Central square of the small town
Countless corpses of the dead were stacked together, doused with inferior kerosene, and set ablaze.
Towering black smoke, carrying the stench of burning flesh, twisted upward into the gray sky, as if countless wronged souls were silently wailing.
Modus stood before the burning pile of corpses, the flickering flames reflected in his deep pupils, yet igniting no warmth, only a cold dead silence.
He once believed that becoming a Hero, upholding justice, could vanquish all evildoers and protect the weak.
But the reality is, the tax collector beat his grandfather to death, nobles connived with bandits to plunder, the Empire holds the raw stone that could save the world but sits idly as the Black Tide spreads... This world is rotten to its core.
Since Light cannot illuminate this deep darkness, since rules exist only to maintain oppression, what meaning do they have?
If they are meaningless, why not destroy them!
