When a wild animal is cornered, say a wounded wolf driven into a narrowing ravine, what does it do?
To simply put it doesn't surrender as its instincts sharpen, its breath grows ragged, and even the weakest among its kind bare their fangs while growling.
Their fear twists into something far more dangerous than simple desperation.
They tremble, growl, and stand up again.
They do this not because they believe they can win, but because they refuse to die quietly.
At that moment, their reason fades.
All that is left is the instinct to survive.
Humans are not so different.
When robbed of dignity and crushed beneath relentless suffering, they also begin to change.
Hope becomes an extremely fragile thing….so fragile that even the faintest glimmer of it can feel like salvation.
A single ray of light in endless darkness is enough to make them reach out, even if that light may ultimately destroy them.
Such was the state of the people within the Empire.
For decades, they had endured while gritting their teeth as they suffered lashes, because their lives were never their own.
They weren't treated as citizens, but as cattle… as animals whose flesh could be claimed at any moment by their rulers, the so-called elites…the nobles.
They were herded and controlled only to serve the whims of corrupt officials.
Their labor filled granaries they would never taste from, their bodies broke under burdens they never chose, and their suffering was treated as entertainment, something to laugh at, something to enjoy.
To the rulers of the Empire, they were nothing more than tools to be used, discarded, and replaced.
And so, they were cornered.
Not by walls of stone, but by power.
Until something changed.
From the eastern edges of the land, where the first light of dawn touched the earth, something began to rise.
That was the sweetest yet deadliest elixir known to mankind.
That elixir had a name.
It was called… Hope.
An elixir so potent that even a crippled man would clench his jaw and chase it, dragging himself forward with his arms alone.
Such was the case for the citizens under the brutal rule of the Empire.
When they saw emissaries cloaked in the promise of hope, those who called themselves followers of the Path of Peace….they finally glimpsed light at the end of a long, suffocating darkness.
At first, they were afraid.
Afraid it was just another group… another fragile spark that would soon be crushed beneath imperial law.
But desperation has a way of nurturing even the weakest seeds.
And in that broken land… desperation was the most potent fertilizer for change.
Those who had lost everything found themselves drawn to it.
Those who had nothing left to believe in began to listen.
And Bane, who was standing among the unending crowd of believers, was witnessing it all unfolding before his eyes.
"Crazy, isn't it?"
A soft voice brushed against his ear.
Bane glanced sideways to find Chelsea right beside him, a faint smirk spread on her lips, her face far closer than it needed to be.
He didn't pull away and just gave a nod in agreement.
Both of them were dressed like ordinary followers, blending into the crowd.
Chelsea had already used her Teigu, Gaea Foundation, to mask his usual, too-noticeable mask, replacing it with a completely normal face.
She didn't move either. If anything, she leaned in slightly and whispered again.
"Believe it or not, this whole thing's barely two and a half years old… and it's already the Empire's biggest religious faction, with a tight grip on the eastern provinces."
Her eyes swept over the massive crowd before she continued, voice dropping slightly.
"Even the imperial army can't just shut it down now. Maybe they can… but the bloodbath that'd follow?" she let out a quiet breath.
"Not even they can afford losses like that. There are too many people, millions, maybe. One word from their leader…" She paused, gaze hardening as it lingered on the sea of believers. "…and this entire crowd would lose it."
She tilted her head slightly and Bane followed her gaze.
"At this point these believers, they don't just follow him," she murmured. "They worship him like a real god."
Both of them looked toward the highest point of the massive podium.
There, barely visible through the distance and the shifting crowd, stood a figure draped in white garment.
A silhouette, still and composed.
A skull mask shaped like a deer covered their face, long antlers stretching upward like twisted branches against the sky and in the middle of it there was a symbol of the religious organization, a four-pointed, thin-armed cross.
"Their Messiah…" Chelsea whispered.
They stayed there for nearly an hour and a half, though it slipped by like minutes.
One by one the believers stepped forward.
Some of them cried while some begged, some could barely even speak.
And yet each time when the man on the stage listened… he answered to their grievances calmly, like the weight of their suffering meant something.
What caught Bane off guard wasn't just the man's presence, it was how real this session felt.
There were no flashy tricks and no cheap theatrics. He just spoke to them like he actually cared.
Like their pain was his.
And somehow… he remembered them.
Their names and faces. And somehow even the names of the dead they mourned.
And this wasn't normal.
"Don't you think this is all staged?" Chelsea suddenly asked,"you think some kind of act he's putting on to win them over?"
Bane glanced at her. "Don't you already know?"
"Hah, don't ruin the fun. Just answer, idiot."
He went quiet for a moment, eyes drifting back to the stage. Then he shrugged slightly. "…I don't think so."
Chelsea raised a brow. "Oh? And why's that, your highness?"
Bane didn't answer immediately as his gaze stayed locked on the figure draped in white cloak.
"I don't know… just a feeling," he murmured. "and there's something off about him."
Chelsea's smirk faded just a little. "Off how?"
"…He's like me."
She blinked. "What!?"
Bane's voice dropped lower.
"He carries beast blood."
For a split second, Chelsea froze. Her pupils shrank to pinpoints, and before she could stop herself—
"You're serious?!"