Miss Wang Weina, even your cousin won't do!

January 6, 1093 (Terra calendar), Lentinium, Victoria.

When Wayne finally awoke from his long hibernation, Mandra had already been escorted back to Londinium from the front lines by Theresis. The poor little cat, after a terrifying night, had lost all will to fight, but surprisingly retained a stubborn disdain and contempt for the Victorian nobility. Three interrogators, full of confidence, went to Special Penitentiary District 13, where the wanted criminals were being held, to try and interrogate Mandra, hoping to extract information from her about the remaining Deeppool troops and the whereabouts of another high-ranking leader of the Deeppool—Akhmoni. But without exception, they all failed.

Vina was either unable to endure Mandela's constant filthy curses and personal insults, or helpless in the face of Mandela's silent attitude, or ashamed by those bitter and resentful eyes. After the last interrogator left a letter of repentance at home on January 5, which was yesterday, and then hanged himself, this matter finally caught Vina's attention.

"Three renowned interrogators returned empty-handed, and one of them committed suicide out of shame. How could a mere traitor possess such unwavering resolve?"

"Vina asked, puzzled. Theresa silently shook her head. She wanted to say that a person's willpower doesn't depend on whether they are a traitor, but on whether they have their own beliefs. Clearly, Mandra has a belief; her faith is in the Deep Pool, in the Celts, and in the theory of the Drakian restoration. Such a person is loyal, but for those on the opposing Aslan's side, this kind of person is the most troublesome."

After thinking for a moment, Theresa suggested, "Let me give it a try?"

She was the Demon Lord, possessing Originium Arts that allowed her to read memories and minds. Although she always resented using this "convenient ability" to pry into other people's secrets, she was willing to break her own rules once for the sake of her country and for Wayne. But Vina was clearly hesitant. She shifted her gaze to her desk, where Wayne, who had just woken up, was enjoying his nutritious meal, listening to Vina and Theresa's discussion.

Seeing Vina turn her head, Wayne quickly fed a spoonful of the delicious-looking meat porridge into his mouth, put down the spoon, wiped his mouth, and said:

“I think it’s a good idea. Theresa is very skilled in interrogation. With her there, even if Mandela still refuses to say anything, she can easily get the information we want.”

Seeing that Wayne agreed, Theresa nodded slightly. Just as she was about to get up, Wayne suddenly added:

“But that’s still not safe enough. Theresa’s ability is to read memories and see through thoughts, right? What if Mandela has some way to counter her? Or, to put it another way, what if even Mandela doesn’t know Ahmoni and the others’ escape route?”

“This…” Theresa was speechless. As Wayne said, if Mandra didn’t know anything about Ahmoni and the others’ escape route, then Theresa naturally wouldn’t be able to read anything. But then again, if that were the case, wouldn’t that mean no one could find Ahmoni and the others?

“I’ll go.” Wayne said, slowly picking up the bowl, pouring the porridge into his mouth, and standing up. “I’ll go, I’m sure I can get some information out of him.”

"Why do you say that?" Vina asked curiously. "If Sister Theresia can't read anything, then you can't either, right, brother? I remember your magic is about commanding others, so can you command her to say things she doesn't know?"

“Of course… that won’t work.” Wayne scratched his head and laughed. “I’m not planning to see Mandela, I’m planning to see Reed.”

Vina looked like she suddenly understood.

...........

Londinium, a villa in the western suburbs.

This place was once Wayne's secret base. After Vina's coronation and move into the Iron Palace, it was abandoned for a period of time. After being cleaned up, it was rented out to guerrillas who came from Ursus. After the guerrillas moved to the Rhine Life residential area in New Wales, it was used for a new purpose: to hold a special prisoner—Reed (Raphsini), a member of the Drak bloodline no longer recognized by the world and Wayne's adopted sister.

Long solitary confinement would be a punishment that could drive an ordinary person insane. No one can entertain themselves in an empty house all day long. Loneliness is one of the biggest factors that destroy human mental health. But for Wei Cao, it was not such a terrible punishment. She had simply returned to the life she used to know.

