A town on the outskirts of the Empire bustled with merchants and townsfolk alike. Children darted through the narrow streets, their laughter echoing as mothers called after them, torn between exasperation and affection.

  A drunk man sneered at the scene. "Careful now, or the Witch might kill your babes!"

  One of the woman on the street shot him a look of contempt. "The Witch is dead! Don’t speak of her—it brings bad omens. What if another one appears?

  The drunk man snorted and sneered, "Even better! I heard the Witch was a beauty. Can’t have children, they say—the bitch is infertile! Makes for the perfect bed partner! HAHAHAHA!"

  He spat near one of the children and let out a coarse laugh, hurling his beer bottle aside. It shattered with a sharp crack against the cobblestones. "I’d take a tight Witch over a loose hag like you! FUHACK--!"

  His words were cut short as a group of enraged mothers surrounded the drunkard, yanking at his hair.

  "Watch your words, old man!" one of them snapped.

  They kicked and stamped on him, their fury palpable. The drunkard coughed and sputtered between blows, spitting insults through bloody laughter. "Fucking bitches! What’s the matter? Feel bad 'cause you’re all stinking, ugly, and loose!?"

  One of the mothers snapped, "I've had it with you and that sharp tongue of yours! Better to have it cut out!"

  Another chimed in, her voice laced with anger, "You’ve been stirring up trouble in this area for a month now! Got nothing better to do than piss off the ladies here, aye!?"

  The drunkard’s face contorted painfully as they yanked at him from all sides. Finally, he let out a scream, broke free of their grasp, and stumbled away, flailing wildly. "HELP! HELP! THESE OLD BITHCES ARE CHASING ME!"

  The onlookers roared with laughter at the spectacle. Some went off in search of the authorities, while others simply returned to their work as if it were just another normal day—hawking wares, drawing in customers, and handing out freebies.

  "Hey, handsome! Have some of this—it's free! We’re celebrating the General’s return!"

  "Don’t miss out on our store, a’ight? It’s the best in the Empire! No, in the whole world!"

  "This’ll help you cultivate your mana faster! How about it? Give it a try!"

  A man observed the commotion unfold before him, the scene somehow returning to its usual day. With a sense of indifference, he turned and made his way into a nearby inn.

  Inside, he found an empty seat. He walked towards the table and settled into the chair, he raised his hand with a casual wave. "Melissa! Come, come! Take my order!"

  A woman, dressed in a simple brown dress with her hair neatly braided to one side, paused amid the bustling customers. She glanced around, trying to locate the familiar voice in the sea of people and the clamor of the room.

  As soon as she spotted him, she placed the plate she was holding on the table of four men clad in red and hurried toward his direction.

  "Mr. Ramos! You’re here!" Melissa exclaimed. "How was it in the East? Is the Witch really dead? Did the General finally kill her? Where did you find her? I heard she created some kind of magic that makes flowers explode or something!"

  Ramos couldn’t help but wonder how rumors spread so quickly—now even the flower detail had been added. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if they started claiming what kind of flower it was. Though the rumors had strayed a bit from the truth, they still managed to stress him out.

  Ramos sighed, clearly exasperated. "Well... I want an ale. And another ale. And one more ale."

  Melissa furrowed her brows and pouted, then she stretched out her hand. "Pay later is no longer an option. Pay now."

  Ramos’s nerves flared as he quickly fumbled through his inner pockets. He pulled out only six coins—copper ones, at that.

  Melissa noticed his expression and sighed. In the end, she told him to pay the rest later and hurried inside to fetch his order.

  The inn wasn’t large, and its patrons—burly men and cloaked strangers—would have sent most women running. But the waitresses seemed unfazed, moving effortlessly between the counter and the tables, taking orders from the customers without hesitation.

  Ramos sat patiently, listening to the chatter around him. Each person seemed lost in their own world, absorbed in all sorts of gossip from across the Empire.

  "I heard the Lady General is dead!" one man at a nearby table suddenly blurted out.

  Ramos nearly choked on air. He whipped his head toward the table where the voice had come from, disbelief evident on his face, and spotted three men drinking together.

