"I understand," Aran said.

"Good, now you must demonstrate your power to him. Mere obedience is not enough; how can you know they are covertly following their own will, opposing you, if they do not suffer? Power should bring pain and humiliation, tearing apart the thoughts in people's minds and reshaping them into something new according to your wishes."

Zote ordered Marcus to take action.

Without hesitating for too long, Marcus pulled the lever, and the execution platform emitted a sharp, screeching mechanical friction as it arched upward again with a violent curvature.

Duke Fabrik had already lost the ability to scream, his body twisting grotesquely like a bow being squeezed, making only the sound of the bending imposed by the archer.

"You are in control of everything now. This is a truth that defies common sense. All scholars have their own secrets. They tell people that power corresponds to obligations, but aren't they just annoying pests that harm others? Let's finish it here, mate, and then we'll go out and butcher those scum who have been fooling the common folk."

Zote called Marcus "mate," patted his shoulder, and left the interrogation room ahead of him.

Now, Marcus had become Duke Fabrik's guardian deity.

"Don't blame me, blame... this era."

Marcus dared not disobey Zote's order, pulled the lever twice in succession, extending the execution platform to its highest curvature. It didn't just break Duke Fabrik's spine, but tore him in two along the arched support structure, a kind of uneven force exertion, ripping him apart and spraying his insides everywhere.

All he felt was the force field, and the warm liquid on his face, and then he left the stone chamber without looking back.

Inside Fabrik Castle.

All members of the Secret Department received their orders, to execute everyone except for the craftsmen and pregnant women, in a series of purges that decimated Aran's population, once a country with a huge population. This was not a good sign.

To exhibit power.

The Secret Department members drenched each person to be executed in fire oil, setting them ablaze, and had them leap from tower windows in agony.

Being burned to death was one of the most painful ways to die, it was said, but the dead couldn't speak, so this could never be confirmed.

As for the main members of the southern opposition, executing them was considered an honor and would be personally carried out by the Sergeants.

On the dark castle's edge platform, dozens of Court Mages and Scholar Mages, who once could enter the Royal Court, were now tightly bound with hemp ropes, with shackles on their feet. They stood in line at the edge, where one step back meant falling into the hundred-meter-deep Abyss.

The Sergeants involved in this operation, including Marcus, were also summoned.

On a rainy night.

Zote pulled out a crumpled Royal Court document from his pocket, planning to recite the formal charges: the accused had been convicted of treason and would be executed according to the law.

But the rain was too heavy, the words on the paper had blurred beyond recognition, and the torches did nothing to help.

Unable to stick to the script, Zote had to make up the language on the spot and tossed the Royal Court document underfoot like discarded waste.

"I, too, wish I could spare you, for everyone present is a dragon among men, and for Aran, to lose such talent is a great tragedy.

But I must do this. At a time of national crisis, when we are surrounded by wolves, we must secure our realm from within and without."

However, as he spoke, Zote was amused by his own words, changing his tone, "You're in for it now; this is a massacre. Begin, Sergeants, show me your methods."

These Scholar Mages were incredibly tough, not one of them begging on their knees despite their dire situation.

All the Sergeants were quite efficient, slicing open their throats with short swords, then kicking them off the platform, shattering their bodies.

Marcus couldn't see anything; he walked up a distance, randomly chose a poor soul, his blade rose and fell, and with a kick, the figure plunged down, completing the task Zote had arranged.

"Marcus... is that you?"

Another prisoner in the crowd spotted the vastly changed Marcus and asked in disbelief.

Another Sergeant was ready to execute him.

Now, only the old man who had just called Marcus' name was left at the edge of the platform.

Marcus could only perceive the vague outline through the force field, but that voice was painfully familiar.

He had studied arcane magic at the Arcane Academy, and that old man had been one of his instructors.

But Marcus just froze on the spot, not daring to reply, not even making the slightest noise. The prolonged high-pressure environment had given him a premonition.

Yet, Zote's ears were exceptionally sharp; he gestured for the Sergeant ready to execute the prisoner to stop.

"Do you know him?"

Zote called Marcus over. He had some regard for Marcus.

"Yes, sir, he was one of my instructors at the Arcane Academy," Marcus replied with a slight tremble in his voice.

"I see. It's quite unreasonable to have a student kill his teacher, it goes against morality," Zote said.

Although Marcus had grown numb to the abyss-like maelstrom, he breathed a sigh of relief, relieved it wasn't handed to him.

The old man didn't beg for mercy, his smile laden with despair.

The thunder rolled incessantly, and the downpour continued.

"But you'll still be the one to kill him.

Morality, in essence, is also based on self-interest; convention, created by everyone seeking their own benefit.

To judge whether something is moral, you just see if everyone in the world did it, whether it would affect this large interest group."

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