about you? Do you know what you're doing?!" Anwo fired right back, roaring in fury. "You brought people who shouldn't be alive here! Over two hundred Wilante! It was you! You let blood defile the Silver Moon Goddess's church!" "Blood does not defile a church, but filthy souls do!" Melchior stepped forward as well, staring unblinkingly at the man who had once prayed so devoutly to him. "You shouldn't have come here. If you commit this sin today, no one will be able to forgive you." Seeing Melchior, Anwo's pupils quivered slightly. Instinctively, he tried to avert his eyes from that sharp gaze, but the rifle in his hands gave him courage, and in the end, he glared fiercely back. "...Mr. Melchior, I respect you, and I am grateful to you for always telling us stories and teaching us to read... That is precisely why I must advise you: stay out of this! You are not a citizen of the Alliance after all; you are just a subject of the Camel Hump Kingdom!" "I am not speaking to you as the Alliance, nor as the Camel Hump Kingdom, but as a human being," Melchior looked at him without shrinking, enunciating every word. "Go back. Pretend you never came... This is your only chance at absolution. One step forward is the abyss." Anwo fell silent. Every eye in the church was fixed on him, everyone holding their breath, waiting for his decision. He took a deep breath, and finally uttered words colder than moonlight. "...This is an order from Janusz. Do you think I want to do this?... I don't want to in the slightest, but I have no choice." Before Ishel and Melchior could speak, he glanced at Margot holding her child tightly, then at Butler Sahadu and the young rebel named Pavin watching him in terror, before continuing: "All Wilante must die. This is Lord Janusz's order, and the order of my superior, Absaik. If I return empty-handed, I cannot answer to them." Then he looked at Ishel with a complex expression. "Wake up. Boer doesn't exist... You thought you could save some people, but you're only making things worse." Then he turned back to Melchior, the pastor who had led their prayers and read newspapers to them. "Mr. Melchior, I am truly grateful to you. You showed me another possibility in this world... a faith beyond the Thousand Clans and Thousand Gods, another kind of nation beyond the Empire." "From the bottom of my heart, I longed for it to descend upon this salted earth and change the fate of my people and me... But you and I should both know that no change comes without bloodshed. When the mud and sand rush down, bones are bound to break." "Besides, even in your stories, the snow of Boulder City was not without corpses beneath it. Too many were buried in the past that night; not everyone lived to see the next morning's sun." Melchior was left speechless, staring blankly, as if surprised by his awareness. Beyond the shock, deep regret filled the pastor's eyes— Pity that his words carried no weight; he could not halt the rushing flood of mud and sand, only drift along with it. Or end up like Ishel, swallowed completely beneath the silt. Anwo turned silently toward the mother shielding her child. "Margot, correct?" Without backing away, Margot held her chest high and looked into his eyes. "Yes." Anwo nodded and continued: "The men standing beside me today are all believers of the Silver Moon Goddess. I personally chose them to come with me because I didn't want to desecrate the sanctuary of the Silver Moon Goddess." "I can promise you and your child a dignified death, without enduring humiliation like those outside before they die. Firing squad or hanging—choose for yourself and your daughter." Tears welled in Ruby's eyes, threatening to spill over. Just then, Margot placed a palm on her head, stroking her gently just as her father usually did, and took her small hand. For some reason, she was suddenly not as afraid. "Anwo is your name, right?" Margot looked at him, her voice neither servile nor overbearing. Anwo answered curtly, "Yes, ma'am. If you hate me, curse me all you want once you're down there. I will atone in hell." Margot shook her head and looked at him. "I don't hate you. I'm not blameless myself. Even if I haven't personally oppressed you, my husband and others certainly have, and silence is also a grave sin." "No, ma'am..." The maid beside her suddenly fell to her knees, pleading toward Anwo at the door, "The mistress is innocent! She has always been gentle to me and everyone else... I lost my family when I was very young. She took me in after I was sold to the colony and cared for me like family. Maybe others did terrible things to you, but please believe me, she is different