My mom is waiting for treatment, and you're summoning me to be a hero?

As soon as the group stepped into the Silent Mountain Range, they saw those phantoms.

Some of them were people who were killed.

Some of them are people I've wronged in the past.

The inner demons buried deep in their hearts surfaced before their eyes.

Many people were pale and walked with difficulty.

El and the others were also suffering.

As a prince of the Elven race, he had never killed anyone with his own hands.

But these phantoms don't care about any of that.

As a child, he witnessed firsthand a human nation suffering from a plague.

The elves could have intervened to save them, but their proud and aloof nature led them to choose to stand by and do nothing.

These images played repeatedly before his eyes, and thick fog gradually gathered above his head.

Halfway up the mountain.

Hu De, who was the first to climb the mountain, found his steps growing heavier and heavier.

He was panting heavily, large beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.

Every step felt like walking on cotton, soft and yielding.

From the moment I stepped onto the mountain, those phantom images began to appear.

Instead of attacking directly, they hovered above his head, transforming into wisps of thick, impenetrable black mist that swirled around him.

Each wisp of black mist represents someone who died at his hands.

Hood gritted his teeth and continued climbing.

He had worked in the army of the Holy Kingdom of the Tower for many years. He may not have killed many people, but he had interrogated tens of thousands of prisoners.

The black mist gathered more and more above his head, pressing down heavily, making his shoulders tremble.

But he doesn't care.

As long as I can find the Twilight Stone, as long as I can become a demigod—

He looked at a footprint at his feet and his eyes lit up.

"Last time... it was here... this time I must reach the top! Twilight Stone can only be mine!"

He turned his head and looked behind him.

The young warriors who followed him climbed up the stairs with great difficulty.

Some were pale, and some were trembling.

Some had already started muttering to themselves, as if they couldn't bear being haunted by those phantoms.

Looking at the wisps of steam the size of balls above their heads, and comparing them to the wisps of steam the size of water tanks above his own head, Hu De felt a surge of pride.

See? That's the difference.

How could you little devils compare to my wisdom and intelligence?

He looked away and continued climbing.

After crossing a small hill, he looked up, ready to see the road ahead...

Then he froze.

He froze on the spot, as if struck by lightning.

Ahead, on a higher mountainside, two enormous plumes of black mist were churning.

No, it's not 'huge'.

It blots out the sky and blocks out the sun.

The two plumes of black mist almost covered the entire mountainside, so thick that they were impossible to separate and so dark that the bottom could not be seen.

They churned and surged there, like two inverted black oceans, exuding a suffocating sense of oppression.

"Th-what is that...?"

Hood's voice was trembling.

Behind him, the young warriors also climbed up.

Following his gaze, everyone's face turned deathly pale.

"Oh My God……"

"Two...two huge plumes of black mist..."

"How many people would that kill..."

……

Some people started counting, but gave up after a while.

Too much.

There are simply too many to count.

El walked up from behind and also saw the two clouds of black mist that blotted out the sky.

His pupils contracted sharply, and he squinted as he looked.

Through countless wisps of black mist, my gaze finally fell upon the person within the black fog.

Black robe.

Black sword.

A profile view with no expression.

"It's him," he murmured.

Hood turned his head sharply: "You know him?"

El did not answer.

He simply stared at the two wisps of black mist and remained silent.

Hu De also fell silent.

He was just feeling smug, thinking he was mentally strong enough.

But now, looking at those two thick clouds of black mist that almost covered the sky, he suddenly felt that his little "achievements" were ridiculous.

How many people did the person walking in front kill?

5?

10?

Or more?

they do not know.

All they knew was that beneath those two clouds of black mist, a figure was climbing upwards step by step.

Their steps were firm, without any pause.

……

On the mountainside, higher up.

Lin Mo's pace finally slowed down.

It's not because I'm tired.

Rather, it's because the road ahead is blocked.

Countless figures stood there.

They emerged from the black mist, appeared from behind the rocks, and coalesced from the void.

The dense, layered structures completely blocked the mountain road.

He recognized the people at the very front.

They are the people of Orl.

Beneath the Emerald Mountain Range that he severed, lay the innocent civilians caught in the crossfire of his battle.

Their faces showed no anger, only bewilderment and sorrow.

Why...?

"I'm just working in the fields..."

"My child is only three years old..."

……

They murmured, their voices soft, yet sharp as needles piercing the ears.

Later on, even more people...

Fifty thousand civilians in the Imperial Capital Arena.

They wore fine clothes, plain clothes, and the coarse linen of servants.

There were old and young, men and women.

Some were holding children, while others were helping elderly people.

They stood there, looking at Lin Mo, their eyes filled with fear, confusion, and sorrow.

"I just came to watch the game..."

"My son is still waiting for me at home..."

"What did I do wrong...?"

……

The sounds converged, surging in like a tide.

Lin Mo stopped in his tracks.

He looked at those people, looked into those eyes.

Blood stained his shoulder, and his body stiffened slightly.

She had seen countless ghosts, but never such a massive display of resentment.

Those people didn't attack; they just stood there, asking the same question: Why?

Lin Mo remained silent for a moment.

Then he continued walking forward.

Passing through the countless figures.

"I did nothing wrong, why did you kill me?"

A woman holding a child blocked his way, her eyes filled with tears.

Lin Mo looked at her without stopping.

I walked past her.

Answer me!

An old man grabbed his clothes, his withered fingers trembling.

Lin Mo did not turn around.

The hem of her clothes slipped from his hand.

The sounds grew louder and sharper.

They no longer just questioned, but turned into crying, cursing, and wailing.

Countless hands reached out to him, trying to grab him and drag him into that abyss of resentment.

Lin Mo continued walking.

Step by step, without any pause.

Because he knew why he was killing these people.

It wasn't out of hatred.

It's not for profit.

It's not for any high-sounding reason.

It's to go home.

It was for his mother in the hospital bed, and for his father curled up in the hospital chair.

Those people were never his enemies.

They were simply blocking his way home, obstacles he had to overcome.

They are innocent, they are blameless, they should not have died.

But they had to die.

This is a balance scale.

On one side are the lonely parents.

On one side are these tens of thousands of people.

The weight of parents far exceeds that of children.

Lin Mo didn't think he was right.

But he didn't think he was wrong.

He simply did what he had to do.

That's it.

He raised his head and continued climbing.

Lin Mo has a clear conscience!