Inside the temporary hide tent, a square low table was set in the center. Fesca, dressed in plain clothes, stood at the tent entrance, facing the luxuriously garbed Count who stood opposite him.
“If you expect us to submit to the Blood Clan, you should give up now.” Fesca spoke to the old man before him, neither humble nor arrogant.
“Hahaha! Sir, you are still as cautious as ever. That is good! But you can rest assured, I only wish to sit down and have a proper talk with you.”
The Count leaned back against his chair and laughed, slapping his thigh. That coarse laughter sounded very grating to Fesca’s ears.
“Speak plainly,” he frowned.
“Relax a bit. There is no need to be so hostile toward me. After all, we share the same goal.”
“The same goal?”
The old Count waved his wide sleeve and raised his hand, pointing behind Fesca—toward the direction where Verz, the Capital of Ansels, was located.
“Yes, the same goal. To overthrow the rule of that yellow-haired brat, Moria. Ansels cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of such a person.”
Fesca was left speechless for a good while.
To say such a thing so bluntly… was this Count planning a rebellion? Was this a probe or the truth?
He quickly weighed the pros and cons in his heart, his hands clenching into fists.
“I have long heard of the heroic deeds of your Rebels. You have come all this way and already controlled many cities and villages.” The Count picked up a raisin, put it in his mouth, and began to chew slowly.
“Especially that battle at the valley entrance where you used the terrain to defeat Baron Philia’s army. It was truly brilliant! I heard you are very popular in their territory. The surrounding farmers rose up in response and even took the initiative to provide you with supplies and lodging to join your struggle… But as I see it, your Ability is still lacking a bit of maturity.”
“What exactly do you want?”
Fesca responded in an icy tone. Although his disgust was obvious, he listened patiently.
“Sir, what I want to say is that your revolution might need some more powerful guidance.”
A strange light flashed in the Count’s eyes. “It is simple. I want to assist you. You can rest and reorganize here, and then join with our Blood Clan Knights to form a more powerful force and continue your advance.”
“Think about it, Sir. How far can you go on your own? A mere Count like me can make your steps difficult, let alone the most elite Kingdom Knights of Ansels?”
“Everything you have gained so far is inseparable from the support of the Peng-men tribes, but you also know why they support you, do you not?”
Fesca gasped, not expecting his background to be so thoroughly understood by the other party.
The Count had easily grasped his weakness.
He knew very well in his heart that the support Chief Babatok gave them was a mutually beneficial transaction.
The Peng-men of the north lived in cold lands with low productivity. However, their population grew rapidly. In recent years, resource shortages and famine had appeared within their territory. They were forced to seek a way to move south—by launching a war against Ansels.
Because the tribal forces were scattered, in order to form a force against Ansels, the various Beastfolk tribes formed a tribal alliance and established the Eternal Forest Council to discuss tribal affairs in a democratic manner. The members of the council consisted of the various chiefs and elders.
However, due to internal power struggles, the Beastfolk tribal alliance was not yet ready for a full-scale invasion of Ansels. Their support for the Rebels was only to use the internal strife to consume Ansels’ military strength, and they did not intend to provide more substantial help.
Babatok himself only joined the Rebels’ camp as a military advisor. Without strong support, every victory the Rebels achieved was exceptionally difficult.
Should he agree to his proposal?
But to be honest, he still could not trust the Blood Clan.
Fesca fell into a dilemma. He knew this was a crucial choice that would affect the fate of the entire team.
“Chief—Fesca! Blitz, he…”
Suddenly, the sharp voice of a girl rang out, followed by a commotion from the soldiers outside the tent.
“Where did this little brat come from? Get out!”
“Let me in! I have urgent business to tell Fesca!”
“This is not a place for you to barge in!”
“You’re the one barging, your whole family is barging!”
Phil, wearing a long shirt stained with blood, shouted loudly. Fesca turned around and saw the cat-eared girl. A hint of surprise flashed in his eyes, but it was immediately replaced by worry.
“Phil, why are you here?”
“Chief… Blitz, Blitz he…” Phil’s voice trembled, almost unable to speak.
Fesca’s expression changed drastically, immediately realizing the gravity of the situation. “What happened to Blitz? Where is he?”
“Hmph, Sir, it seems you still need some time to consider,” the Count clapped his hands, interrupting the two. “That is all for today. I will give you one day to think. Give me your answer tomorrow.”
***
Returning to the messy tent, Fesca took off his half-torn cloak, propped his head in his hands, and sat down.
Blitz was dead.
A pang of pain hit his heart.
The old man who was like a father and friend to him had closed his eyes forever, leaving only the half-sentence of a last word Phil brought back.
Thinking back, when he first accepted the help of the Beastfolk tribes, Blitz had already advised him to maintain a proper distance from them while cooperating, but he still chose to believe in Chief Babatok’s various decisions.
Now, everyone was gathered in this small space, their eyes focused on Fesca, making him feel like he had thorns in his back.
“Everyone, the Blood Clan has proposed peace talks. This concerns our future.”
The first to speak was not Fesca, but Babatok. His indigo-dyed face held a bit of sternness, and the sharp Peng horns on his head glinted in the firelight.
