Above Southwind City, dark clouds loomed.
It was unclear if the heavens were aware of the bloodshed that day in the city.
Yet, it felt as though they were, as the sky wept, offering a mournful lament for the fallen.
Despite no one truly wishing to take lives or lose their own, they had no choice—they had to fight for what they believed to be just.
In just thirteen minutes since the battle had begun, many were already wounded, and a few had fallen.
Meanwhile, at the west gate of Southwind City, the sound of numerous footsteps echoed, catching the attention of the garrisoned guards, who were without any available reinforcements.
Upon realizing that more than twenty men donning black robes, white masks, and Hadean Varsa crests were madly bolting for the city gates, the two guards were horrified.
