Chapter 187 Bright
Slave rebellion? Red Snake's first reaction was, "Aren't they afraid of the Black Blood Mark?"
It's not like slave rebellions hadn't happened before, but unlike those previous desperate struggles of ants, the swiftness of events this time far exceeded everyone's imagination. Without much time to think, Red Snake heard the sudden screams of his men from outside the door. Soon, the door was thrown open. He subconsciously took a few steps back in panic, only to be met with a pair of cold, amber eyes.
The red snake reacted suddenly and quickly picked up the long whip beside it. "You bastards who tried to devour the master! What gave you the false courage to rebel against the master?!"
He sneered and activated the Black Blood Mark, but the next second, a tremendous force gripped his neck and pinned him against the wall. A little more force would have snapped his spine. The fear of impending death caused Red Snake's pupils to shrink dramatically, reflecting an expressionless face. Even the Black Blood Mark, which covered his entire face, couldn't obscure his exquisite features.
——It didn’t work? How is that possible?!
"G, Greven..." He instinctively tried to pry open that hand, the hand that didn't move at all.
"Pans." Greven stared coldly at the extremely familiar face of a friend he grew up with. The distorted expression of his failed attempt at flattery made him look extremely ugly and unfamiliar.
He said slowly, "Actually, I was very curious. I've never done anything wrong to you. What did I do to make you hate me so much?"
"You can't kill me, don't kill me..." The man's face turned blue from lack of oxygen, tears streaming down his face under his palm, and he pleaded desperately, "You promised Aunt Aina that you would do your best to take care of me—"
"And you promised her," Greven said calmly, "We will be brothers for life. As long as you have a way, you will not let me die."
...But how could those innocent and sincere vows eventually turn into such ugly betrayal and hatred?
Click.
The sound of bones breaking was particularly clear. The red snake's pleading stopped abruptly, and it collapsed like a snake without a spine. There was still disbelief in its bulging eyes, as if he had never imagined that this brother who had always given in to him and taken care of him since he was a child would be so cold and decisive, not even giving him any time to explain.
Their bodies, once linked arm in arm, slid to the ground. Greven lowered his head, took one last look at his partner, and then turned away. Ten years ago, they were two impoverished young men from the countryside, supporting each other in an unfamiliar port, scraping a living by doing odd jobs. He remembered when they were thirteen, huddled together in a drafty cowshed on a cold, rainy night for warmth. Pan Si, then still not known as "Red Snake," had a high fever. He was so hungry he was retching, but he boiled the last bit of black bread into a paste and stuffed it all into Pan Si's mouth.
His brother leaned his flushed face against his shoulder, his hot tears falling into his palm. "Greven," he said, "when I make a fortune, I'll definitely give you a good life."
But when did the other person's eyes change? Perhaps they noticed his growing strength, or perhaps he had won the favor of the young lady of his employer's family, or perhaps he had been noticed by a noble who was willing to make an exception and allow him to become a knight, thus escaping his commoner status...
Conspiracy, betrayal, slander, and enslavement - his life has changed dramatically since then.
Explosions rang out outside the door. Ashes, wearing an iron mask, rushed in and bumped into someone head-on. But even the mask couldn't hide his excitement. "Greven, the warehouse in the east district has been successfully breached! That Ghost guy is really good. We've collected a large amount of guns and gunpowder from it—"
His voice was torn apart by the sound of artillery fire in the distance. Grayven raised his head, and Ashes was stunned. His eyes suddenly flashed with excitement. The black blood mark on the other's face dissipated, revealing a resolute and handsome face.
Killing the slave owner who controls the Black Blood Mark can also unlock the Black Blood Mark.
"Then continue with the original plan." Greven left the cell where his childhood friend's body lay buried and strode forward. "We must act quickly. We can't pin all our hopes on the forbidden magic circle. We must kill most of the slave traders in the port and seize the docks and armory before the circle loses its power."
Outside the Crimson Bazaar, freed slaves rushed without hesitation into the rioting ranks, and Emerald Avenue was completely engulfed in a chaotic sea of flames. Ole watched silently, the flames flickering in his eyes. He couldn't help but recall the fire that completely destroyed Port Morris in his previous life—also the work of a tyrant who, in order to completely eradicate the long-held Crimson Bazaar, had taken the entire port into his possession.
A civilian woman holding a crying baby in panic squeezed past him, and Orel made way for them. Because of the festival, everyone stayed in the open area, and because a tyrant had told them to hide things on the priests, the civilian casualties were minimal, but the priests suffered heavy losses.