“We cannot just join the Blood Clan like this…”
“But before that, there is a more important issue,” Babatok interrupted him in a deep voice before Fesca could finish.
“General Fesca, I believe you are no longer fit to hold the position of leader.”
As soon as those words were spoken, the room fell silent.
Fesca suddenly looked up, his mouth half-open. He couldn’t believe the Babatok he had always trusted would say such things. He even wondered if he had misheard.
“In today’s battle, our army fell into their ambush and suffered heavy losses. It is clear that General Fesca does not have the Ability to lead troops in battle.”
The Chief stood up as he spoke, seemingly having already replaced Fesca as the center of attention.
“Wait a moment, Chief…”
“For the sake of the future revolution, the Rebels need a commander with more experience and strength.”
Anger was like a wild horse racing through Fesca’s mind. He almost wanted to rush up and question Babatok, but when he turned his gaze to the crowd and saw the expressions of his subordinates, his heart turned cold.
Those faces, filled with hesitation, doubt, and blame, were clearly people he knew well, yet they made Fesca feel incredibly strange.
“…Do you all agree with what he said?”
No one answered. Silence was the best response.
***
Blitz’s body was buried under a holly tree.
In the night, Phil half-knelt before the grave, her hands pushing the soil. Sand and gravel fell from between her fingers. Her eyes were red and swollen.
Rustle.
Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned her head. A tall and haggard figure stood before her.
“Chief.”
Fesca nodded slightly. He felt that compared to “General,” the girl’s call of “Captain” made his heart feel more grounded. The events in the tent just now were like a past life. Now, he felt like his original self.
“I’ve failed Blitz,” he whispered hoarsely. “It was my weakness that killed him.”
“It’s already in the past, Captain,” Phil comforted.
He leaned down, his gaze falling on the small mound of earth. He touched the soil with his thick, rough hand, as if his touch could reach Blitz’s soul in heaven.
The wind stopped. In the silence, Fesca’s raspy voice came.
“Phil, if I leave this place, will you come with me?”
“Leave?”
“Yeah… The Rebels will agree to cooperate with the Count tomorrow. The army will be reorganized. I can no longer stay here.”
“Huh?!” Phil’s face changed, her cat ears twitching, her fur standing on end. “Cooperate with the Blood Clan? That’s ridiculous! Everyone agreed? We were just fighting them yesterday!”
Fesca lowered his eyelids and revealed a bitter smile.
“No one wants to fight anymore. The Count promised them many benefits, and with Babatok constantly fanning the flames… everyone… is no longer like they used to be.”
“Why? Have they all forgotten how Borrecansel was occupied by the Blood Clan! Even such a painful history cannot wake them up?”
Phil felt her heart beating very fast. It was anger and disbelief. Her head was buzzing, feeling that the development of events was a bit beyond her understanding.
“The only lesson humans learn from history is that humans never learn from history,” Fesca looked calmly at the girl before him.
“Xie Ying, Keller… I have discussed it with a few core members of the original team. We plan to leave here overnight. Phil, will you come with us?”
Phil looked at this haggard-faced man. In just one day, several strands of silver hair had appeared on his head, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes had deepened a bit.
She slowly stood up. The floating clouds dispersed, and the cold moonlight fell on her brownish-red curly hair.
“Where are we going?”
“To Surinan,” Fesca turned around and strode forward. Phil followed closely behind with quick steps.
“We are not finished yet. We are going to Surinan to find the leader of the Holy White River Caravan—Grey Hat Peterli. He will help us.”
As they walked, the cat-eared girl looked up at the distant starlight. They were like bells scattered among the dark mountains, adding a bit of clarity to the night.
Surinan, a territory directly under the King, adjacent to the Capital, Verz. It was an important land transportation hub for Ansels and the city with the largest population in Ansels.
The path of the rebellion failed, and Phil failed to take Su Ling to Hailuosen to rescue her as promised. But she did not lose heart; instead, her courage rose again.
Surinan was very close to the Capital. If they went there now, would they be able to see Su Ling again?
During the days of living in the north, she missed that silver-haired girl every day.
***
The Capital, Summer City.
Su Ling opened her eyes again. Before her were the dim oil lamps and the small Underground Room. She was still lying in the cage with the collar on. Her clothes had been changed into a soft silk long robe, and the icy iron bars were pressed against her skin.
A period of time must have passed since the Blood Princess’s interrogation. She didn’t know if it was day or night. She only felt dizzy and her back felt a little cold.
Her stomach was painfully hungry, and her mouth was very dry.
Since being captured, Su Ling had not eaten anything. Her body had become very weak, and her small face was bloodless.
She was not sure what kind of torture Sista was going to put her through next. She could only lie there helplessly, barely surviving on her will to live.
Time passed minute by minute. Finally, the small door leading to the ground opened again. Accompanied by a ray of light, the black-haired girl carrying a tray walked down slowly.
“Her Highness…”
She looked eagerly at Sista, wondering whether to ask the Blood Girl for some Bread. She lifted her heavy eyelids, only to find that in the center of Sista’s tray sat two things.
A silver cup filled with water… and a syringe.