from them—" "Enough, Yolanda. Please stop," Margot gently halted her, then looked at Anwo. "She is a survivor from the Great Desert, not a Wilante. There's little difference between her and you. Can you spare her life?" Anwo did not object, merely shrugging. "Then Mr. Melchior can dress her as a nun." He had no desire to slaughter the innocent, though he utterly despised slaves begging for their masters. Melchior sighed and traced a moon across his chest. The maid on the floor shook her head in tearful pleading. "No... I can die, please let the mistress and Ruby—" "Enough, Yolanda! Must I tell you to shut up?!" Margot raised her voice, cutting off her rambling. Anwo watched the dispute inside unmoved until Margot looked back at him. "Any other pleas?" "I won't beg for myself. As I said before, today's fate is what we brought upon ourselves." Saying this, Margot squeezed her daughter's hand tightly. "But please let me say one thing: at least spare the children. They had no say in how they entered this world. They shouldn't have to bear our sins. Our sins should be paid by us." Anwo was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "My word isn't final. Even if I spare them, there's no telling what will happen when the next wave arrives—" Melchior spoke up. "They can hide in the cellar. You know that place... as long as they stay hidden, they won't be found." Anwo froze, looking into the eyes of Melchior and the old nun. His resolute expression wavered slightly. After a long hesitation, he forced out, "...Whatever happens, it's not on my head." The old nun stepped forward and said softly, "I will hide them well. If trouble comes, let me bear it. At my age, I don't have many days left anyway... They still have a long road ahead." After wrestling with himself for a long time, he finally nodded. "Be quick. Just pretend I arrived five minutes late." "Thank you." Margot bowed to him sincerely. Anwo didn't look at her. He pulled out a bloodstained cigarette pack and shook out a cigarette. Because his index finger was trembling, he broke three matches before managing to light it. The Wilante in the church knew their situation well. They made no futile pleas. After saying their farewells and parting instructions to their children, they handed them over to the old nun. "Mama..." Ruby clung to her mother's hand, unwilling to let go, looking up pleadingly. "Be good..." Margot knelt down and stroked her head gently. "No matter what happens, don't make a sound. Wait quietly until Papa comes back... Promise Mama, okay?" "Mm..." Ruby let out a soft sob, but ultimately followed the old nun into the church basement. Some children could not help crying, but under their parents' watchful eyes, they choked back their tears. They were Wilante. Wilante did not cry. From the moment they were born, their tears had already dried... The time it took to smoke a cigarette. The children were taken down to the basement, and the old nun returned. Only adults remained in the hall. Anwo dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it underfoot, then looked at Margot. "Decided how to die?" Margot looked around at her kin, then back at him, speaking calmly, "Use guns. With blood and noise, no one else should come." Anwo curled his lip. "They will still come, but maybe they won't look as closely... By the Silver Moon Goddess, forgive Your believer's desperate measure." With that, he racked the bolt, chambering a round. Just as he was about to act, Ishel, who had remained silent, stepped in front of him and stared at him unmoving. Anwo frowned, his sharp gaze fixed on the man with the bandage wrapped around his forehead. "Doing this just adds another corpse. Don't think I won't pull the trigger." Ishel stared back expressionlessly. "...I never thought you wouldn't. There's nothing in this world you wouldn't do. But what happens after you pull the trigger?" Anwo said coldly, "That's none of your concern." "None of my concern? We are brethren in faith; how could I not be concerned for you?" Ishel narrowed his eyes, a glint of cunning suddenly surfacing on his righteous face. "Those children know your name. If I were them, I wouldn't be grateful for your mercy—I would avenge my parents." The moment the words left his mouth, a stir ran through the crowd at the entrance, faint shock and panic appearing on almost every face. Not just them! Even Melchior and Margot looked at Ishel in shock and horror, unable to comprehend why he would say such a thing. Had he lost his mind?! They had barely managed to save the children! Sure enough, Anwo's eyes narrowed like a hungry wolf's. Fingering the trigger, he said