The mother and son suddenly screamed, and Orel instinctively turned his head to look, only to see them sitting on the ground and trembling. Two figures appeared in front of them, one of whom Orel was so familiar with.
...Tsk, that Majesty is truly a prophet.
"You are indeed involved in this." The Bloody Duke narrowed his eyes gloomily, and saw his rebellious son twist his neck lazily, and two scimitars appeared in his hands.
His expression remained unchanged as he glanced grimly at the more figures that slowly emerged from the shadows: they were all young people, with the same childish and ridiculous stupidity on their faces.
"And you," he said slowly, "are you trying to murder your own clan leader?"
Some people couldn't help but lower their heads when they were looked at by him, trying to avoid his extremely harsh gaze, even though they were under the influence of the forbidden magic circle and should have been unable to cast spells - but no matter how cruel and bloody the Bloody Duke's reputation was, he was always responsible to the tribe and was even the most courageous and capable tribe leader.
"What clan leader?"
Ole approached his nominal father, the flames casting a bright, warm glow over his brown skin. He unhesitatingly blocked his gaze as he scanned his people. "You are the culprit who reduced the Natalin people to filthy, bloody slave traders, colluding with the Church in trafficking civilians and dividing the people's wealth with the nobles. You are also the pathetic and ridiculous bigot who doesn't consider any people other than the Natalin people human?!"
"...My old friend, it seems that your son is much more promising than you imagined." Duke Kamu couldn't help but sigh meaningfully.
No one present paid any attention to him. Ole's face was grim, and his long-dead mother hugged him tightly in the depths of his memory.
Her mother's green eyes glowed in the darkness, like two flickering lights in the wilderness. "I am the daughter of the Daba tribe. I became a sorcerer. I hope to seek a future for my people..." she would often mutter nervously, as if afraid she'd forgotten something—that she had once walked barefoot across the Gray Realm wasteland, leaving her barren and desolate homeland alone to come to a prosperous land to study, hoping to find a path to redemption for her people.
But ever since Orel could remember, the relationship between his mother and that man had become extremely tense. They argued, argued constantly, and his mother silently held his hand tightly as they walked through the Bloody Bazaar, where slave traders on the roadside were shouting about selling Daba slaves—and then the other party suddenly convulsed and fell to the ground, turning into a pool of minced meat amidst screams.
After an unprecedentedly violent quarrel, his mother died. Was it the long-standing, powerless despair and hatred that killed her? Or was it the so-called "father" who killed her? Ole couldn't tell.
He stood there in a daze, staring blankly at his mother's body. This was the first time he'd ever seen his "father" cry, and it would also be the last. Like any child, in the midst of unbearable pain and fear, he tried to reach out to his only remaining blood relative, but he was met with only cold disgust and indifference.
"You inherited your mother's stupidity."
The bloody Duke, who looked like a cold ghost in front of him, overlapped infinitely with the "father" deep in his memory.
"I shouldn't have been so soft-hearted back then and left you to her to raise. Her bloodline has harmed you, and even now, your head is still filled with naive and shallow ideas." The Bloody Duke stood there expressionless, his voice as if coming from an icy cave: "Do you think that by killing me, or killing the Bloody Bazaar, you can save this world where people either devour or are devoured, and rebuild an ideal country where everyone is happy, peaceful, and helps each other?"
"The simplest question is, if it weren't for me, do you really think those ridiculous pranks of yours could have continued until now?" He suddenly drew his knife, flashed in front of Orel, and without hesitation, the sharp blade slashed towards his son's neck: "Boy, stop dreaming!"
"I only know that if I don't destroy you, the distant future will never come."
The clash of blades produced sparks of red and black, yet the assassin's iron-blue eyes remained unmoved. If it had been the young Ole in his previous life, he would likely have been consumed by self-doubt and entangled in the other's words—but now, he had long since passed through the nightmare of his father, stumbling along an unknown path, perhaps even his ideal.
"Someone told me," Ole dodged the sharp blade that brushed past his ear and kicked the man in the chest without hesitation, "New things will inevitably replace old things. This is an irreversible law of social development."
While the Bloody Duke was dodging, the bright crescent-shaped scimitar drew a beautiful and dazzling arc in the air, attacking from both sides, ready to harvest the Bloody Duke's throat.
"——And an old man like you should have died in the rotting mud of the old times long ago!"
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