73: Chapter 73 Kill.

He curled his lips.

"Dead is dead."

"You are the great City Lord, a man destined for great things, why bother haggling with a few dead people?"

"As long as you are willing to open the city gates, think of all the untouchables wandering outside. You can have as many as you want, can't you?"

After speaking, he squeezed out a fawning smile at Zhou Yun.

The smile, plastered across a face stained with blood from his nose, looked indescribably grotesque and ugly.

Seeing their captain speak this way, the City Guards nearby mustered their courage.

"Right, right, right! Captain Zhao is right!"

"We are the heroes who opened the city gates!"

"Those people were burdens to begin with; City Lord, you are magnanimous!"

"Exactly! The dead cannot return to life; they are dead, what more can be done?"

A cacophony of voices, all sounding so self-righteous.

The Flower City soldiers nearby heard these words, their faces turning ashen with rage.

The soldiers nearest to them had already placed their hands on their sword hilts, their knuckles white and the veins on the backs of their hands bulging.

The three hundred soldiers originally from Han City looked even worse.

Their loved ones lay in the wilderness not far away.

Their blood had not yet dried.

And the murderer who had killed their loved ones was now kneeling before them, grinning as he said, "Dead is dead," and "It's just the life of an untouchable."

Some had trembling fists.

The eyes of others were so red they seemed ready to bleed.

Some bit their lips until blood streamed down, forcibly swallowing the roar rising in their throats.

Just then—

"Where is my sister?!"

A violent roar exploded.

A young Flower City soldier, unable to restrain himself any longer, rushed out.

Like a cornered beast, eyes burning red, he lunged straight at Captain Zhao.

He gripped Captain Zhao's collar with both hands, hauling him up from the ground.

"Where is Xiaoyu?!"

"My sister! Chen Xiaoyu! She's only fifteen! Where is she?!"

Tears and snot smeared his face, and his voice was as hoarse as a broken gong, yet every word was enunciated clearly.

"I searched everywhere! I turned over every single one of those corpses! She wasn't there!"

"She must still be alive, right?!"

"Give me my sister! Give her back to me!!"

He shouted while shaking Captain Zhao violently, as if trying to shake the answer out of his body.

Captain Zhao was being choked and couldn't catch his breath; his face turned beet red.

He tried to struggle, but his hands were tightly bound by ropes, leaving him unable to move.

He was pinned to the ground, straddled and pummeled by someone ten years his junior, completely unable to fight back.

And this person was none other than the untouchable he had always despised the most!

Humiliation. Utter humiliation.

A mere untouchable was actually straddling him and beating him? This was treason! Treason!!

His face turned from red to purple, his chest heaving violently.

Then—he laughed.

Captain Zhao, beaten until his face was bruised and bloodied, suddenly laughed.

The smile spread slowly from the corners of his mouth, carrying an indescribable, cold malice.

"Your sister?"

He tilted his head, a string of garbled laughter wheezing from his throat.

"Hehe... your sister was indeed quite nice."

As he spoke, he wore an expression as if savoring a memory.

The young soldier's movements suddenly froze.

Captain Zhao licked the blood from the corner of his mouth, narrowed his eyes, and said, enunciating every word:

"If she had been sensible and gone with me, perhaps she could have kept her life."

"But instead—she didn't know what was good for her."

He shook his head, his tone actually laced with a hint of "regret."

"She lit the fire herself and burned herself to death."

"Tsk, tsk."

He smacked his lips.

"Such a lovely beauty, just gone like that."

"What a pity."

In that instant, the young soldier's eyes—died.

They didn't close; rather, all the light within them was extinguished in that single second.

It was as if someone had splashed a basin of ice water into his pupils, dousing the very last spark.

His mouth hung open, but no sound came out.

Two seconds passed. Three seconds.

Then, a howl that didn't sound like it came from a human being erupted from the deepest depths of his chest.

"Ahhhhhhh—!!!"

He lunged forward like a madman.

He wasn't hitting him anymore; he was biting.

He opened his mouth and sank his teeth into Captain Zhao's shoulder, refusing to let go.

Captain Zhao screamed.

The young soldier's teeth sank deep into his flesh, and blood streamed down the corners of his mouth—it was impossible to tell whose blood it was.

His hands were clamped around Captain Zhao's neck, his ten fingers digging in like iron hooks, as if he wanted to rip the man's windpipe right out.

"Stop!"

Lei Lie's voice rang out like a thunderclap.

The young soldier's body stiffened.

His hands stopped, but he didn't let go.

"I said—stop."

Lei Lie's voice dropped.

It wasn't filled with rage, but it was heavier than any rage.

The young soldier knelt on top of Captain Zhao, his whole body trembling violently.

One by one, with agonizing slowness, his fingers pried themselves from Captain Zhao's neck.

With every finger that loosened, his body shook even more violently.

When the last finger finally let go, it was as if all his strength had been drained away; he slid off Captain Zhao, collapsing to his knees on the ground, head bowed, eyes bloodshot.

He understood. He understood everything.

Captain Zhao had opened the city gates; that was a fact.

Five thousand men had entered Han City without shedding blood, sparing countless soldiers' lives—that contribution was also a fact.

The City Lord had already shown leniency by not punishing him for his outburst just now. He could not act recklessly again.

But—Xiaoyu. His sister. She was gone! Her body not even left to bury!!

At the thought of this, a metallic taste of blood surged into his throat.

He bowed his head, his mouth opening silently as tears fell drop by drop onto the bluestone pavement.

Captain Zhao clutched his neck and shoulder, struggling to his feet.

He looked disheveled, but in his eyes—there was no fear. There was even a hint of triumph.

See that? Even if you beat me, so what? You still had to let me go, didn't you?

I opened the city gates. I have merit. No one can touch me.

The three hundred soldiers from Han City knelt amidst the sea of corpses.

Their loved ones lay right beside them.

Some were already cold; others still bore shocking, ghastly knife wounds.

And the murderer—was right before them.

Bound. Kneeling. Yet smiling.

There was nothing they could do.

The faces of all three hundred men wore the same expression: grief and powerlessness.

The feeling of knowing the murderer was right in front of them, yet being unable to avenge their loved ones—it was more suffocating than the deaths of their loved ones themselves.

Some lowered their heads, burying their faces against their dead loved ones, their shoulders heaving.

Others tilted their heads back, gritting their teeth so hard they could break, two lines of tears sliding silently from the corners of their eyes.

Some clenched their fists so tightly their nails dug into their palms, fresh blood seeping out from between their fingers.

But—no one moved.

No one rushed forward again.

Because they knew the rules.

The army had its rules. The City Lord had his plans.

They were soldiers. They could not act recklessly. They could only—endure.

In this deathly silence, a voice drifted over.

It was very soft.

So soft it sounded like the rustling of wind blowing through withered grass.

"Kill."