The military general hesitated, his eyes locked onto the king's resolute expression. He understood the unspoken order, and as a loyal servant, he knew better than to question it. With a subtle nod, he acknowledged the king's silent command.
"Summon the royal guards," the general instructed, his voice firm but laced with a hint of unease. "Prepare my horse, and divide the guards into two contingents. Half will remain here, while the other half will accompany me."
The royal guards nodded in unison, their faces expressionless. Swiftly mounting their horses, they departed, their mission clear—round up every beggar in the city and present them before the king.
Thirty minutes passed. The rhythmic pounding of hooves echoed through the streets. More than fifty royal guards returned, their horses' reins held tightly as they herded over two hundred beggars toward the palace.
Among the captives were children, their wide eyes filled with terror. Mothers clutched their infants tightly, their bodies trembling. Elderly beggars struggled to keep pace, some collapsing, only to be dragged forward without mercy. The air was thick with sobs, desperate pleas, and the rattling of chains.
One frail old man, his voice hoarse, cried out, "Why? Why are we being treated like this? What have we done to deserve this?" His words carried through the crowd, but no one had an answer.
As the beggars were forced to kneel before the king, their bound hands trembling, their leader—a frail old man—stepped forward. His sunken eyes, filled with fear, met the king's unwavering gaze.
"K-King, why are you doing this to us?" he stammered. "What have we done to deserve such cruelty?"
Sensing the king's wrath, the entire group immediately kowtowed, their foreheads pressing against the cold stone ground.
The king's laughter echoed through the palace, a chilling, mirthless sound.
"Hoho… Why do you cower now?" he taunted. "Just moments ago, you had the audacity to challenge my authority. What changed? Did you believe you could defy me and escape unscathed?"
A young woman among the beggars raised her voice, her desperation evident.
"Please, Your Majesty, forgive our transgression! We were blinded by our hunger and despair. We never intended to offend you."
The others quickly followed, their heads bowed as they begged for mercy, their voices trembling.
The king's gaze swept over them, his expression carved from stone.
"Punishment?" he echoed, his voice laced with mockery. "Do you even comprehend the gravity of your actions?"
His eyes narrowed as he turned toward his military general.
"Enlighten these… subjects of mine. What is the punishment for those who dare to raise their voice against the king of the Alexa Kingdom?"
The general stepped forward, his tone unwavering.
"Death, Your Majesty. The law is clear. Those who defy the crown must pay with their lives."
Before the decree could be carried out, a figure rushed forward. The princess, her face pale with fear, fell to her knees before her father.
"Please, Father," she pleaded, her voice filled with urgency. "Have mercy on them. They were only seeking work. They are our subjects. Killing them would be unjust… and it would tarnish our kingdom's reputation."
The king's expression darkened. His voice boomed with rage.
"What nonsense are you spouting, daughter? These vermin are nothing but parasites, feeding off my generosity! I granted them the chance to leave peacefully, yet they refused. Now, they must face the consequences."
He turned away from his daughter, his decision unwavering.
"I hereby order the Royal Guards to carry out their punishment. Let this serve as an example to any who dare challenge my rule."
The princess's lips parted, as if to speak again—but her father's glare silenced her.
The Royal Guards drew their swords, their polished blades glinting ominously in the torchlight.
From the noble stands, approving murmurs could be heard.
"They deserve this," one noble muttered. "Filthy beggars have no place in our kingdom."
Another scoffed. "A disgrace. They pollute our streets with their stench. The king is doing us all a favor."
The beggars cried out in despair, but their voices fell on deaf ears.
The massacre began.
Steel flashed.
Throats were slit.
Bodies crumpled one after another.
A lone beggar, driven by desperation, lunged at a guard in a futile attempt to fight back. His efforts were brutally crushed. The guards' blades tore through his flesh, leaving him a mangled heap on the blood-soaked ground.
The scene quickly spiraled into a vision of hell.
Mothers shielded their children, trying to protect them from the slaughter—only to be cut down alongside them. Elderly beggars stood in defiance, their fragile bodies breaking under the relentless assault.
Blood splattered across the ground, staining the stone streets and palace walls. The sky itself seemed to darken, a deep crimson as if mourning the atrocity.
The air grew thick with the iron scent of blood, the once-pristine uniforms of the Royal Guards drenched in crimson. They looked like death itself—faceless executioners carrying out a tyrant's decree.
Screams echoed. Bones snapped. Flesh was torn apart.
And through it all, the king watched, his expression unreadable.
Then he laughed.
A slow, cruel laugh that sent shivers down even the nobles' spines.
"Excellent," the king sneered. "With them gone, my city will finally be rid of its poverty problem!"
He turned to his general. "Check for any survivors. If even one of them remains alive… you will all have your pay cut. I expect complete efficiency."
His gaze then swept over his noble guests. "Now, let us retire to the castle. There is still much to celebrate. Ha! Ha! Ha!"
The nobles, seemingly unfazed by the horror they had witnessed, followed the king, their faces alight with smiles as if nothing had happened.
The blood continued to pool in the streets.
The kingdom had been "cleansed."
The shopkeeper's expression was grim as he finished his tale.
"This, sir, is why you won't find any beggars on the streets of our city. The king's decree saw to that."
He exhaled, glancing around nervously before leaning in. "I shouldn't have even told you this… If the wrong person hears about it, my life is over."
Feng Yun, who had been listening in silence, nodded thoughtfully.
"I see," he said. "Thank you for sharing this with me."
He then shifted the conversation.
"Could you direct me to the guild? I have things to do."
The shopkeeper's face brightened slightly, grateful for the change in topic.
"Of course, sir! To get to the guild, simply head left from my shop, then take a right at the next intersection. You can't miss it. If you need weapons, the armory shop is straight past the guild, on your left."
The man then leaned in conspiratorially.
"And don't forget to mention my name when you visit the armory shop. The owner, Old Man Thorne, is a good friend of mine. He'll make sure you get a decent discount. Just tell him Thomas, the shopkeeper, sent you."
Feng Yun nodded in acknowledgment before stepping out of the shop.
[Ding...]
Name: Feng Yun
Level (Realm): Level 3 (Body Tempering Stage 3)
Souls: 60/160
Age: Unknown (Reason: Outsider)
Title: Evil Swordsman
→ Evil Sword Art (Lv.1), Devil Pace (Lv.1), Screaming of Evilness (Lv.1)
Bloodline: ???
Cultivation Technique: Soul Devour Demon (Demon Cultivation Technique)