Hello, is this a letter addressed to Demon Fortress?

Thirty minutes ago.

At the entrance of the Seven Copper Coins Post Office in Baiya City.

Edgar slipped the thin flyer under the door of the post office, then lowered his head and turned to walk into the night.

His pace was neither fast nor slow.

Like an ordinary night owl.

But every now and then, he would subtly turn his head to glance behind him out of the corner of his eye.

Only after confirming that no one was following them did they continue walking forward.

His route was very well concealed.

Cross the main street, turn into a narrow alley, and then squeeze into another, even narrower alley.

We wandered among several messy shacks, passing through several secret passages known only to the residents.

Finally, he stopped in front of an inconspicuous shack.

The door, nailed together with wooden planks, was crooked and askew.

The window frame was covered with yellowed paper, through which a faint candlelight shone.

Edgar raised his hand and knocked three times on the door.

pause.

He knocked twice more.

A slight rustling sound came from inside the door, and the wooden plank was pulled open a crack, revealing a cloudy eye peering through it.

"it's me."

Edgar said in a low voice.

He opened the door a little wider and squeezed in sideways.

The shack was small.

What should have been a house for living in is now crowded with people.

The candlelight flickered on the low table in the center of the room, its dim light illuminating the faces of the people sitting around it.

A woman sat at the table, holding a tattered apron in her arms.

Her hair was gray and messy, hanging down the sides of her face, and the wrinkles on her face looked like they had been carved by a knife.

His eyes are red.

There were deep tear stains under his eyes.

Her lips trembled slightly, and her fingers unconsciously rubbed against her apron.

It looks like he's touching something.

It was as if I hadn't touched anything at all.

A man, not very old, looked to be in his early thirties, was sitting next to her.

But his left leg, below the knee, was empty.

The trouser leg was tied in a knot and hung down beside the chair.

His face was covered in sunburn and dust, his hands were rough, his knuckles were large, and his fingernails were stuck with stone powder that couldn't be washed off.

Those were left from years of working in the quarry.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the candlelight, unblinking.

His eyes were as empty as a dead person's.

Beside the man was a young woman wearing a tattered long dress.

Her hair was disheveled, and she had injuries on her face.

Bluish-purple, swollen and red, old and new overlapping.

Her gaze was unfocused, glancing occasionally at the corner before quickly looking away.

His fingers were digging into the edge of the table, and his nails were split.

Next to him was an elderly man with gray hair.

His back was severely hunched, his clothes had more than a dozen patches, and the cuffs were frayed.

His face was expressionless; he simply lowered his head and stared at his hands resting on his knees.

Those withered hands were trembling slightly.

There were more than just these few people in the room.

People were crammed together behind the low table, in the corner, behind the door, and even on the bed.

Men and women, young and old.

Some were squatting, some were sitting, and some were standing against the wall.

Their clothes were all tattered, and their faces all bore the same weariness and numbness.

Hundreds of people were crammed into this small shack.

It was so quiet it was as if no one was there.

No one speaks.

Only the candlelight occasionally emitted a slight crackling sound.

When Edgar entered, all eyes turned to him.

There was something new in those numb eyes.

look forward to.

It was faint, but it was definitely a hope.

Edgar walked to the low table but did not sit down.

He looked around and said in a low voice:

"I've already given the flyer to that monk."

He paused.

I watched him go inside with the letter from a distance.

"He will definitely see that thing."

A slight commotion arose from the crowd.

Some people breathed a sigh of relief, some clenched their fists, and some closed their eyes as if in prayer.

But that anticipation only lasted a few seconds.

The woman's lips trembled, and she asked in a hoarse voice:

"Will they...join us?"

Her eyes reddened again.

"That's a transport team."

"It's... a legendary mage."

The old man replied, his voice hoarse.

"The transport team... belongs to the transport guild."

"That was originally... the territory of those nobles."

His tone was flat, as if he were stating a fact he already knew.

But it is precisely because we know this that we feel even more desperate.

The people around lowered their heads.

Some people bit their lips, some clenched their clothes, and some buried their faces in their hands.

The faint hope that had just been ignited in the room was extinguished again.

The candlelight flickered.

Edgar remained silent for a moment.

Then he said:

"We don't need him to join us."

The people around him looked up at him.

