A different world game? A different world game!

three days later.

Night fell heavily over the capital city of Ketir, pressing down on the entire city.

The sky was devoid of stars and moon; the leaden-gray clouds were thick and heavy as iron. It was sultry and windless, the air so thick it felt like solidified grease, and every breath carried the faint stench of rust and sewage.

The streets were unusually quiet; even the usual hooting of owls and barking of wild dogs had vanished, leaving only the cold glow of the magic lamps in the inner city towers, cutting through the vast, chilling darkness of the outer city.

An invisible tension tightened in the deathly silence, like a fully drawn bowstring, waiting only for the sound of tearing silk.

This calm is the suffocating stillness before a storm, the earth holding its breath under the gaze of the abyss.

Our gaze shifts to the heart of the city—the Cetir Palace Castle, standing at the very center of the inner city.

At this moment, the oppressive atmosphere here contrasts sharply with that outside the city.

The lights were dazzling, and the music was deafening.

To celebrate the King's sixtieth birthday, the castle hall was decorated as a dazzling sea of ​​lights.

The enormous crystal chandelier refracted countless rays of light, casting a glow on the gleaming marble floor and the columns coated with gold paint.

The air was filled with the sweet aroma of roast suckling pig, truffle sauce, and expensive incense.

The Night's Watch also benefited from the cheap supplies they received, making their lives more luxurious than ever before.

The melodious court music flowed, but it couldn't drown out the deliberately exaggerated, drunken laughter of the nobles.

Amidst the rustling of elegant clothes and the glittering shadows of hairpins, a group of nobles dressed in fine attire gathered in a corner of the banquet hall, their crystal glasses swirling with blood-red wine.

"Ha! Another year has passed, a salute to our 'wise' Emperor!"

A count with a huge beer belly and wearing a gold-tasseled sash—von Eric—raised his glass and shouted, drawing a chorus of agreement.

He took a sip, then frowned in disgust, as if he had swallowed poison.
"Damn Night's Watch! Look at this wine. Ten years ago, a bottle of 'Golden Harvest Manor' could be exchanged for half a knight's estate!"
"And now? Those lowly commoners who wallow in the mud can buy watered-down wine at the Adventurers' House for a few copper coins and drink it like water! This is a blasphemy against our bloodline!"

He spoke loudly, deliberately making sure that all the guests around him could hear him.

This is now an essential opening line for every noble banquet: a denunciation of the Night's Watch.

A factional behavior that reinforces their mutual identification.

A tall, thin baron standing nearby, wearing an exquisite grapevine badge on his collar, immediately chimed in, his tone sarcastic.

"Lord Eric is right, it's not just the wine. My vineyards are almost a joke. The carefully cultivated grapes reserved for the nobility, the ruby ​​waters made from them, are now being turned into cheap, mass-produced junk by those damned Night's Watchmen using their so-called 'efficient winemaking methods'."

"Even the laborers resting by the pigsty get a few sips! This is simply... an insult to our thousand-year-old glory!"

He angrily poured the wine from his glass onto the ground, eliciting a few frivolous laughs.

But who doesn't know that it was entirely because of the Night's Watch's actions that the other side lost a lot of money, falling from being one of the wealthiest nobles to their current, somewhat impoverished state?

He must hate the Night's Watch to death.

"Hmph, the Night's Watch?"

Another viscount with a sinister expression sneered.

"A bunch of self-important idiots! They've made a mess of the market with their weird food!"

"My granaries are overflowing with the finest wheat, yet they've driven the price down to below even the bran used to feed livestock. Those peasants may be well-fed, but what will sustain our dignity?"

He glanced around, his voice low but filled with hatred, "They are digging up the very foundations of our nobility!"

The topic quickly shifted to something they hated even more—those who had defected.

"And those traitors who have betrayed their bloodline!"

Count von Eric's face turned bright red, and he gritted his teeth.

“Like that brat from the Royce family, a noble family of knights, he actually went to Taril to become some kind of ‘free mercenary,’ hanging his arms around those peasants from the adventurers’ guild, throwing all the glory of his ancestors into the cesspool!”

"They have forgotten that noble lineage is an authority bestowed by the gods, and it shall not be defiled by such filth!"

A noblewoman waving a peacock feather fan chimed in with a shrill voice.

"The Night's Watch bewitched them with this nonsense about 'fighting for the world'? Bah!"
"This is clearly an attempt to bewitch people, to tear down our kingdom, and to let those lowly people climb over us!"