  "I heard it too. As always, when she returned, she'd spend her nights in the Red Light District. Who would’ve thought it’d be her last?" another man from that same table added.

  "Bullocks! Where’d you hear that?" the grizzled old man exclaimed, slamming his tankard down on the table.

  "My sister’s a prostitute—of course, she’d know!" the scruffy man replied with thick sarcasm, grinning as he took another drink.

  A brief silence settled over the table before the grizzled old man spoke up again. "I heard the Witch is dead too."

  "Really?" the burly man asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

  "Serves her right. Bet she was swallowed by the souls of Lirosa for what she’s done. What a terrible fate," the first speaker remarked, shaking his head.

  "I thought the General killed her?" The burly man asked.

  "What? I thought the General was dead?" The grizzled old man asked.

  The scruffy man, who had claimed to have a prostitute sister, slapped the back of the burly man’s head. "The other General, you dimwit! The one blessed by the gods, the pope, and all that holy nonsense. That one!"

  Ramos couldn’t help but chuckle at how quickly the conversation had shifted from one rumor to the next. It reminded him of the aristocrats back in the Imperial City, obsessed with rumors as if they were their daily medicine.

  He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Though there had already been some clamor about the two missing generals of the Empire, the idea of one being dead seemed absurd—especially the Lady General?

  "What's with all these big people dying lately? Even the Pope’s gone missing. Is he dead too?" the burly man muttered, leaning in closer.

  "Shh! Shut it! Do you want to burn at the stake!?" the grizzled old man hissed, his voice low but urgent.

  The burly man seemed to understand and quickly fell silent, glancing around nervously.

  Ramos understood as well. After the rumors about powerful figures in the church buying their way into positions of power had leaked, speaking of the church—especially the pope—was considered an offense, and thus had become taboo.

  In the distance, Melissa emerged from behind the counter, carrying two tankards. Exclaiming,"Move! Move!"

  Ramos noticed that Melissa was holding only two ales, and a twinge of disappointment washed over him. He had specifically requested three earlier, intending to drown his stress in drink. But the sting of reality soon hit as he was reminded of the few copper coins left in his pocket.

  Thud!

  “Here’s your order, esteemed sir!” Melissa said cheerfully, setting the tankards before him. “Now, where were we...?” She sat down, fixing him with an expectant gaze.

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  Ramos caught the glint in her eyes and sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Look... It's confidential. I can't just speak about it so easily..."

  Melissa gasped in shock. "What!? You know me, I’m not a gossip monger! I’ve kept almost all the secrets in this town! Besides, it’s not like you guys are doing a good job at keeping it a secret." she said, pointing to the men nearby who were just discussing the Witch’s passing earlier.

  Ramos ran a hand through his hair, his gaze looking left and right before speaking, "It’s true... she's dead. Just promise me you’ll keep it quiet, alright? If word gets out, not only will I be demoted—I’ll be dragged straight to the guillotine!"

  Melissa was taken aback, resting her hands on her cheeks in disbelief. "Seriously? What's wrong with spreading the good news? The infant killer and mass murderer of Lirosa and Solara is dead! This calls for a celebration! What do nobles call it... a banquet!"

  Ramos agreed with Melissa, though he kept his thoughts to himself. He couldn't understand what the General was thinking— wanting for it to be kept a secret and storing the body. What if the souls of the dead were offended and decided to turn their fangs on them for not burning it?

  Ramos could only shrug in reply. "It’s the General’s order. Can’t do anything about it."

  Melissa took a long swig from the other tankard, deliberately avoiding Ramos’s sharp glare. Ramos had assumed the second one was for him, but it seemed Melissa had other plans. With a loud thud, she slammed the tankard down on the table and let out a deep sigh.

  "Whatever the case, it’s good that the Witch is dead," Melissa said, her tone a mixture of relief and weariness. "But everything’s a mess in the Imperial cities. Best to stay here for a while. Though, if I were you, I wouldn’t stick around too long—I’ve heard the South is building its forces by making military service mandatory. It’s only a matter of time before war breaks out."

  Ramos took a slow sip of his ale, savoring the taste. A wave of nostalgia and exasperation washed over him. It had only been a month since the Witch died, but instead of returning home, he had spent most of it cleaning up and being ordered around. Half of that time had been wasted on traveling. And now, just as he was about to return home, another problem had emerged—a much fiercer flame than before.

