Soho clenched his wounded arm, tears mixing with blood as he ran toward the shelter—crying, but never stopping. Hao's sacrifice could not be in vain.
With all his strength, he burst inside and shouted, "I'm here to rescue you!" But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, his words died in his throat. His whole body froze.
There were no survivors.
Every civilian inside… was dead.
The bodies were horrifying—drained of life, as if something had sucked the very soul out of them. Their flesh clung to bone like paper on wood. And among them stood hundreds of red-cloaked figures, motionless, all staring directly at him.
Yet, none of them attacked.
Instead, a woman stepped forward—a tall figure with a scar running down her cheek. Her aura was suffocating, darkness radiating like smoke. Soho's eyes widened in recognition; she was the same woman he'd seen at the tavern.
"You made it past my retainers," she said, her voice calm but heavy with menace. "That alone is worthy of praise."
But to Soho, just standing before her was unbearable. Her Qi felt like an abyss swallowing him whole. His legs trembled, the air thickened, and finally—he fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
The woman's crimson eyes locked onto Soho, and her voice came out calm yet cold enough to freeze the air.
"So… why did you come here?"
Her gaze pierced through him like blades. Soho couldn't even describe the feeling — it was as if her eyes stripped him bare, leaving him completely exposed. Before he could think, the words spilled from his mouth, not by choice, but from a fear that reached into his soul.
"We… we came to save the civilians," Soho said, his voice trembling. We heard you were planning to do something to them."
The woman tilted her head slightly, a faint, unreadable smile forming. "Ah, so there are still people foolish enough to think of saving others."
She gestured lazily toward one of the red-cloaked figures. "Show him what we did to your precious civilians."
At her command, a figure bowed and dragged out three people from another room — two girls and a young man. Their terrified screams filled the chamber.
"Let me go! Please, let me go!"
Soho's eyes widened. He recognized one of them — the city lord's son.
The woman's gaze settled on one of the girls, and she stepped closer. The girl trembled violently, tears streaming down her face. "Please! Don't—"
But before she could finish, blood burst from her seven orifices — nose, eyes, ears, and mouth. Her body convulsed as the woman raised her hand, crimson energy swirling around her palm, pulling the life from the girl's body.
In mere seconds, the girl fell lifeless to the floor — her skin pale and tight over her bones, as if every drop of life had been drained away.
Soho stood frozen. His body refused to move, his mind refused to understand. He had come to save lives… but all he could do was watch.
That was the moment Soho realized just how powerless he truly was.
If Hao were here, he thought bitterly, he would've at least tried to save them… even if it cost his life.
But Soho couldn't even move. His body trembled—not from wounds, but from the suffocating fear of death.
Then, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, he screamed,
"You inhuman bastard! How can you—how can you drink another human's blood? You don't even deserve to be called human! Even a beast would never devour its own kind!"
A red-cloaked figure drew his sword, stepping forward to cut Soho down—but the woman raised her hand to stop him.
Her crimson eyes glowed faintly as she turned toward Soho.
"You're right," she said softly, almost kindly. "Even a beast wouldn't do such a thing. But humans?"
She smiled—a smile colder than steel.
"For humans, it's normal. Do you know why?"
Soho said nothing, just glared up at her.
"Because humans crave power," she continued, her voice like poison. "They'll do anything to get it. Even if it means eating their own kind."
"You're lying!" Soho shouted back. "A person with a righteous heart would never do something like that!"
"Righteous?" she repeated, and then her smile twisted into laughter. "Hahaha… there is no righteousness in this world. There is only the weak and the strong. The weak talk about justice and righteousness… but when they gain power—when they can rule over others—you'll see their true hearts. And they're black, boy. Blacker than any night."
Soho swallowed hard. "There is someone whose heart is brighter than the sun," he said, voice raw. He glanced past the woman toward the crater where Hao lay. "He… he helped me get here. He sacrificed his life to save others."
Those words hit the scarred woman like a strike. Her face hardened—something inside her ideology, built on strength and hunger, felt wounded by the idea of selfless sacrifice. Her lips curled. In an instant she moved, her boot connecting with Soho's chest so hard he flew out of the shelter and crashed down beside Hao.
Hao knelt there, bleeding, every breath a whisper. Soho scrambled up and crawled to him, tears burning his eyes.
The woman watched them with cold curiosity. She turned to her retainer. "That person — was he sacrificed to save this one?" she asked.
The retainer bowed low, voice stammering, "My lord… I could not stop him. I deserve death."
Her gaze burned into the man, and he shrank beneath it. "Just answer my question," she said, steel in her tone.
"He… he did," the retainer said.
Something inside the woman cracked. Her composed cruelty wavered into something like confusion — a chink in the armor of her worldview. For a moment she only stared at the dying boy, as if the sight itself might undo her. Then, slowly, she stepped forward and pressed her palm to Hao's chest. Dark blood Qi flowed from her hand: not to harm, but to bind and soothe. Her arts sealed the worst of his wounds; the bleeding slowed, flesh knitting enough to keep him from dying right then.
She looked at Soho with a cool, unreadable smile. "I never believed in righteousness," she murmured. "Not truly. There are only the strong and the weak." Her eyes flicked to the retainer, then back to the pair. "But I am curious now. Live — and let me test this foolish tenderness later."
The retainer opened his mouth to protest, but when he met her stare he fell silent. He knew better than anyone that her will was law.
Soho gathered Hao's burning weight onto his shoulders. The wounded monk sagged, unconscious but alive. Soho's knees trembled, pain and grief mixing with a fierce, shaky resolve. He turned toward the First Gate and began to run.
They left the shelter behind — the city still bleeding, the woman and her cultuous pride standing among the dead — but Soho carried one thing with him: Hao, who had given everything to give others a chance.
They lived another day — not because fate favored them, but because someone chose to stand between slaughter and the helpless.