"What? You don't know where Master Punk is?"
Inside a white tent, Luo Taran and Bilan stared at each other, wide-eyed. Bilan was puzzled as to why this girl, who claimed to be Punk's apprentice, was acting so agitated, while Luo Taran was completely stunned.
"I don't know where Punk is... where... where... in..."
Luo Taran's mind went blank. Without Punk's help, she couldn't think of any way to counter the impending conspiracy.
"Uh... what exactly is going on? Is something serious happening...?"
Sensing the tense atmosphere, Dickey awkwardly tried to lighten the mood, but his attempt fell flat. Luo Taran remained silent, staring blankly ahead, while Bilan, confused, grew increasingly uneasy.
Finally, the old butler broke the silence:
"Hah... I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Here's the situation..."
It turned out that over the past two days, rumors had been spreading through the refugee camp. In short, the nobles were hoarding food, refusing to distribute it even as refugees starved. Instead, they forced the desperate to sell their belongings, and even their children, just to survive. Now, the nobles were planning something even crueler—they intended to drive all the refugees out of the city, ensuring their deaths.
To resist this, a few so-called "righteous individuals" had stepped forward to organize a protest, demanding food. According to the rumors, anyone who showed up to support the protest would receive food, at least for the day.
Given the state of confusion and despair among the refugees, this idea quickly took hold. Most thought:
"I'll just go watch. If it fails, it's no loss. If I get food, it's a win."
The entire refugee camp—over twenty thousand people—was now stirred up.
The nobles' response? Indifference.
Unlike the naïve refugees, Luo Taran understood the deeper implications. She knew that this protest hadn't emerged from nowhere—it had the silent approval, if not direct backing, of the nobles.
To them, the refugees were nothing more than burdensome pests. With the war against the Tishachar Church looming, the nobles had no interest in supporting useless mouths. Led by Hutt, they had unanimously decided: the refugees had to go.
But driving them out outright would attract unwanted scrutiny, especially from the church and certain self-righteous professionals. So, they devised a different strategy—one that turned the refugees into their own executioners.
Step one: Let them protest. Let them rebel.
Step two: Label them as agitators. Strip them of their status as refugees.
Step three: "Kindly" offer them food, under the pretense of generosity. The refugees, believing they could leave Dolez City and start fresh elsewhere, would eagerly accept.
Step four: Once they reached the borders of other territories, they would find themselves turned away. With no supplies and nowhere to return to, they would die in the wilderness.
All of this under the guise of mercy.
Luo Taran, unwilling to stand by and watch twenty thousand innocent people be played to death, had decided to seek out Punk—despite the butler's objections. In her words:
"That's twenty thousand lives! How can I just sit back and let the nobles toy with them?"
Unfortunately, she now faced a cruel reality—she couldn't even find Punk. And even if she did, he would likely respond coldly:
"The life and death of refugees has nothing to do with me."
Despair crept into Luo Taran's heart. For the first time, she truly understood what it meant to be powerless.
By tomorrow morning—when the sun rose and Punk's group had already left—the protest would begin. Neither the nobles nor the refugees would stop for her.
This was the tide of Dolez City, and she—a lone noblewoman with no real power—could not halt it.
The night was eerily quiet, broken only by the occasional crackling of the bonfire outside. Within the tent, silence reigned. Through the thin fabric, they could even hear refugees rehearsing their protest chants.
Bilan, seeing the tears welling in Luo Taran's eyes as she trembled like an abandoned rabbit, couldn't help but feel sympathy. Gently, she tried to comfort her:
"Maybe... maybe we should give up. You did your best, but we can't save everyone."
"No, we can't give up."
Just as Luo Taran was about to nod in resignation, Dickey suddenly stood up, his face flushed with determination.
"Even if we can't save everyone, we must save at least one person. Even if we can't change anything, we must at least try. Giving up before we even make the effort—how is that justice?!"
For the two idealistic girls, Dickey's words struck deep.
At that moment, they couldn't deny it—he was right.
Meanwhile, in a dark basement, a gathering of robed figures convened. Every one of them bore the symbol of a spider. Their leader, clad in a grander robe, stood at the center.
As each member finished reporting their progress, the leader's voice rose with barely contained excitement:
"Excellent, excellent! The time is finally near!"
A feverish glint shone in his eyes.
"Soon, we shall serve our one true god. The blasphemers who dare oppose Him will be destroyed! And Dolez City shall fall under His rule!"
His voice trembled with fanatical ecstasy as he raised his arms, laughing maniacally.
"Now, we pave the way for His descent. Even if it costs us our lives, we shall see the heretics judged! HAHAHAHAHA!"
The other cultists, swept up in her fervor, raised their hands and echoed:
"For the one true god, Tishachar!"
And thus, a storm of blood was set in motion.