On this hot summer night, only the crickets were overwhelmed by the heat, constantly letting out struggling cries.

Amid the chirping in the wilderness, a camp lay on the plains outside Gale Castle.

A hot wind from the Jade Sea fluttered the Knights' triangular banners, the emblem of the castle and eagle billowing fiercely.

Between the charred wooden fences and spiked stakes were guards napping with spears and rows of hitching posts, where a few riding horses dozed with drooping heads.

Looking north from the camp, they could just spot the brightly lit Gale Castle, a place of revelry for knights and nobles.

In the lowest corner of the camp to the southeast lay a smaller, peculiar camp, or rather, a prison.

Compared to the bright Gale Castle, this small camp was terrifyingly dark, as it was the Wizards' camp.

To be precise, it wasn't just the camp of captured Wizards but slaves kept by the Sand Sculpture Knight Nidesar.

Numbering up to two hundred and fifty, these Wizards typically stayed near the small castle by Red Copper Fortress, tasked with producing alchemical potions for Nidesar to sell on the black market.

This time, Nidesar brought the Wizards to Jinhe Town, not only to replicate flintlock guns but crucially to prevent their escape.

After all, he didn't leave many people near the Red Copper Fortress; if the Secret Faction staged a raid, his years of arduous capture of Wizard slaves would be in vain.

The reason Nidesar engaged in black market smuggling was not only due to labor advantages but also because of the natural resource advantages.

Black Snake Bay to the south of the Green Dragon Forest Sea, a land producing various sugars and spices.

The wealth of the Falan Royal Family largely depended on the spice trade.

Black Snake Bay by the forest's edge traded a significant amount of spices and valuable medicinal materials, the very ingredients needed for alchemical potions.

Ironically, the nobles prohibited commoners from using the cheaper and more effective alchemical potions for healing, yet allowed themselves to use them for enhancing prowess and beauty.

Hailing from the Royal Court, he could exploit this, having no mental taboo against Magic like the Imperial Knights did.

Through the trade of alchemical potions, Nidesar amassed considerable wealth.

But due to the inherent insecurity of the Desert Nomads, he spent much of this wealth on the Nikosaks.

He forcibly elevated the Nikosak Knights to a level where they achieved sixth-breath techniques, all Square Banner Knights.

However, to clean up the mess for Harvin, Nidesar had to leave with the Nikosaks, leaving no time to attend to these Wizard slaves.

By the bonfire, a few guards idly ate fruit, watching as the Wizard slaves worked on alchemical materials under the moonlight.

This special alchemical material could only be made at night; otherwise, they would have been asleep in the huts long ago.

"Hurry up, trash!" A guard shouted impatiently, whipping a Wizard slave on the back.

The Wizard slave named Mormon stumbled from the strike, only kept from falling by his companions.

"What are you looking at?" seeing the other Wizard slaves looking up, the guard glared and yelled, "Want a whip too?"

The slaves and captives bowed their heads, hunched over, silently continuing their work without a single complaint.

The food for those Wizards was tainted with a secret medicine that suppressed spells, effectively turning them into non-magical Alchemists.

Otherwise, these usually defiant Wizards would not endure such humiliation.

Laughing, the guard stepped aside and grabbed a jug of wine to drink heavily.

The Captain of the Guard shouted, "You slaves, always causing us trouble. Can't you wait to make alchemy until that unclean Kush person is on duty tomorrow?"

"Anyway, those Kush people are with you guys, hahaha."

"They're all relatives of the devil!"

"Hahaha—cough, cough, cough"

The guards' laughter echoed in the camp, but unknowingly their laughter grew hoarse, and their vision began to blur.

"What's going on?" A guard squinted, trying to make out the surrounding scene.

"Is tonight's wine so strong, cough, cough—" The Captain of the Guard rubbed his temples, shaking his head dizzily.

Maybe the wine was too strong, or perhaps there was something else in the alcohol that numbed their nerves, but they didn't notice—

The Wizard slaves, hitherto hunched over, were gradually straightening their backs.

Suddenly, a silent scream shattered the silence, as a Guard stared in terror at the ritual knife embedded in his neck, slowly collapsing to the ground.

Mormon drew out the ritual knife, coldly observing the panicked guards.