"What can we do by joining us?"

Edgar's voice was not loud, but it was clear.

"Even if we kill those damned nobles, new nobles will still rise up and oppress us."

"They take everything from us at will."

He paused.

What we need is...

"Let them know that the embers of the spark exist."

"Send him to Snake Ridge."

"Go to the Starfire Embers organization."

"Become their strength."

His eyes gleamed faintly in the candlelight.

"The addition of a legendary powerhouse will surely reignite the embers of the spark."

"If it succeeds..."

"Then the wonderful future that the mentor described might come true."

When the words "bright future" were mentioned, everyone around them seemed lost in thought.

Their eyes became unfocused.

It's like looking at a place very, very far away.

The woman covered her face, her shoulders trembling.

Tears seeped through her fingers and dripped onto her worn apron.

"If it were really... as wonderful as that..."

Her voice was broken and intermittent.

"My child... will never see it either."

The young woman next to her reached out and gently patted her back.

The movements were very light and slow.

It was as if it was comforting me, or as if it was telling me something.

"Okay."

The old man spoke, his voice hoarse but steady.

"It will succeed."

He raised his head, a glint of light flashing in his cloudy eyes.

"After all, the leader of the Starfire Embers organization is that fox girl."

"The Star Fox Clan, born with the ability to prophesy."

"A leader who almost succeeded in launching the Spark Revolution."

He lowered his voice.

"This time, she will succeed."

"At that time..."

His gaze swept over everyone in the room.

"We can also speak for our families who died because of persecution by the nobility..."

"Make them pay with their blood."

The last three words were spoken very softly.

But everyone in the room heard it.

A few low murmurs of agreement came from the corner.

Some clenched their fists, some gritted their teeth, and some raised their heads, their eyes filled with hatred.

That kind of hatred wasn't a burning flame.

Instead, it was something cold, heavy, and long-accumulated.

It felt like a stone was pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Edgar was silent for a moment.

His thoughts drifted into the morning.

News of Hyena Fang's destruction spread throughout the city.

More than forty people died overnight.

Commander Cohen, a mid-level extraordinary rank.

Three deputy regimental commanders, extraordinary in their demotion.

They all died in their own stronghold.

Edgar heard the news while he was carrying loads at the Transport Guild.

A fellow worker nearby said it was the transport team behind the post office that did it.

They have the ability and the motivation.

Because the Hyena Fangs monopolized the mail delivery business in White Cliff City, the emergence of the Seven Copper Coin Post Office was tantamount to taking away their livelihood.

Edgar thought that made sense.

It wasn't just him.

This is the guess of most adventurers and nobles in White Cliff City.

Hyena Fang had been running rampant in White Cliff City for nearly ten years, engaging in human trafficking, robbing caravans, bullying civilians, and doing all sorts of dirty things.

Edgar himself had been beaten by the Hyena Fangs.

That day, he was selling his hand-woven straw baskets on the street when several members of the Hyena Fang came over, kicked the baskets over, and said that this was their territory.

He was unconvinced and retorted.

Then he was pinned to the ground and beaten for half an hour.

I broke two ribs and was bedridden for half a month.

So when he learned that Hyena Fang had been destroyed, he laughed.

After he finished laughing, he cried.

He crouched in a corner of the transport association, buried his face in his knees, and cried like a child.

It's not because I feel wronged.

It's because he finally saw that someone was doing what they couldn't.

And that "someone" was the delivery team behind the post office.

It was that legendary mage who came from humble beginnings.

They are "they" who deliver messages for ordinary people at the bottom of society almost free of charge.

From that moment on, Edgar felt that the transport team was one of them.

That's why he volunteered to slip the flyers under the door of the post office.

That's why he's standing here, telling everyone to send that legendary mage to Snake Ridge.

Because that was the only hope they could see, so close at hand.

Edgar snapped out of his thoughts and said:

"Alright, it's time to study."

He turned around and looked around.

Then he stopped moving.

He looked at it again and again.

The tutor was nowhere to be seen in the room.

"Where is your advisor?"

he asks.

The old man said, "They haven't arrived yet."

Edgar frowned.

My mentor is never late.

At every gathering, the mentor was always the first to arrive.

He would sit at the low table, waiting for them to arrive one by one by candlelight.