  Just the thought of war exhausted him. Was peace truly unattainable? The Emperor had managed to grant them a fleeting period of calm, but it hadn’t lasted. The spark of conflict had already ignited once again, and it seemed they were destined to enter another era of bloodshed.

  Ramos let out a quiet breath. "I just want to sleep in my own bed, rest, and eat a decent meal. If I’d known being part of the infantry was this hard, I’d have chosen to break my back farming instead."

  Melissa’s expression shifted, the usual lightness in her demeanor fading into something more somber. They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation hanging heavily between them.

  Melissa twirled her fingers around the rim of her tankard, her eyes drooping with exhaustion. Her other hand pressed against her forehead, and she mumbled, "Right when we needed the gods the most, they disappeared. How ironic. This blessed empire, basking in holiness, suddenly feels like hell to me."

  Ramos smiled bitterly. "It’s because we’re poor."

  Melissa rolled her eyes. "It’s not always about the money."

  Ramos retorted, "If it’s not, then there wouldn’t be such a vast gap between the lives of the rich and the lives of the poor, would there?"

  Melissa’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak but then closed it again. She chugged the rest of her ale in one go, wiping her mouth as she chuckled. "Don’t ask me. I’m not smart. I can’t even read."

  "I guess I’m smarter than you now." Ramos teased.

  "Oof!” Melissa retorted,” If the God of Wisdom, Tyr, heard that, his tears would really start falling from his eyes!"

  The two of them chatted for a while, their conversation light and easy. Suddenly, a chubby woman, dressed in blinding extravagant attire, looking as if the owner of the inn yanked Melissa’s hair mid-conversation.

  "Quit slacking off and get to work!" The chubby woman scolded. "If all you're gonna do is flirt with the customers, you might as well head to the Red Light District!"

  Melissa, disoriented and angry, stared in disbelief. But seeing who it was, it was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her, she quickly exclaimed, "I’ll work now!"

  Ramos, feeling awkward from the outburst, quickly stood up. "Well, I’d better get going," he said, clearing his throat. "I’ll pay you the rest next time, Melissa."

  Melissa didn’t have the time to respond; her focus was entirely on getting back to the kitchen to tend to her tasks, while the owner followed behind her, muttering insurmountable curses. Feeling the awkwardness linger, Ramos decided to leave the inn.

  Ramos strode along the road of Luminara. As his eyes scanned the surroundings, he wondered how the town truly lived up to its name, considering the lingering Min-min lights—small, glowing creatures typically found in the South. It was strange that they had made their way to the outskirts of the Empire.

  Being located on the southern edge of the Empire, Luminara had its own tradition: the townsfolk would hunt for stray Min-min lights, capturing them in specially designed lamps or glass containers. These lamps would then be placed outside homes or along the streets for display.

  Children were particularly fond of this practice, as the Min-min were harmless phantoms, their soft glow enchanting to watch.

  His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when, suddenly, sharp rays pierced through the night sky. He quickly shielded his head, squinting in confusion. "Wha—what the—!"

  Out of nowhere, in the dead of night, a blinding light erupted from above, engulfing everything outside in a radiant white glow. Their shadows stretched unnaturally long behind them, cast by the intense light overhead.

  Even though he covered his face with his arms, the rays still seemed to pierce through his skin, though strangely, they were harmless.

  The onlookers, too, were blinded by the intense light. They shielded their eyes with their arms, some running into their homes, but the light still penetrated through their walls!

  A man, his head glued to the ground, shouted, "The gods! This is the light of the gods! Quick! Lower your heads! No one should see their faces, except the Pope!"

  It was the drunkard. Most of the townsfolk hesitated, dismissing his words as nonsense, but the strange light that had appeared in the night left them no choice but to believe him.

  Soon, others had the same thought. Those who had been inside their homes rushed outside, their eyes squeezed shut, bowing low in reverence, prostrating and praying.

  The people suddenly erupted into shrieks as the ground beneath them rumbled. What started as a small tremor, causing glasses to rattle, quickly escalated into a powerful quake that threw them off balance, their bodies shaking like rag dolls.

