Translated Chapter
362. Ember Extinguished
"Another Noble Lord?"
"Wait—wasn’t she a Marquis?"
"Marquis or the Baron we just killed—whose rank is higher?"
"Could she be here to draft us into mining again?"
The Peasant Laborers erupted into murmurs, the air thick with anxious chatter.
Starfire, however, felt a cold sweat break across his skin. The elite Goblin Infantry standing behind him could wipe out this entire settlement in an instant. He couldn’t let his comrades—those who’d fought beside him through fire and blood—die uselessly here.
Summoning every ounce of courage, he stepped forward.
"Your Grace, Dailenna Lady—may I ask what urgent matter brings you?"
Dailenna smiled, a soft, knowing curve of her lips. "Of course. I bring goodwill from the Kingdom. You’ve done well."
"Goodwill?" Starfire blinked, stunned.
Dailenna stifled a giggle behind her hand. "Indeed. You are the vanguard of the Rebellion in the Northern Regions—the very leaders even Lord Lanpu has heard of." She tilted her head, as if recalling a grand moment. "He personally mentioned you at a council meeting. Offered verbal commendation. Praised your efforts highly."
Starfire frowned, uneasy despite the praise. "So… what arrangements has the Kingdom made for us?"
Under the combined pressure of elite forces and a Marquis’s rank, he had already unconsciously placed himself in a subordinate posture.
And Dailenna’s eyes—just for a flicker—glimmered with quiet triumph.
"The Kingdom has already made its arrangements."
The moment had finally come.
Starfire held his breath.
Feeling his tension, Dailenna smiled reassuringly. "Do not fear. The Kingdom never leaves anyone behind."
She drew a scroll from her sleeve, unfolding it with calm precision. "To the brave warriors of Ember—your status shall be that of Kingdom Citizens. You will be assigned to factories across our cities, where you will find stable, fulfilling work."
"Then… can we eat?"
A Peasant Laborer, emboldened, raised his hand.
"Of course." Dailenna’s tone was light, almost cheerful. "In our Kingdom of Ashen, every citizen receives ample food. No one starves. Hunger is not even a concern."
She nodded gently at the man, as if acknowledging a simple truth.
"Impossible!" someone gasped. "Even the Free People in the south don’t eat enough!"
"No one dies of hunger? Are you serious? Is there really such a place?"
The Peasant Laborers erupted again, their voices trembling with disbelief. To be fed every day—this was no longer just hope, but something that belonged only in dreams, in the gardens of paradise.
"Can we wear clothes?"
"What about winter? Will we freeze?"
"Will they beat us?"
"Will we have homes?"
They poured out questions like a flood, each one a desperate prayer for a future where survival wasn’t a daily battle. To them, these were not trivial concerns—they were the very essence of a life worth living.
Dailenna listened patiently, answering each with calm assurance.
"Clothing is affordable and durable."
"Our Spellcasters maintain warmth throughout the cities, year-round."
"Assault is a crime under Kingdom Codex—no Duke, no Noble, is above the law."
Her patience, her kindness, her effortless grace—it felt like sunlight after years of storm.
"Perhaps words aren’t enough," she said with a smile. "Let me show you something more vivid."
Snap.
She clapped her hands.
Two guards stepped forward, presenting a wooden box. Inside lay a Magic Crystal.
She pressed it.
A translucent image projection bloomed in midair—clear, sharp, real.
The Peasant Laborers gasped, craning their necks upward in wonder.
There, in the image, was a worker with a Serf Brand around his neck, standing at an Assembly Line. The environment was spotless—clean, orderly, nothing like the filthy, crumbling hovels they knew. His task? Merely inspecting product quality, applying a label with a machine. It looked effortless—almost lazy.
"This is our future work?"
"Is this even work?"
"He eats so much, and does so little?"
They stared, slack-jawed. For as long as they could remember, their lives had been one of backbreaking labor—pulling plows, hauling stone, digging in the dark. This… this was a dream.
Dailenna leaned forward, her voice smooth as silk. "This is how our Workers live. Comfortable. Secure. Minimal effort for maximum reward."
She didn’t mention the fifteen hours a day.
"A kind Marquis!" one cried.
"Look at this—she’s giving us real jobs!"
"Such good conditions!"
"She answered me herself! Nothing like those cruel Noble Lords back in the Northern Regions!"
The Peasant Laborers buzzed with excitement, their hearts already won. They adored her—this gentle, wise Lady Marquise—unaware that every word, every gesture, was a carefully crafted illusion.
"I—I want to be a Kingdom Worker," Chai Gun stammered, eyes wide with longing.
Starfire looked around. He heard the dreams, the laughter, the rekindled hope. He heard them call Dailenna “Lady,” the old title of reverence—returning to them like a long-lost habit. He saw the awe in their eyes, the trust they placed in her.
And for the first time, he felt something bitter rise in his chest.
This world shouldn’t be like this.
He had just led these people out of chains—out of the rotting grip of tyranny. And now, they were about to wear new chains—lighter, invisible, but just as binding.
Could he stop them?
Could he lead them to build a world free of oppression in Anzeta?
The answer was no.
This was the final, open strategy.
Ember would be scattered. Its members would vanish into the factories of the cities. The name, the title—Ember—would fade, forgotten with time.
Ember… might be extinguished.
After a long silence, Starfire asked, voice low: "All of you… truly want this?"
"Yes!"
"Food every day, no more beatings—what more could we ask?"
"It’s like a dream!"
"I’m tired of fighting. I just want peace."
They chattered excitedly, already imagining their new lives. No hesitation. No resistance.
Dailenna smiled, nodding slightly at Starfire—as if in silent approval.
When these Peasant Laborers are dispersed across the Northern Regions, my influence will grow even greater.
I must maintain this image—present myself as the Kingdom’s true benefactor to the people. Only then can I climb higher.
The Pure-Blooded Serpentfolk, disguised as a Human, thought to herself.
The Peasant Laborers were fully convinced. They had abandoned their months-long rebellion, now obeying Dailenna’s commands, cooperating with the Goblin Army as they took over Dena City.
But Starfire stood apart—silent, distant, lost in thought.
Then, Nick, the first to follow him, placed a hand on his shoulder. His voice was quiet, urgent.
"South… there are still people suffering under oppression. The slave system there might not be abolished yet. We can rekindle Ember there."
Starfire clenched his fist. He turned toward the horizon, his voice firm, unshaken.
"Then we go south."
"Ember will never die."
He didn’t know—Dailenna, just moments before, had spoken to Nick in private, whispering: “Those who refuse to let go of Ember—go to the South. Go to the Fadalan Region. There, you can burn bright.”
There, they would be free to act. To dream. To build.
(End of Chapter)
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