softly, "...Should I thank you for the reminder?" "No need to thank me, because besides those children, everyone here knows who killed them. Including me standing before you, and Mr. Melchior." Ishel grinned, staring intently into his eyes. At this moment, he no longer looked like some ethereal Boer, but like a cunning rat. And a rat that dared to bare its teeth at a hungry wolf! "...I bet you regret it now. You probably even want to kill me, the other believers here, even Mr. Melchior. But let me tell you, it's useless. Even if everyone here dies, the people outside will still remember what happened here." "How many can you kill? Can you kill your superior? You can't. He'll take credit for your deeds, and you can't refuse! The Wilante will definitely return, and when that time comes, you're dead meat! This blood debt will fall squarely on your head!" "Not just the Wilante—even the Alliance won't let you off... A guy like you, don't give me that big talk about atoning in hell after death. I know your type too well!" "You don't believe in that crap at all. You're just looking for an excuse to comfort yourself, aren't I right? Otherwise, what are you afraid of? So what if the Wilante retaliate? What are you afraid of?" "Shut up!" Anwo roared furiously, aiming his barrel right at Ishel's nose. "Stop measuring others by your own petty yardstick, you filthy rat! Even if I kill those children, it's to eliminate future trouble for the new empire!" Ishel looked at him with contempt, not even raising his hands, merely clicking his tongue. "...Tsk, tsk, look at that. The Thousand Clans and Thousand Gods aren't the Silver Moon faith. A believer of the Silver Moon Goddess would never call people rats. A wolf in sheep's clothing—open your eyes and look: the devout are standing right here. As for you, down to your marrow, you don't believe a word coming out of your own mouth!" "So what?" Anwo glared into his eyes, murderous intent boiling over. "So what?" Ishel stared at the enraged Anwo, enunciating every word. "I can let you live! Or rather, you have only one way to survive! And that is to pretend you killed everyone here, while not killing a single one." "That's impossible!" Anwo lowered his voice, letting out a low growl. "The city defense force has surrendered. The entire West Sail Port belongs to Janusz now! Soon the suburbs... even the entire Lion State will be under his rule! They can't escape at all!" "Does that include you?" Ishel stared intently at him, continuing, "There's one thing I've racked my brains over and couldn't figure out. Maybe you can give me an answer: Why was a believer of the Silver Moon Church specifically sent to do the dirty work at the Silver Moon Church?" Anwo's voice was hoarse. "Because I know the roads around here." Ishel scoffed. "Do you believe that yourself?" "..." Anwo looked at him in silence. He had vaguely found the answer in his heart, but refused to say it. Ishel looked into his eyes and spoke it for him: "Unless this is out of some perverse amusement or desperate madness, there's only one possibility... Having already prepared their retreat, they all knew this was dirty work. So they picked the least trustworthy person among them to do it." "You are a follower of the Silver Moon Church; no scapegoat fits better than you. This is your pledge of loyalty. If you do it well, they can trust you for a while. But if things go wrong in the end, they will definitely hand you over, not themselves." Anwo gritted his teeth. "...What proof do you have?" Ishel sneered, stepping closer, his eyes fixed on him and the faintly trembling rifle in his hands. "What proof do you need? Is this a judge trying a case?! There are madmen among the rebels, but is everyone a madman? Someone told me long ago that this place is full of opportunists, shrewder than anyone else! I could believe one of Janusz or your immediate superior Absaik went mad, but I don't believe they're all mad!" "Are you saying... someone gave them a way out?" Anwo stared at him in disbelief, swallowing hard. "...Who?" Ishel shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe the Legion, maybe the Alliance, or even Enterprise or the Academy? It's just those big shots across the wasteland. You and I are merely their pawns. No, I should say you are... an incompetent fellow like me isn't even worthy of that honor." Ask him to analyze who was pulling the strings behind the scenes, and he was incapable of doing so. He knew nothing of the Legion or the Alliance, and even less about Enterprise or the Academy, having only heard those names by chance when listening to Mr. Melchior read the newspaper. Those