  Their screams turned to terror, and their prayers grew more frantic.

  Ramos knew their prayers were futile. For now, action was required. Having faced life and death countless times, he understood that panic and prayer had no place in such a moment.

  His sharp eyes scanned the area, noting the old, dangerous buildings surrounding him, crumbling with each passing second. They needed to reach an open space— the plaza, or any place far from the imminent collapse of those fragile structures.

  With urgency, Ramos shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos, “MOVE! GET AWAY FROM THE BUILDINGS! THEY'RE GOING TO COLLAPSE! GET TO OPEN GROUND NOW!”

  “MOVE!” Ramos bellowed again, grabbing a nearby woman by the arm and pulling her toward the street, away from the crumbling buildings. “Come on! Hurry!”

  Others began to follow, their steps unsure at first but growing more determined as the buildings continued to quake. Some people screamed in terror, others stumbled as the ground beneath them that slowly cracked open.

  Ramos repeated the same instruction over and over, his voice growing hoarse with the effort. Dizzy and nauseated, he fought to swallow down the rising sickness. He moved swiftly, helping women and children who could barely stand, guiding them toward safety.

  The lamps crashed to the ground, their glass shattering, the sound echoing through the chaos. People shoved one another, frantic to escape the street encircled by buildings.

  Some were knocked to the ground, desperately trying to shield their heads from being trampled. Ramos could only glance at them, helpless despite the urge to help, as his body was pushed forward, carried by the frantic crowd.

  As time passed, the tremors grew stronger, relentless. The houses, weakened by the earlier tremor, finally gave way.

  Ramos and the crowd had barely moved an inch when the buildings collapsed. They were thrown to the ground, choking on debris and smoke, but one thing remained certain—they were still alive.

  Ramos tightened his grip on the child he had seized in haste, pulling him close and shielding him beneath his own body, offering what little protection he could.

  The child in his embrace cried, however his voice was drowned out, swallowed by the cacophony of terror and pain that filled the air, mingling with the blinding light from above.

  Panic surged through Ramos like never before. It felt as if the world itself was crumbling before his eyes. He could no longer fathom where could possibly be safe anymore.

  The ground trembled with deafening booms, and the air grew unbearably hot. The blinding light continued to obscure everything, leaving him disoriented and helpless. His breathing became ragged, his thoughts a chaotic blur, and sweat stung his eyes.

  Then, through the haze, an acrid, burning scent reached his nostrils. Despite the sting, he forced himself to look. What he saw made his heart stop—an utterly horrifying sight.

  The earth split open with a deafening crack! Deep within the fissure, a golden, flaming light blazed brightly. The collapsing houses hissed as they fell, and for a moment, whenever a large piece of rubble crashed down, flames and lava surged upward.

  Then, without warning, the blinding light above vanished in an instant. They were instantly plunged into complete darkness, save for the glowing crack in the earth that illuminated the chaos around them.

  Ramos took this chance to fully open his eyes, scanning his surroundings properly this time. He dusted himself off and stood up, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. All around him, others were doing the same, slowly regaining their bearings.

  But then, something stirred above, lighting the sky as if each passing star had come to life—small flickers of light, growing larger and larger with every fleeting moment. There were hundreds... no, thousands!

  The people buried under the rubble pointed desperately toward the sky, crying out for help. But their pleas went unheard, for everyone was transfixed by the spectacle above. A woman near Ramos took the child from his arms, and he, too, began to move, following the others' gaze to the heavens.

  A sense of impending death clung to Ramos, and then, as if his mind snapped, he broke into a frantic run, shoving anyone in his path. No longer caring about the others around him.

  "IT'S GETTING CLOSER!!!"

  The sharp crackling of fire filled his ears, a sound like something burning through the very air.

  Tears welled up in his eyes, falling without his control, his voice drowned out by the shrill screams of the crowd. The heat from the giant burning rock pressed closer, an impending reminder that it was coming for them.

  What had seemed small moments ago was now a looming threat, its size growing with terrifying speed.

  And then, as one, the scream of the people erupted, filling the air in a deafening cry of terror.

  "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"