Soon, several refugees emerged from the cellar, carrying three large, rattling cages.
As the cages were placed in the open, silence fell over the crowd—including Dickey, who stood atop the broken wall.
Each cage, barely thirty cubic meters in size, held more than a dozen people, including children no older than a few years. Their bodies were twisted and contorted, stacked unnaturally within the cramped space. Filth covered their skin, mixing with deep, raw welts left by countless lashes. Gaunt and skeletal, they looked barely alive, and the stench of sweat, urine, and decay spread across the square like a miasma.
A middle-aged woman, still kneeling on the ground, let out a heart-wrenching scream. She staggered forward, clutching the arm of one of the prisoners—a frail young woman trapped within the iron bars.
"My poor Karia... How did you end up like this? Why?!"
Tears fell onto the woman's emaciated arm, washing away some of the grime. Beneath the filth, one could still make out traces of once-fair skin.
But no matter how much the woman sobbed, Karia did not respond. Her dull, lifeless eyes remained fixed on the gray sky above.
Even Dickey was silent.
It was obvious—these people had been tortured beyond salvation. Their minds were shattered, their spirits crushed. They had become hollow husks, breathing but long dead inside.
For a moment, an eerie stillness hung over the refugees. Only the middle-aged woman's grief-filled wails echoed through the air.
Then, a voice, thick with fury, shattered the silence.
"Damn it... This is what those noble bastards did! Are we supposed to just endure this?!"
A murmur of agreement spread through the crowd like wildfire.
The burly man who had fallen from the broken wall climbed back to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at Dickey. His voice roared above the others:
"These bastards are nothing but noble lapdogs! They stole our wealth, killed our families, and now you want to forgive them?!"
"No! Never!"
"Kill them! They deserve it!"
"They sold my sister to slavers! I'll grind their bones to dust!"
More than two hundred refugees howled in agreement, their bloodshot eyes burning with fury. The grieving woman, too, had risen to her feet, her face twisted with hate. They grabbed whatever weapons they could find—bricks, stones, broken wooden tools—glaring at Dickey and his group like starving wolves.
"If we've already defied the nobles," the burly man continued, his voice laced with venom, "then we might as well go all the way! Kill the noble brats before they grow up to oppress us again! Let's start with these dogs!"
He pointed his wooden stick at Dickey, and the horde surged forward. Their eyes burned with hatred. If their gaze alone could kill, Dickey would already be riddled with holes.
Realizing the situation had spiraled out of control, Luo Taran grabbed Dickey and ran.
"Wait... What about the children?!"
Dickey's voice was hoarse with desperation, but neither Luo Taran nor Bilan answered.
Silence.
They couldn't save the children.
Dickey clenched his fists, his face pale. He had spoken of not being able to save everyone, but now he was the one who had to abandon them.
Bilan, as a mage apprentice, was still a professional. Escaping was not difficult for her, even while dragging two others along. With the enchanted robe Punk had given her, they were safe.
Before long, they had scaled a high wall. The malnourished refugees had no chance of climbing it.
Dickey slowed, looking back at the mob below. He clenched his fists and whispered bitterly to himself:
"Why do the nobles do this to the poor? What do they gain from tormenting them?"
Hearing his words, Luo Taran, assuming he was asking about the nobles' motives, sighed. She kicked a loose stone aside and answered somberly:
"I don't know the full picture. My authority has been too restricted. But I do know this much—these people... No, their souls, are being sold to a 'big buyer.' Their suffering is not without purpose."
She didn't tell him everything.
The truth was far worse. The high nobles never dirtied their own hands. Instead, they controlled the lesser nobles, forcing them to handle the filthier work. Even the Minohorn Chamber of Commerce profited from trafficking the poor.
Dickey didn't respond. He simply lowered his head in silence.
But Bilan was shaken.
Who, in this city of Dolez, had the power to buy slaves... and harvest souls?
Meanwhile, within the lord's castle, the crystal chandelier gleamed as always, but Hutt's forehead was slick with sweat.
"What?! You're telling me those damned wretches have broken into the inner city?! And the nobles have sent their private armies to stop them?!"
The news was grim. A massive wave of zealots had begun storming toward the lord's castle. Though the church's priests had tried to hold them back, some had already broken through.
Hutt massaged his temples, his face twisted with anxiety.
This wasn't good.
The Hyde family's fortress was built for luxury, not defense. It lacked proper enchantments, and the walls were made with decorative magic materials rather than sturdy fortifications. Against a swarm of crazed zealots acting like human-shaped firebombs, this castle would be reduced to rubble in no time.
"We can't stay here!"
Hutt's voice was bitter with frustration.
"What?! Leave?! Where the hell would we go?!"
The veteran officers around him looked at each other in confusion. To them, the castle was the safest stronghold. If even this place fell, where else could they possibly retreat?
But Hutt wasn't concerned about the long term.
He knew neither the nobles nor the rioting refugees truly mattered. They could rampage all they wanted, but once Punk and the other high-tier professionals returned, they would be slaughtered in an instant.
For now, the only thing that mattered... was surviving.
"If those lunatics want to destroy the city, let them! I'll take the lord and blend in with the refugees. Let them fight each other while we slip away."
A sinister grin curled on his lips.
This plan—"borrowing the knife to kill"—would not only ensure Golat's safety but also wipe out the rioters and zealots in one stroke. A perfect two-birds-with-one-stone scenario.
The ministers stared in shock.
What had they just heard?
The noble lord wanted to disguise himself as a commoner? Among the dirty, disease-ridden refugees? If word of this ever got out, how would they ever restore their noble dignity?
A few of the older officials immediately fell to their knees.
"Lord Hutt, you mustn't! Lord Golat is a noble! He cannot mix with the filth of commoners! This... this is unthinkable!"
Hutt almost laughed in frustration.
"Dignity?!"
What use was dignity when your head was about to be crushed beneath a mob's boots?
Ignoring the protests, Hutt turned and sprinted toward Lord Golat's chambers.
He had already betrayed the Tishachar Church. If Dolez fell, the Victoria's Secret family would be doomed. He had no choice—he had to keep that idiot lord alive, even if he had to drag him through the corpses himself.