factions had their own plans for the wasteland's future, and now their spheres of influence had intersected, inevitably leading to friction. Perhaps someone intended to turn Brahma Province into a battleground. He didn't know who that person was. He simply refused to believe that on this land teeming with opportunists, every single one who emerged was a lunatic. How could that be? There was only one explanation. Some were playing mad, or all of them were playing mad. It was just that what they relied on differed, and he happened not to understand their backing, so being kept in the dark, he thought they had all gone mad. The only person who didn't understand the situation looked like the only sane one instead. Silence fell over the church. Anwo unconsciously lowered the muzzle of his rifle, staring at the man before him in disbelief. Right then, Margot spoke up: "You're right. This matter is indeed suspicious..." Every pair of eyes turned toward her. Ishel, the kneeling maid, Melchior, the old nun, and the other surviving Wilante. Along with Anwo, who held the power of life and death over everyone present, and the twenty soldiers beside him. They all wanted to know the answer. Though unfortunately, she didn't have the answer; she merely sensed an unusual dissonance. "...It's too coincidental." "What's too coincidental?" Anwo was in no rush to kill her now, urging her with his eyes to go on. Margot paused to organize her thoughts, then continued: "Governor Huye returned to Triumph City. Let's assume he had a legitimate reason to go back. But what about the others? Like General MacLaren—he has no family and no distinguished military exploits; even if he returned to Triumph City, he would only face ridicule, wouldn't he?" "Birthday isn't a holiday where Wilante have to go to Triumph City. Staying with family is enough; celebrating it anywhere is the same. Yet right at this time, many people who had no reason to leave suddenly departed under all sorts of pretexts." The highest-ranking official left in all of West Sail Port was probably just the captain of the port guard and Governor Huye's secretary. Did it seem that the Wilante left behind in the port were all civilians? None of the people who most deserved reckoning were here! This was a clue she suddenly recalled. She remembered when the explosion first occurred and she was rushing home with Ruby. Back then, she had noticed that many mansions nearby were empty, with only a few still looking inhabited. The neighborhood their home was in was considered the wealthy district of the port. Her husband had deliberately bought the house there so they could live close to big figures, including the Governor. Yet it wasn't just the Governor. Many who held important posts in the Governor's Manor had left. Only they had been left behind. As if by a coincidence born of some tacit agreement. Realizing this, she felt a sudden chill crawl up her spine, like being held by the nose and forced to swallow a gulp of freezing poison. If even she had the awareness of being a slave owner, how could those people not know the consequences their decisions would bring?! They knew everything! Yet they did it anyway! And without hesitation! Whether intentionally weakening security here or leaving the lethal slaughtering blade right at the port, it was ruthlessly calculated. Huye was only returning to Triumph City, yet he took all his personal guards with him. Weapons were left at the port when the front lines needed ammunition the most! The city was full of angry survivors, yet what did they do? They picked the most vicious hyena from the cage! That Naji... He was chosen with care! Margot's eyes widened gradually. She instinctively covered her pale lips to hold down the churning in her stomach. Anwo held his breath, barely able to keep a steady grip on his rifle. Looking at the woman before him, he asked in a trembling voice: "You mean... our uprising... was orchestrated?!" How could that be! "Rather than orchestrated, it would be more accurate to say exploited..." Gradually regaining her composure, Margot gently brushed aside a strand of hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, striving to stay calm as she continued: "They didn't need to do anything. They only needed to place fuel where a fire was wanted, hand matches to the madmen eager to commit arson, prepare countermeasures, calculate the burn time, make all preparations, and quietly watch it burn." "The fire was bound to catch, but not enough to cause them real harm. Then they could naturally obtain everything they wanted... and we are all the cost." At that moment. She understood everything.