The village chief’s concession was merely a small spark before the blizzard.
That night, Hegemon and Lily couldn’t sleep.
They stood guard outside the fortified barn—where nearly thirty of the village’s children were gathered.
The air was thick with the smell of night dew and a suffocating tension.
At exactly three o’clock in the morning, two dry, sharp sounds echoed from the edge of the forest.
Two reinforced guard squads had been silently killed.
Immediately afterward, streaks of dark purple light seeped from the ground, seeping through the cracks in the barn doors.
A large-scale brainwashing spell had been activated remotely, bypassing the fire defenses meant only for ordinary monsters.
Inside the barn, the screams suddenly ceased, replaced by the thunderous footsteps of children frantically breaking down the doors and rushing out.
But everything happened too quickly.
From the shadows, dozens of figures in black cloaks of the Western Cult poured out like ghosts.
They no longer bothered to hide.
A direct massacre erupted.
The weak soldiers of the outlying village fell one by one under the blades and dark magic.
Hegemon fought furiously with his dagger.
He stabbed two cultists, blood splattering on his face, but a sudden dark rocket struck him in the back.
Boom!
Hegemon was thrown to the ground, his flesh scorched.
He grabbed the introverted boy’s hair and dragged him away.
The child looked at Hegemon, his vacant eyes flashing with a brief glimmer of consciousness, his mouth muttering, “Brother…
save…”
“Let him go!!!”
Hegemon let out a heart-wrenching scream, struggling to get up, but a large sword from behind pierced his chest, pinning him to the cold ground.
The cult members laughed maniacally, setting fire to the warehouse and unleashing monstrous beasts to surround the fleeing villagers.
Hegemon’s will to save the people shattered as his last breath ended amidst the crushing sound of his bones and flesh.
He died again.
A devastating and devastating defeat.