Hatred is like a flame—just a single spark can set ablaze the dead grass of pain.
And now, the refugees, whose hearts were once filled with suffering, had been ignited.
"Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill all those damned nobles!"
A gaunt young man with bloodshot eyes raised a kitchen knife he had picked up and hacked furiously at a corpse draped in luxurious garments.
"The money is mine! It's all mine!"
A group of ragged refugees frantically stripped the dead of their clothing, stuffing bags full of jewelry and ornaments. They had just looted a noble's mansion, and even their ears were adorned with necklaces and beads.
The streets of Dolez were no longer prosperous, no longer beautiful. Corpses and debris littered the ground, houses had been set aflame, and thick smoke billowed from the crumbling remains.
Just moments ago, a noble family's mage apprentice had been torn to shreds by at least two hundred refugees. Though he managed to summon a few hungry wolves and killed over a dozen people, as an apprentice-level spellcaster with no defensive abilities, he stood no chance against the relentless swarm of maddened attackers.
Now, neither his broken body nor the mangled corpses of those devoured by his summons held any significance. The entire city—its former citizens, its impoverished refugees—had turned into a roving horde of plunderers, fighting over jewelry, devouring whatever food they could find, and hacking apart anyone who still wore fine clothing.
This was hell. True, unfiltered hell.
Dickey stood frozen, staring at the carnage in stunned disbelief. Just minutes ago, these deranged, laughing wraiths had been desperate, starving refugees.
"This... how could this be?"
His voice trembled as he gripped Bilan's icy hand, his fingers tightening unconsciously.
Bilan, equally shaken, immediately thought of her family.
The Stone family wasn't even as wealthy as the noble house that had just been destroyed. They hadn't even hired professional bodyguards. Bilan couldn't begin to imagine how her pampered, defenseless relatives would survive against this madness.
Luo Taran, too, remained silent, clinging to Dickey's side. She knew all too well that these frenzied refugees, consumed by hatred and despair, wouldn't listen to reason. She could only shrink into the shadows, terrified that someone might recognize her as the once-glamorous noblewoman she had been not long ago.
She understood the truth: Desire unshackled breeds monstrosity. Jealousy smothers humanity. And a mob needs no justification.
But the madness was far from over.
A burly man stormed out of a noble's house, dragging three or four children behind him—the youngest barely a baby.
With a callous grin, he lifted one of the sobbing children and threw him against a bloodstained wall. Then, he raised his boot and stomped down on the infant's head.
The children's cries grew louder.
"This brat's just another little noble! Those bastards took my daughter, stole your families, and now it's our turn to make them feel the same pain!"
The brute's voice rang out over the riot, his lips curling into a twisted sneer. He pulled out a sharpened wooden stick, grabbed a trembling young boy by the collar, and held the jagged end inches from the child's wide, terrified eyes.
"Heh… I wonder what a noble's brains look like? Let's find out!"
The boy flailed and shrieked.
"N-no—! My father is Baron Fitea! H-he'll send the army to hang all of you! D-do you hear me?! You'll all be executed!"
That was the final trigger.
Some of the refugees had hesitated, watching the child struggle. But when they heard his words—the very same tone of arrogant entitlement that the nobles had always used to look down on them—something snapped.
Their bloodshot eyes turned murderous.
"Kill him! Nobles are all scum!"
"They sold my sister to the slavers—I want to crush their bones!"
"Shove that stick into his eyes!"
The brute licked his lips, spurred on by the frenzied shouts. He sneered and thrust the wooden stake forward—
"STOP!"
A powerful voice rang through the streets, cutting through the bloodlust like a blade.
At that same instant, the ground beneath the burly man's feet cracked, throwing him off balance. He staggered sideways, and the sharpened stick barely missed the child's skull.
It was Dickey.
Beside him, Bilan had activated an apprentice-level alchemical device just in time to disrupt the attack.
As the brute tumbled down the rubble, Dickey leapt onto the broken wall, spreading his white robes to shield the noble children behind him.
"Are you still human?! How can a child be guilty of anything?! If you blindly slaughter the innocent, how are you any different from the nobles you hate so much?!"
Dickey's voice thundered across the mob, his face flushed with fury. His fists clenched, his entire body trembling.
"Look at what you're doing! You're no better than bandits—stealing, killing, burning everything to the ground! Ask yourselves: is this really justice?!"
A heavy silence fell. Some of the refugees hesitated, guilt flickering across their faces. What were they doing? Had they really become the monsters they once despised?
Seeing the chaos settle slightly, Bilan and Luo Taran let out a breath of relief.
"Maybe... just maybe... some of them can still be reasoned with," Bilan thought optimistically.
But the world was not a fairytale.
A single speech wasn't enough to sway a frenzied mob.
Especially not when another spark was about to ignite the fire again.
Just then, a middle-aged woman in tattered clothes came stumbling out of a noble's cellar. Tears streamed down her face, her frail body shaking violently.
"Someone—please—save my daughter!" she wailed. "They locked her in that dungeon! There are still people down there! Trapped in cages! Please—please help them!"
Dickey and Bilan blinked in confusion.
But Luo Taran's heart dropped like a stone.
The refugees might not have understood what the nobles' cellars were used for, but she did.
And when she saw a dozen muscular refugees storm into the darkness of the noble's dungeon…
She realized, too late, that something far, far worse was about to begin.