In faraway Dublin, more than a decade ago, she was just like now, alone in the empty castle of the King of the North, gazing at the bright lights of the city in the distance, listening to the laughter and curses carried by the wind, waiting for the resolute man called "Father" to return from the distant battlefield.

This went on for a long time, until one day, her brother, who seemed to dislike her, suddenly approached her and invited her to go to the night market in Dublin. She initially refused, and her brother didn't try to persuade her further, leaving without a word. But just when she thought it was over, the next evening, her brother, who used to be gone for days at a time, returned to the castle and extended another invitation to her.

"Stop waiting for that jerk by the windowsill, how about we go out and have some fun together?"

This time, Reed accepted his invitation.

In his memory, his brother Wayne was a strange person. As the eldest son of the most powerful noble family in the North, he never wore his dashing aristocratic attire when he went out. Instead, he dressed like a street reporter. He would sneak out, but never to attend a banquet with some young master or lady. Instead, he would wander the streets of the city, either drinking and chatting with workers who had just finished work late at night in a roadside shop, or confiding in disheartened employees in a bar, or listening to the chirping of summer insects in the reeds by the moat at dawn, acting as a free psychologist and emotional mentor for men and women whose faces he had never even known. Even though he seemed to have never been in love.

Reed never understood any of this, just as he didn't understand why Wayne would always fly into a rage and have a huge argument with his father whenever his father asked his brother to cut off ties with the lower classes.

Until one day, Wayne once again brought Reed to the reed beds by the moat, to this place symbolized by the name "Reed," and asked:

"Reed, can you understand why I did this?"

The reed, seemingly understanding, replied, "Because brother thinks they are pitiful?"

Why are you pitiful?

"Because... workers are always exploited by their bosses until midnight, employees are always forced to resign voluntarily due to their superiors' harassment, and couples who come to the reed beds in the evening are always advised to break up?"

"They came to the reeds in the middle of the night. What else could they be doing but looking for a place to break up? I just gave them a push!"

Wayne cursed.

"That doesn't count!"

"It's good that you understand. You're better than that jerk. From today onwards, you're my friend."

"But aren't I your sister?"

“We’re friends!” Wayne emphasized. “Actually, I’d rather call you comrade… I don’t know why, but that word just comes to mind. But I also feel that you haven’t reached the level where you can be called comrade yet. So, you need to keep working hard, Reed. Remember to come with me next time we go to the grassroots social practice survey, understand?”

"I understand," the reed replied, seemingly not quite.

From then on, Brother Wayne took her all over the streets and alleys of Dublin, leading her out of that empty castle and making her realize that the land was actually much bigger, and life was far more than just a small castle, with greater ideals and a more beautiful future.

Reed believed that this time would be no different. Wayne would still open the villa door when she needed him and tell her...

"Bang bang—"

"Reed, are you there?" Wayne called out, a hint of reproach on his face. "Stop staring blankly out the window. You're still the same as before."

"I'm here, come with me."

Just like now.

"Here you are, brother!"

Chapter Sixty-Two: A familiar story, a fresh ending

"Mandela?"

The reed pondered for a moment, then sighed.

"Given her words, it's only natural that she would do that."

"Why do you say that?"

"Vina asked curiously. It was the first time she had chatted so closely with Wayne's other sister—the sister of another race. Although it was about business, she still had a strange feeling. Especially since Reed's personality was almost completely different from hers. She was silent and reserved, and would hardly speak unless asked, only acting as an observer."

“Mandra hates the Victorian nobility, you should know that, brother.”

Wayne nodded in response. It was now common knowledge among the upper echelons of Victoria that Mandra had been cursing the Victorian nobility non-stop in prison for 24 hours. A few more radical officials found such an arrogant bandit leader intolerable and even proposed to execute him without going through the trial process. However, most of the nobles who had survived the Londinium Trials maintained a good attitude and simply laughed off such insults.

Wei Cao slowly said, "This is a long story. The one who truly understands Mandela is actually my sister. I only heard about Mandela from my sister later."

“Mandela was born in Dublinshire in the north of Victoria. His father was a local mine owner who was somewhat well-known in the area. But later, he went bankrupt.”

......

This is a pretty old-fashioned story.