Another guard wobbled to his feet, pointed at the slaves, and opened his mouth, only to find his throat too hoarse to speak clearly or shout loudly.

"You... what are you planning, get back!"

Several wizard slaves silently blocked the way.

"Do you want to die?" The guard swung his whip with all his strength, but his arm trembled, his strength was weak, and the whip dragged limply through the air.

He looked down at his palm, retreated a few steps, his steps faltering, and his eyes full of fear and disbelief.

A dozen wizard slaves had already surrounded him.

They growled softly until the guards were beaten beyond recognition, then waved their hands.

The wizard Mormon, who had been beaten earlier, pulled a short knife from the guard's waist: "Signal them, you go open the barracks door to let those bastards out, I'll go to the warehouse to find the awakening potion."

"Okay."

This small group inciting the riot was clearly led by Mormon, and his orders were quickly passed down.

A series of urgent bird calls pierced the night sky, the monks gathered together playing cards dug at their ears, and asked the monk by the window to shut the window.

The Alco family's old matriarch was holding a banquet tonight, inviting high-ranking monks, leaving only these lower-ranking monks to watch the camp.

Through the window, they could see the revelry of the night feast, unable to balance their minds or sleep, they could only get up to play cards.

"Knock knock!"

The cabin door was knocked, a monk frowned, put down the cards, stood up, walked to the door, and asked, "Who is it?"

A timid voice came from outside, "Sir, someone got hurt in a fight."

The monk impatiently asked through the door: "Where are the guards?"

It seemed a wizard slave replied in a barely audible voice: "The guards drank too much and can't be woken. And... those wizards are using spells to fight each other when they supposedly drank the sleep potion..."

"What?!" With this even the card-playing monks were alarmed, standing up in shock and anger, abandoning their cards.

The leader of the monks slammed the wooden card in his hand onto the table: "These useless fools! Open the door, bring the Holy Oil!"

Unlocking the complex door lock, the heavy iron-bound door slowly opened.

"You..." The monk was about to ask about the situation carefully when he heard a strange buzzing sound.

It seemed like someone was shooting arrows?

Before he could think clearly, the arrowhead protruded from the back of his head, still sticky with brain matter and blood.

"Damn! Quickly block the door!"

The monks rushed in panic to the weapon rack by the wall, frantically drawing longswords, searching for suitable armor.

Another monk tore down a tapestry from the wall, trying to shield against the crossbow arrows, his face full of panic.

Someone even picked up the chair on the table as a shield, staggering backward.

Only one elderly monk anxiously yelled: "Go get the Holy Oil!"

The panic-stricken monks finally snapped awake, rushing to the cupboard, fingers trembling as they opened the door, eagerly rummaging through bottles and jars.

However, before they could prepare, several wizard slaves had already rushed in.

They swung heavy iron hammers, smashing down fiercely on the nearest monk.

A monk, in a panic, raised his sword to block but was pushed back by the immense force, stumbling several steps and crashing into the wall with a painful groan.

"Block them!" the frantic elderly monk shouted, but his words were cut off by a heavy hammer blow.

The hammer slammed down on his forehead, caving in his skull, and brain matter was squeezed out with great pressure.

The wizard slaves were unstoppable, one wizard swung a hammer hard onto a monk's chest, splattering bones that stuck to another monk's hair.

The next second, a wizard grabbed a monk's hair, yanked his head, and slammed it with all his strength against the wall, knocking the monk unconscious instantly.

Moments later, the room was left with nothing but corpses.

These wizards were seasoned in murder and arson; after the killing, they tore down expensive tapestries, ripped off the monks' robes, and soaked them in grease.

Under the bright candles, they lit them, throwing them towards the tents, stables, and woodpiles, as the fire spread rapidly in the hands of the most adept fire-wielding wizards.

Thick smoke and bright flames, the running crowds, coughing and the terrified neighs of warhorses sounded incessantly, even dampening the music in the castle.

After a moment of sudden quiet, the camp was plunged into chaos.

Panic-stricken people filled the roads, trying to extinguish the flames but coughing incessantly from the smoke.

But what they didn't see were the wizards who had already walked out of the barracks where they were detained, casting hateful glances at them with ferocious eyes.

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