The game has become a real alternate world

Midnight.

Over a silent sea.

Only the gently rippling surface reflects the silvery glow of the moon in the sky.

At the edge of the sea, a harbor can be seen. It's not a big harbor, with less than six ships moored there.

There are mostly small fishing boats.

Even the bustling port seems quiet at this midnight hour; most people have fallen asleep by now.

A massive ship, carrying a solemn shadow and a pungent stench of blood, sails towards the harbor.

It's almost approaching the harbor now.

Yet, the lighthouse at the harbor sends no signals, as if... it's been deserted for a while.

"Aren't we patrolling tonight?" a soldier of the Cohen Kingdom asked.

Another soldier angrily shook his head: "Damn it, my shoulder hurts too much to lift. Why should I patrol?

If you want to go, go yourself. I barely survived; I need to rest."

This soldier was wrapped in many bandages, especially on the shoulder. Obviously, he had just retreated from the front lines, only fit for recovery.

But, due to insufficient troops, even the wounded had to undertake night patrol duties this time.

This naturally led to a lot of discontent among the wounded. They fought desperately, yet being exploited at such a time.

"Those damned nobles don't go to the frontlines to fight, yet at this time they still make us injured patrol, to hell with them."

Another wounded soldier echoed angrily.

Other soldiers, more or less injured, took this opportunity to vent their grievances, cursing loudly.

"Thud, thud, thud!"

At this moment, a knocking sound came.

"Who?" The soldier at the door scowled and shouted irritably.

However, there was no response from outside.

"Damn." He cursed and stood up, opening the door.

Outside in the dark, a shadow stood in front of the door, just staring at them.

Smelling the faint scent of blood in the air, a Soldier Captain who had been resting and silent immediately got up, raising a weapon from beside.

Seeing his movements, the other soldiers quickly reacted.

They were survivors from those front-line meat grinders, seasoned veterans.

"Who are you?" The slightly older Soldier Captain asked with a frown.

The faint scent of blood in the air gave him a very bad feeling because he had smelled enough of this at the frontlines to vomit.

The shadow at the door lifted his head.

Possibly due to the door blocking it, his face was obscured by shadow.

"Discontent, resentment, anxiety, pain, I've heard your inner voices—you're very dissatisfied and want to vent.

Those swine feeding behind the lines make you fight on the front, watching your comrades die while you are on the brink of death.

Full of agony, you deserve honor and privilege, yet you have to fight desperately under those damn nobles."

His voice seemed to carry a trace of magic power, softly infiltrating all the soldiers' ears present.

These soldiers felt dizzy; several even put down their weapons, listening quietly.

"Hey, Pik! Pick up your weapon, what are you doing!" The Soldier Captain keenly noticed something was wrong, shouting loudly.

With his shout, a few soldiers seemed to regain some clarity, but continued listening.

"It's you, take him out!" The Soldier Captain shouted, turning and charging forward with his weapon.

"Doesn't your captain hear your cries of pain? Truly pathetic, he turned out to be one of those bringing you suffering.

Let him die, use his head to vent your fury."

The advancing Soldier Captain cared little and thrust forward with his longspear.

"Ugh..."

A dull groan, pain ensued.

The Soldier Captain looked to his side in disbelief.

His comrade, who survived the meat grinder, had thrust a weapon into his body.

"Captain, so you were with them all along?"

"Don't be... ah!" Before he finished, the Captain screamed again.

Another patrol member had thrust a weapon straight through his body from behind.

One after another.

The screams gradually weakened.

The resisting Soldier Captain had been pierced by multiple longspear, becoming a corpse hung on the "Piercing Frame."

"Come, chop off his head, charge out, vent your fury!"

The shadow laughed heartily, raising a blood-red flame in his hand like a torch.

The soldiers, as if possessed, chopped off their former comrade's head, placing it on a long spear, raising it high.

The other soldiers imitated, chopping off the Captain's limbs and raising them high on longspear, as if declaring something.

When they rushed out of the room.

Outside was already ablaze, this harbor city seemingly being ravaged.

Cries and screams were everywhere.

The flames devoured this city.

Silhouettes moved through the flames, gathering on the streets, forming a slow-moving procession like a dragon.

Leading were a group of Blood Race, chanting loudly as if conducting some sort of ritual.

Behind them were the city's denizens—soldiers, craftsmen, farmers, civilians.