When Wayne personally went to the prison to interrogate Mandela, he still couldn't forget Reed's simple summary of Mandela's short life.

Mandela was born in a mine on the Dublin border. Unlike Froststar Yelena, who was also born in a mine, Mandela's mine was fully equipped, offered excellent pay, and employed mostly young locals from Dublin who were free from Oripathy. Mandela's father implemented all the rules outlined in the Victorian mining standards, equipping the most dangerous Originium mining and refining operations with a complete set of mechanized equipment and comprehensive protective measures. Thanks to Victoria's frenzied industrialization of the previous era, even with high costs, Mandela's father's mine thrived, at its peak generating hundreds of millions of Victorian gold coins in annual profits. Born into this era, Mandela was truly born with a silver spoon in her mouth. In such an excellent environment, Mandela spent a happy childhood.

But just like every story has its twists and turns, Mandela's father's mine went bankrupt amidst turmoil. The reason for the bankruptcy was simple—war, a war that had occurred more than a decade earlier and affected the entire city of Victoria.

The Wars of the Roses, also known as the War of the Victorian Succession, was initiated by Wayne's father, the Lord Warden of the North. The defending side consisted of the Victorian nobles of Londinium, whose throne was vacant at the time, and who supported the "orthodox" faction. Their leader was the Lord of Londinium's core city, the Duke of Lancaster, the empire's purse strings.

The outcome of the war is well-known: the King of the North ultimately defeated the army of Londinium, and the Aslan royal family, from a branch of the dynasty, swiftly and decisively seized power in Victoria. It appears to be a magnificent and epic tale—an emperor, dissatisfied with the chaotic situation in Victoria and determined to restore order, marched south, ultimately capturing the so-called "Immortal City," eliminating the nobles who had usurped the emperor's power, and making Aslan the true master of Victoria once again.

But how can anything be beautiful during wartime?

In order to fight against the Londinium Legion, which controls the most fertile region of the Central Valley of Terra, the impoverished North alone, the King in the North ordered a general mobilization within his territory centered on Dublin. All resources had to be prioritized for the war, and the people? "Let the people suffer first."

Originium, providing power for armored vehicles, land ships, war fortresses, drone legions, and steam-armored units, and serving as the primary weaponry and ammunition for artillery, steam-armored soldiers, and other special forces, plays a crucial role in the war across Terra. It's no surprise that as Dublin's most renowned civilian mine, it naturally attracted the attention of the King of the North when the front lines were at their most intense.

To close the equipment and firepower gap with the resource-rich Londinium, the King of the North ordered the requisition of Mandela's father's mines. This requisition, of course, required payment, and the King of the North offered a hefty sum—the entire mining rights of Dublin County for the next three years, which would belong to Mandela's father after the war. In addition, a small but sufficient sum of 200,000 Victoria gold coins—enough to maintain a comfortable life during the war—was also given to Mandela's father as compensation for the requisitioned mines.

If the war had ended smoothly within a year as the King of the North had envisioned (which he did, an incredible miracle in the history of the Victorian War), Mandela's father would have become the wealthiest man in the North after the war. With three years of mining rights across the entire territory, plus the inevitable surge in Originium orders during post-war reconstruction, Mandela's father might have been able to establish a family business as massive as the oligarchic corporations within the Kazimierz Commercial Federation.

But naturally, he went bankrupt. How could an ordinary merchant without a noble title or powerful backing be worthy of such wealth? The nobleman who went to negotiate with the King of the North easily led his private army to massacre the mine, then cut off Mandela's father's finger and pressed his fingerprint on the mine transfer authorization document.

Despite their different origins, their fates were ultimately the same. Frostnova suffered the mistreatment of the black market mines and the pickets, while Mandra faced the greed and bullying of nobles and private soldiers. That day, she happened to be playing hide-and-seek with the children in the mine and hid in the exhaust vent of a large machine, only to witness firsthand the complete "cleanup" of the entire mine, leaving no one alive.

As darkness fell, she shakily removed the grille from the vent and climbed out. The first thing she saw was the empty mine under the moonlight.

