Six hundred and thirty-one bodies lay flat in Pramisburg’s square, the faces of the onlookers iron-gray with grief.

  This was the virtue of small cities: a limited population meant even strangers had crossed paths on streets, making them familiar in spirit. The smaller the city, the stronger the "big family" atmosphere—normally imperceptible, but now, with over six hundred bodies neatly arranged, the shock to values and outlook on life shattered reason, dissolving every trace of unfamiliarity between them.

  Some women began to weep softly, while men clenched their fists until their knuckles turned white, their eyes blazing with fury. A somber cloud of sorrow hung over Pramisburg.

  Crows circled in the sky, following the scent of death, their small black eyes gleaming with greedy hunger.

  Arno stood atop the newly refurbished fountain at the center of the square.

  Many eyes were fixed on him, the city lord who had brought death, expecting him to speak. Ideals and passion could not endure forever; reality always shattered such dreams in the end.

  "Six hundred and thirty-one!" Arno’s tone was grave and solemn as he pointed to the bodies that would never rise or speak again. "They left all the beauty of their lives to the living. As I said before, dignity, glory, and wealth were not the most important things to them in their final moments."

  "I do not believe in heaven—it is a lie of the Light God. But I believe the soul has a destination, and that destination is here. In life, I could not give them much; in death, I will do my best to give them dignity. Here, at the heart of this city, I will erect a monument. Their names and deeds will be carved into it. Whether in ten years, a hundred years, or thousands of years—so long as this monument stands, the flame they lit with their lives will never die."

  The crowd was deeply moved. In this world, no noble had ever built a monument for commoners; those towering obelisks were always the medals of the powerful. Yet in this moment, a monument belonging to ordinary people would be raised in this city. In families that had lost loved ones, each person trembled, filled with an indescribable strength. They wanted to roar, to shout, to smash something with their fists, to praise something with song.

  Their burning gazes fixed on the figure standing on the fountain, their eyes filled with a sense of recognition.

  Yes, their loved ones had died for this city, for their lord, and for the hope and dreams of the living. They deserved to be respected by the living and remembered forever for their glory and sacrifice.

  Arno’s actions touched all Pramisburgers. New clothes, shoes, gloves, and veils were distributed to the families of the deceased. Since they had defended the city with their lives, they deserved to leave this world decently. Sentimental women shed tears as they stitched the wounds of their loved ones, cleaned their bodies, and dressed them in new clothes—clothes they had never worn in life.

  Each family received five gold coins. Though only five, these coins would change their lives.

  "The war is far from over. They want to crush our dreams and destroy our pursuit. Do you agree? Are you willing to trade the chance they bought with their lives for a humble peace?"

  His words were like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, instantly stirring up a storm.

  Angry shouts shook the entire city of Pramisburg, as people raised their fists and roared furiously.

  Arno raised his hand, and the tidal wave of anger subsided instantly, leaving the city in absolute silence.

  "I refuse to accept this. We have harmed no one; we only want to live with dignity. Heaven grants everyone the right to pursue happiness, and we are merely exercising that right. Any obstacle that blocks our dreams will be torn apart, and anyone who dares to prevent happiness from reaching this city will pay with their life!"

  "Revenge!"

  "Let those who look down on us from their lofty heights feel our anger!"

  "Revenge!"

  In the roaring city, Arno watched calmly. Hatred was like a prehistoric beast of fear, growing and swelling with each moment. He had released a monster that now hungered for blood.

  Arno raised his right arm. "I declare war on the Bohr family. I want to see with my own eyes how their heads are any different from ours."

  "Let everyone remember—this is Pramisburg’s revenge!"

  A bedraggled knight was dragged to the center of the square, and the city erupted into chaos. Arno pointed to him. "This is Luos, the knight known as the ‘Star of Westflow City,’ who led this attack."

  The roar of "Kill him!" echoed through the city.

  Arno walked to Luos’ side, his gaze as calm as if looking at a corpse. Luos’ bruised and swollen face wore a mocking smile. Arno drew the sword from Blair’s waist, raised it high, and said, "Repent."

  A spray of blood arced through the air, and a head soared upward.

  A grand cremation ceremony followed, burying the dead and elevating the souls of the living. Pramisburg united as never before. Under the city lord’s mansion’s leadership, young men began to arm themselves and train. Merchants delivered a steady stream of supplies, preparing for the next war.

  As for the bodies of the Bohr family’s knights left outside the city, they would serve their final purpose: nourishing the land.

  Far away in Westflow City, Terman held his beloved crystal vial high, anger like a viper consuming his reason. He wanted to destroy to quell his rage, but his trembling hand clenched and ultimately set the vial down. He shook all over, unable to even hold a wine cup steadily.

  The main members of the Bohr family surrounded him, each wearing a different expression.

  Some were angry—this was an insult to the Bohr family by a group of commoners, and they had every right to be furious.

  Some sneered—Terman had ignored all advice and led to this disaster; he was the culprit.

  Some were silent—the loss of five hundred knights was less shocking than Luos’ death, and an eerie atmosphere had settled over Westflow City.

  Some smiled—Terman’s actions proved his stupidity; he was unfit to be clan leader.

  Their eyes all focused on this arrogant, stubborn, and prideful man, eager to see his response to the disaster.

  Pramisburg’s exclusive merchandise plan affected more than just the Bohr family; it impacted the entire Bell Province and the southeastern part of the empire. Why had Terman chosen to be the first to act when others had held back? If he had won, he would have added a modest achievement to the Bohr family’s record.

  But he had failed, humiliating the family’s prestige. As clan leader, he needed to take action to undo the damage from Luos’ defeat.

  The noble world was no dreamland; it was filled with conflicts of interest and strife. When you were strong, others smiled and flattered you; when you were weak, they unsheathed their knives and forks, plotting to divide your interests.

  The noble world was more like a primordial jungle, where the strong devoured the weak, and there was no room for reason.

  Terman closed his eyes, slowing his breathing to calm himself. When he opened them again, his gaze was sharp once more. He rubbed his face and said, "We will seek revenge! I will attack Pramisburg and bloodwash that stinking city. I will capture Arno and bring him to Westflow City, flogging him in front of everyone to make him pay for his actions!"

  Marcus, Terman’s youngest brother, sneered. "Dear brother, have you forgotten? Luos’ head still hangs on Pramisburg’s gates, being pecked at by crows. What forces do you plan to use to attack Pramisburg? After withdrawing all knights and guards, Westflow City’s undefended rear will become a feast for other nobles to divide. They have no compassion—they will swallow this city without hesitation and drive the Bohr family out."

  Terman glanced at Marcus, the brother who constantly undermined him, dreaming of overthrowing him to become lord of Westflow City. He said lightly, "I am the patriarch of the Bohr family."

  "But this family does not belong to you alone," Marcus replied, his smile unchanged as other family members shifted uneasily.

  Terman felt a flash of irritation, but his upbringing kept him composed. He rapped the table twice, making a dull thud. "I will withdraw 1,000 guards and 500 knights, hire mercenaries, and ally with other families to form an overwhelming force that will destroy Pramisburg in one blow." He glanced at Marcus. "As for your suggestions, I will consider them."

  Marcus smiled. "I look forward to seeing what you do. But my dear brother—what if you fail again?"

  Fail again?

  The room fell into silence.