Hello, is this a letter addressed to Demon Fortress?

Morgan looked at him, something flickering in his blood-red eyes.

Hewlett didn't look at him again.

He turned his head and looked at the deep passageway leading to the doorway; Cedric and Lydia had long since disappeared into the darkness.

Morgan looked at him, and after a long while, he finally spoke.

"Go with them."

His voice was very soft, as if it were squeezed out from deep in his throat.

"Cedric and Leah need someone to draw Edwin's attention away from them."

Hughley nodded.

"And what about you?"

Morgan looked down at his hands resting on his knees.

"What if Cedric and Leah fail..."

He paused for a moment.

"I will use myself as a bargaining chip to fight for the right to survival of my compatriots who have suffered with me."

Hewlett looked at him and remained silent for a long time.

Then he nodded.

He turned around and walked up to the two half-demon warriors.

The two soldiers were still kneeling on the ground, the bloodstains on their wrists were shocking, their heads were down and their shoulders were trembling slightly.

Hewlett crouched down, reached out, and gently patted one of the soldiers' heads.

That hand was large, with thick knuckles, and the calluses on the palm were as thick as a shell.

But the movements were very gentle, as if soothing a frightened young animal.

The soldier raised his head, his bloodshot eyes filled with tears.

Hewlett didn't say anything comforting; he just patted them on the back of the head and then stood up.

He picked up the shield leaning against the wall, hung it on his left arm, and then drew the longsword from his waist, glanced at it, and sheathed it again.

The armor made a faint metallic scraping sound with his movements, which was particularly clear in the empty hall.

Then he turned and walked toward the door.

His steps were steady, neither hurried nor slow.

The outstretched hand on the shield gleamed faintly silver in the light of the magic stone.

His figure disappeared into the passageway.

Only Morgan and the two half-demon warriors remained in the hall.

The light from the magic stone remained pale, illuminating his face, which was so tired it was almost numb.

He sat alone for a very long time.

The two half-demon warriors knelt on the ground, the bloodstains on their wrists shocking, their heads bowed, their shoulders trembling slightly.

Finally, one of them raised his head, his bloodshot eyes filled with remorse.

"Lord Morgan...it was us...it was us who exposed the location of the shelter."

His voice was hoarse, with an uncontrollable tremor.

"If we hadn't gone out to find food, if we hadn't been captured..."

That's enough.

Morgan's voice was soft, without blame or comfort, just a calm born of extreme exhaustion.

He looked up at the two soldiers.

One is named Ian, and the other is named Colin; both are warriors of the lower rank of the Extraordinary.

"I know you didn't have a choice back then."

Morgan leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling on the faces of the two soldiers, then passing through them and landing in the distance.

More than three months ago, the epic demons on the west side suddenly rioted.

Two epic demons engaged in a fierce battle on the western side of the barren wasteland, turning the entire western wasteland upside down.

Morgan didn't pay too much attention, because the battlefield between the two demons was very far from the sanctuary, and the short-term melee wouldn't affect the sanctuary.

But what he didn't expect was that the melee would last so long.

The two epic demons fought for over a month without stopping, and their subordinate demons, as the situation worsened, began to revolt.

The flames of war began to spread from the west, spreading in all directions like wildfire.

As the situation continued to encroach on the north side, Morgan dared not gamble, even though the risk was very small.

Because to the north is Satogia.

The Throat of the Wasteland, an epic-level demon lord.

If it is awakened, the entire shelter will be destroyed in an instant.

So Morgan made a decision.

He gathered almost all the legendary and extraordinary combatants of the Sanctuary.

Head south to intercept the rampaging demons driven by the flames of war and spreading northward.

He personally led the team, guiding the demons in other directions.

At that time, the shelter had almost no legendary figures stationed there.

He led everyone out.

The gravity of the situation forced him to do this before he left.

He thought he was well prepared.

The route, manpower, and backup plans were all repeatedly simulated.

As a result, one crucial link broke everything.

Dalton's grain did not arrive on time as agreed.

Looking back now, that transport team probably died in the demon riot on the west side.

It was two months later when Morgan led his team back to the shelter.

The famine had spread to an unbearable degree.

The grain sacks were empty, the tree bark was stripped bare, and even the low-level demons in the forbidden area were hunted down.

The half-demons began to eat grass roots, soil, and anything else they could swallow.

Some people fainted from hunger in the corner, and some never woke up again.

Levy, Ian, and Colin went out around that time.

Morgan couldn't be too harsh on them.

Because at that time, if they hadn't gone out to find food...

If Morgan and the other legends hadn't returned in time, the sanctuary might have already been destroyed by famine.

"Where's Levy?"

Morgan's voice was very soft, as if he were asking about something he already knew the answer to.

Ian's eyes reddened, and he lowered his head without saying a word.

Colin's voice was forced out from his throat, choked with sobs.

"She was sent away... those damned mages... sent her to the City of a Thousand Towers..."

Morgan closed his eyes.

His hands gripped the fabric on his knees tightly, his knuckles turning white, and the veins on the back of his hands bulging.

His breathing became heavy, as if a stone was pressing on his chest, each rise and fall accompanied by a slight tremor.

It was a long time before he opened his eyes.

In those blood-red eyes, something shattered, then pieced back together.

He forced a smile, so faint it was almost invisible.

"Don't worry, she'll be fine."

His voice was so steady, it didn't seem real.

Then he stood up, turned around, and walked out of the hall.

The shelter outside the hall was deserted.

On both sides of the narrow passage are small houses carved into the mountain.

The stone door was ajar, and a faint glow of magic stone shone through the crack.

Morgan walked very slowly.

He passed a small hut with the door ajar.

Inside was a stone bed covered with dry grass, and on the grass lay a tattered linen garment with frayed threads at the cuffs.

Beside the stone bed, there was a chipped earthenware bowl with a dark, paste-like substance at the bottom that had dried and cracked.

In the corner lay several bones, gnawed white, with not a trace of meat on them, only dense teeth marks.

He passed another hut.

The skin on the ground was flat and empty.

Next to it was a piece of tree bark that had been bitten, with blackened edges, as if it had been chewed for a long time and then spat out.

He continued walking forward.

At the corner of the passage, there was a wooden bucket. The bottom of the bucket was completely dry, and there were several dried water marks on the inside of the bucket, like markings, recording the process of the water level dropping day by day.

The water mark stopped less than two fingers above the bottom of the bucket, and then it never rose again.

Morgan glanced at it and walked over.

He walked through the passage and up the slope leading to the north side.

Every few steps on the stone steps, there is a small patch of dark stain.

Someone vomited here; the yellowish-green bile splattered on the stone steps and has dried into a thin, hard crust.

Someone had diarrhea here; the thin, runny stool seeped into the cracks in the rocks, emitting a faint, fishy stench.

Morgan stepped over the stains without bowing his head.

He walked very slowly, as if he were counting his own steps.

With each step I took, a scene flashed through my mind.

Someone is packing their bags in the square of the City of a Thousand Towers.

She stuffed half her life's possessions into a worn-out leather suitcase and followed him out of the city gate without looking back.

Someone in the wilderness looked back, watching the towering magic tower gradually disappear below the horizon, their eyes reddening, but they didn't cry.

Someone was being chased by demons in the forbidden area. He lost an arm and lay on his bed, gritting his teeth and not uttering a sound.

Someone was so hungry they couldn't walk. They leaned on his shoulder, their lips cracked, their bloodshot eyes filled with no resentment, only a silent trust that made one's heart ache.

he......

They have betrayed everyone's trust.

But the painful traces around us will soon come to an end.