Curses rose and fell, filled with hatred for the Night's Watch and contempt for the defectors, as if this could dispel the vague unease in their hearts.

Essentially, their so-called alliance was formed out of fear and pressure from the Night's Watch.

Don't they want to join the Night's Watch?
They certainly want to, but I think the price we're offering is far too low, and they themselves have no way to increase their own value.

It has no meaning beyond verbal honor and bloodline.

Essentially, most of the nobles here are despised and worthless by everyone.

This behavior deeply hurt them, making them even more hysterical.

The king sat regally on the throne, his plump fingers stroking the golden cup, and whispered to his close advisors:

"These peasants... they won't cause any trouble. The guards will teach them a lesson."

The attendant smiled obsequiously and refilled the king's cup with wine.

The castle's hustle and bustle was shut out by its thick stone walls.

Outside the towering walls of the inner city, a completely different scene unfolds.

Torches flickered on the sturdy battlements, illuminating the cold visors of the fully armed knights and guards.

They watched warily the wider area outside the city, almost entirely shrouded in darkness—the outer city, where more than 95% of the city's population was huddled together, with only a few scattered lights flickering in the deep night.

All the soldiers who can patrol here are at least level six.

Of course, if it's this level, it's enough to become a minor general in the army.

Or one could join a lord's council and gain their own knightly territory.

But today, twenty years later.

They could only become more elite guards.

On a watchtower in the inner city, a young recruit, wrapped tightly in a musty-smelling cloak, anxiously pointed in a direction deep within the outer city.

"Sir, look at that square over there... so many torches! And a dark mass of people moving around!"

His voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly.

A scruffy-bearded, cloudy-eyed old soldier glanced lazily at the flickering lights in the distance, snorted disdainfully, and took a swig of cheap beer.

"What's the big fuss about? Why bother with those pigs? They're just making a fuss because they're full and have nothing better to do."

"Either they're celebrating some rural festival, or they're gathering to sing the Night Watch hymns, or maybe those guys from the Church of Holy Light are having some kind of bonfire porridge party again."

"These lowlifes have to find some amusement, don't they? As long as they don't disturb the men's sleep."

He spat out the wine residue in his mouth and extinguished the sparks at his feet with the sole of his boot.

Just a few years ago, there was still a curfew in place.

But once the Night's Watch rose to power and its influence began to spread, the curfew became a mere formality.

"Remember this, kid, our swords are only meant for the bones of thieves who try to climb into the inner city." The young soldier shrank back, nervously averting his gaze.

After all, he is still young and has worked hard to improve his strength to this point, so he can't afford to offend these veterans.

He couldn't see clearly that at the center of that dense halo of torchlight, it wasn't a celebratory banquet at all.

The outer city center square.

Countless torches were held high, illuminating Carlo's figure as if it were a burning totem.

He stood on the makeshift wooden platform, his voice booming, filled with grief and indignation that seemed to tear the night sky apart:
"Just today! Right under our noses! Old John the blacksmith, who had spent his whole life nailing horseshoes for the von Eric family—had his legs broken by the Earl's vicious guards just because he glanced up at the Earl's carriage while he was working."

"His wife... was dragged into a dark alley by those beasts... If it weren't for our men risking their lives to stop them, even their infant child would have been thrown to his death on the stone steps!"

His words struck like a heavy hammer, hitting the hearts of the dark crowd below the stage.

A deathly silence enveloped the square, with only heavy breathing and suppressed sobs mingling in the night wind.

"What do these noble lords take us for? Pigs and dogs! Slaves! Animals to be beaten, killed, and humiliated at will! They suck our blood while stepping on our backs, and then they complain that our blood is dirty!"

Carlo suddenly swung the torch in his hand into the night sky, and the flames roared.

"The Night's Watch gave us swords, and the Church of the Holy Light taught us that all intelligent beings are born equal. The oath we swore to the world is not to make us continue to kneel like dogs! Our lives are worth as much as those masters'!"

"Why should I?!"

In the crowd, a young man with an adventurer's bandage wrapped around his arm roared, his voice hoarse.

"While I was slaughtering bastards in Taril, those fat pigs were drinking! Our blood is hotter than theirs!"

The flames of anger were ignited instantly.

Some people instinctively gripped the short axe hidden under their robes, while others stroked the long sword at their waists.