The bodies were cleared away, piled up in a mine pit, and burned to ashes. The mine was thoroughly washed with water trucks, looking brand new. The head of the private soldiers responsible for guarding the mine slept in the mine's security room. The staff dormitory, once filled with familiar uncles and aunts, was now filled with beasts in human skin. Mandra dared not do anything. She dared not run away, because she didn't know where she would go after leaving the mine, yet she dared not stand still, afraid that she too would be caught and executed and burned like those ashes.

She hid in the exhaust pipe. The nobles, unaware of how to operate the entire mine, could only leave the advanced equipment aside and dump the prisoners of war brought back from the front lines into the mine, turning a legitimate mine into an Ursus-style black market operation. Fortunately, no one cared about the prisoners' lives. Through continuous labor, at the cost of several deaths, the nobles delivered the Originium processed products to the front-line army on time, meeting the mine's basic production requirements, thus avoiding suspicion and accountability from the Northern King.

This went on for more than ten days. Every night, Mandra would sneak out of the exhaust pipe and scavenge the food that the miners sleeping in the mine had hidden to fill their stomachs. Until one day, she came out of the pipe again, only to be caught red-handed by a girl in a dark green coat.

The girl introduced herself as Celt, the Drak King, who had been overthrown by the evil Victorian nobles and vowed to restore the throne and bring justice and fairness to the people of Victoria. After learning about Mandela's ordeal, she set the entire building ablaze in front of Mandela. The sleeping private soldiers, naked and engulfed in an inextinguishable blue flame, screamed in terror as if their hearts were being devoured by a thousand ghosts. They were burned to ashes along with the entire building, just like Mandela's father, who had been burned to ashes, scattered across the mine. Afterward, Celt gave Mandela a cane.

"You're still young, you need a proper staff."

“Take this and go kill your enemies with your own hands,” Celt said, pointing to the guard booth.

..........

“I have reopened the investigation into that case. The perpetrator was the Baron of Cape Town, under the Duke of Normandy. He is dead. I killed him.”

Wayne spoke slowly to Mandela, who remained silent on the other side of the reinforced glass.

Mandela curled her lip in disdain:

"So what? The nobles of Victoria are all bastards. What if you kill one? Can you kill them all? You can't. You so-called royalty are all high-sounding figures who make countless promises and then turn around and ignore them."

"I can."

"Ok?"

Wayne suddenly smiled, took a newspaper from his pocket, and handed it to the guard beside him.

The guard turned and jogged down the corridor to the cell, handing Mandela the newspaper. The headline was—[The Londinium Massacre]. The accompanying picture was a horrifying image of a lamppost swinging on a swing.

“I can, and I have already killed.”

“I, Wayne, always keep my word and never make empty promises.”

“If you want…” Wayne pulled a pass from his pocket, stood up, picked up the shovel next to the chair, and placed it in front of the glass window.

“This is an employee ID of the Victorian Home Office’s Anti-Corruption Commission. The Baron of Cape Town wasn’t the only one who committed crimes during that war; there were several others. You can take this to personally understand your grievances. I believe that evil will be punished, and you won’t seek revenge on the wrong person. And this shovel.”

"The Baron of Cape Town is buried in plot number 301 of the South Hills Cemetery in Cape Townshire."

"It's a cliché story, but I decided to give it a fresh ending."

"The dragon slayer defeated the dragon, the hero defeated the evil demon king, and then the hero sacrificed the ancestral tombs of the noble family that had driven the dragon into a dragon and the magician into a demon king..."

Looking at Mandela's stunned expression, Wayne said seriously:

"One thing at a time. Let's settle the score first, then we can talk."

Chapter Sixty-Three: Although, are you a social bull?

The king killed all the nobles for the sake of her people?

It sounds like a joke; what king throughout history would do such a thing? A man who symbolized the pinnacle of secular power destroyed the very foundations that supported his towering edifice—the vast, bloated aristocracy. Even the most outrageous and clichéd Colombian novels wouldn't have written something like this. But the newspaper photographs don't lie, the grotesque faces hanging from lampposts don't lie, and the white silk banners fluttering in Lentinham proclaiming "National Mourning" don't lie.

When Mandra walked the streets of Lentinium with the Luoyang shovel bestowed upon her by Wien, she felt far more lost than when she was in prison.