They would pour them water and ask them how they were doing lately.

I will listen to them recount those nights when they were so tormented that they couldn't sleep.

Then he would tell them that all of this would change.

As long as a spark is ignited, the darkness will be dispelled.

Edgar still remembers the first time he met his mentor.

His father was framed and executed by a nobleman.

He went to the door to demand an explanation, but was ruthlessly beaten and had both legs broken.

Looking at the lights of the aristocratic district in the distance, my mind was completely blank.

My mentor appeared around that time.

He didn't know where his mentor came from.

All he knew was that a man in a gray robe sat down next to him and handed him a piece of black bread.

Then ask him, "Do you hate it?"

Edgar did not speak.

But he took the bread.

From then on, he began attending gatherings organized by his mentor.

More and more people filled the room.

At first there were only a few, then a dozen, then dozens.

Now, almost everyone at the bottom of Baiya City is secretly supporting them.

They would secretly pass messages in the dead of night, mark the goods of the transport guild, and spit into the food in the kitchens of noble mansions.

They can't accomplish anything significant.

But they are doing it.

During this process, the mentors began to describe the Spark's philosophy to them.

equality.

free.

No one can take everything away from another person at will.

A common law can also judge all nobles.

Edgar thought it was a dream.

But he was willing to believe it.

If he doesn't believe, then all he will suffer in his life.

But now, the advisor hasn't come.

Edgar's unease grew stronger.

He looked around again at the room, which was packed with people.

So many people.

Why are so many people gathered here tonight?

His heart began to race.

"My advisor said he has something important to arrange for us."

The old man's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"So let's call all the members of the organization over here."

Edgar opened his mouth, as if to say something.

If the Knights discover them, they will be wiped out.

But he didn't say it.

Because the person next to you has already spoken.

"This outpost is very well hidden."

A young man said in a low voice.

"We've been gathered here for almost half a year and have never been discovered."

"Moreover, my mentor said that this place used to be a contact point for Spark, and it was protected by a special barrier."

"No one will find out."

Several people nearby nodded in agreement.

Edgar did not speak.

He always felt that something was wrong.

But I can't quite put my finger on it.

at this time,

thump.

There was a knock on the door.

Three times.

pause.

Two more times.

Everyone in the room held their breath instantly.

Hundreds of people were crammed into this small shed, yet it was so quiet that you could hear the candlelight flickering.

Some people clenched their fists, some held the hands of the people next to them, and some subconsciously shrank into the corner.

The final number of knocks matched.

The old man's eyes lit up.

He stood up, leaning on his cane, and slowly walked to the door.

"He is a mentor."

He spoke softly, his tone relaxed.

"The code matches."

Those around breathed a sigh of relief.

Some people even smiled.

The old man reached out and pulled open the door.

"Master, you've finally come..."

His voice was stuck in his throat.

The night wind blew in from outside, causing the candlelight to flicker violently.

There was a person standing at the door.

He wore a grey robe with his hood pulled low.

He is indeed a mentor.

But behind the mentor stood many people.

A knight in armor.

Soldiers holding torches.

There were also several people dressed in black robes whose faces were obscured.

The torchlight illuminated the mentor's face.

The expression on that face was no longer gentle and concerned.

It was mocking.

Cold.

It's like looking at a group of ants.

The old man's face turned deathly pale instantly.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

The hand holding the cane was trembling violently.

"Why...why?"

The scene before him made him realize the other party's betrayal.

But he didn't understand why the other party did this.

His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

The mentor—no, that person—smirked coldly.

He slowly took off his hood.

It revealed that face they knew all too well.

But at this moment, there was no gentleness or concern on that face.

There was only one condescending expression, like someone scrutinizing their prey.

His lips parted slightly, and his voice, though not loud, was like a cold knife.

Why?

He repeated it softly.

Then he laughed.

There was no warmth in that smile.

The knights behind him rushed in from his side.

His gaze slowly moved away from the old man's face, sweeping over every terrified, desperate, and disbelieving face in the room.

It looked like they were admiring something interesting.

Then he said:

"Anyone with revolutionary potential must die."

"Even if it's me who ignites the desire for revolution."

"If you have someone to blame, blame those who started the spark revolution back then."

"They are the ones who made us decide to extinguish any possible spark of revolution by any means necessary."