“Make them pay the price, make those damned nobles kneel before us, make them repent under the gaze of the Holy Light.”

"That's right, those noble lords are a bunch of fools!"

"What noble lords? They're just a bunch of stupid pigs in fancy clothes, they all deserve to die!"

As the crowd grew noisy and some people deliberately guided them, their anger intensified and their emotions rose.

"Those who can still stand, those who still have backbone, come with me!"

Guided by the sharp-eyed, well-prepared fraternity leaders in the crowd, the silent group began to move.

The torches converged into an angry river, deliberately following the most winding and narrow alleyways of the slums.

They did not go directly to the city walls, but instead wandered around the city.

Footsteps, deep shouts, and the clanging of metal, like stones thrown into a stagnant pool, roused the sleeping city in circles.

The soldiers who should have been patrolling the outer city were nowhere to be seen—many had already changed into civilian clothes and blended into the crowd, while others had "coincidentally" been transferred elsewhere.

Some people joined in this movement, and before they knew it, the group was growing larger and larger.

Some civilians glanced at it and then shrank back into their rooms.

Some civilians stuck their heads out of the windows, constantly looking around.

Some young people were pulling at their families, seemingly trying to break free.

Some people joined the crowd and silently raised their torches.

When this raging crowd of thousands surged to the towering oak gates of the inner city, it was like boiling lava.

Fists, clubs, and torch handles pounded wildly against the city gate, the sound deafening:
"Get out here and apologize!"

"Give us the rights we deserve!"

"The nobles must step down! Blood debts must be repaid in blood!"

The firelight illuminated faces contorted with rage, where despair and hatred intertwined, coalescing into a deafening roar that crashed against the tranquility of the inner city.

On the city wall, the shouting of a baron, his face flushed from drinking and his formal attire crumpled, startled everyone.

He drunkenly pushed aside the guards who tried to stop him, leaned out of the crenellations, and roared, his breath reeking of alcohol.

"Outside... hiccup... what's that yelling about?"

A guard nervously replied, "Sir, it's...it's a peasant rebellion! They've gathered down there demanding an explanation, wanting the nobles to...to come out and apologize..."

The baron paused for a moment, then burst into ear-piercing, maniacal laughter, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world:
"Ha! Hahaha! A bunch of ignorant peasants! Let's teach them a lesson! Fire a few arrows to scare them, and if they dare to make a sound again, we'll grab a few and hang them on the city wall as a warning!"

They were already unable to attend the banquet because they had to guard the city gates, and now these peasants are coming to disgust them.

He waved his fat hand and gave a rash order.

The guards struggled, but military orders were absolute.

He gritted his teeth and made a gesture to his comrades below the wall.

Whoosh!Whoosh!Whoosh!
The cold arrows, carrying the shriek of death, pierced the dense crowd below like venomous snakes.

A scream instantly ripped through the night sky!

Someone was shot by an arrow and fell to the ground, wailing in pain.

Fear spread like a plague, and the crowd began to riot and retreat.

However, this bloody crackdown not only failed to disperse the crowd, but instead completely ignited the long-suppressed fury!

"Damn nobles!"

In the crowd, a figure who had been waiting for a long time suddenly raised a rough hunting bow—it was the rebel who had witnessed the tragic state of Old John's family during the day.

The bowstring vibrated!

puff!
An arrow, imbued with rage, pierced precisely through the throat of the guard captain on the city wall who had given the order to fire!

Blood gushed out like a spring, staining the cold brick walls red.

"Charge in! Slaughter those beasts!"

Carlo's roar was like a battle horn.

The armed core, composed of adventurers and defectors who had been lying in wait in the crowd, suddenly unleashed a fierce killing intent like sharks smelling blood!
"Charge!"

"For John! For us!"

Driven by herd mentality and overwhelming anger, the crowd went completely mad.

The wooden ladder was lifted from the shadows and slammed heavily against the city wall.

Countless hands grabbed onto anything they could cling to, even forming human walls, and surged upwards recklessly.

The torchlight flickered wildly on the city wall, and shouts of battle, roars, screams, and the clash of weapons suddenly erupted, creating a raging sea of ​​noise.

The tranquil birthday banquet night was instantly transformed into a bloody siege battlefield as the arrogance of the nobility clashed with the anger of the common people.

The inner city of Ktyr, the capital, a fortress symbolizing humanity's ancient "glory," was hit by a storm it hadn't experienced in centuries. (End of Chapter)