Le Vy was still reeling from what she had experienced. She sat alone on a cold stone in the courtyard of The Heaven's Fracture. "How did Void Lust influence this? Is this all there is to it, or is there another reason?" Le Vy wondered, her eyes staring vacantly into space. She recalled the interrogator she had met—a middle-aged man with weary eyes and a severe face. He had given her a bit of information, as if to help her avoid further interference with the direction of his investigation. "I'll proceed on the assumption that the older brother incited the younger to commit murder. If nothing else can be found." His voice at the time was low, full of helplessness. "You know this goes against justice and morality, right?" Le Vy had objected, her voice trembling with anger. "I know, but the situation here is changing, and we ourselves can't intervene in anything." The man sighed, his shoulders slumping as if bearing an invisible weight. "Listen, we know the family circumstances in this case are very tragic. Both brothers failed to report the indirect cause stemming from their father and instead took matters into their own hands like that. You understand, don't you?"
Le Vy clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. Void Lust—that fiend with a lewd smile, manipulating human desire to turn people into weapons. He didn't just cause that killing; he was infiltrating the system, turning family tragedies into nourishment for ancient demons. "Perhaps he's preparing for war," she muttered to herself, a chill running down her spine. But a deeper reason? The royal family, the nobility, or a larger conspiracy hidden behind a veneer of justice? Le Vy stood up. She decided to find Khanh—the one who always knew how to listen, even though his silence sometimes annoyed her.
---
Inside the forge, Khanh was immersed in the old economics book La Diep had given him. As he read the section on "the structure of the nation," a warm current, natural as breath, suddenly welled up from deep in his chest. Reality blurred. He was no longer at The Heaven's Fracture.
He found himself as a man sitting across from an official adorned in lavish robes within a damp stone room, the light of a torch flickering.
The man—unidentified—was sitting opposite another, a middle-aged man with a goatee and a silk robe embroidered with golden thread, bearing the symbol of a crane. The atmosphere was tense, the smell of strong liquor and tobacco smoke mingling in the air. "How do you think the nation's economy functions?" the man Khanh was embodying asked. "The common folk labor endlessly; they are born to be exploited, tools for us to adjust national strategy. What's your point in asking?" The man with the goatee replied.
The man—who Khanh was—shook his head, his voice calm yet resolute: "That's not it. This is no different from exploiting the people. You should reconsider this national policy. If it continues, war will surely come—not from gods or demons, but from this inequality. We must seek balance, not focus on that short-term gain."
The Goateed Man (in a tone full of arrogance): "You persist in dreaming. The country operates on a pre-existing order: those above lead, those below obey. Peasants, craftsmen—they are born to labor, mere tools to adjust the national machinery. What is there to debate?"
The Man—i.e., Khanh (voice deep, firm): "Tools? You call those who create the rice, cloth, and houses 'tools'? They are the foundation! Your way of thinking sees only the tree, not the forest. You believe squeezing them dry to reap a larger portion of the benefit is wise, but in truth, you are only eroding the very foundation of the tower."
The Goateed Man (scoffing): "A 'larger portion of the benefit'? How novel. But they have no education, no vision. Without us, they are merely a mindless crowd. Their labor is inherently abundant and easily replaceable. That is the natural way."
The Man (gaze sharp and cold): "You're mistaken! It is precisely this 'easily replaceable' labor that builds everything. You sit high above, thinking you hold the power of life and death. But real power lies in the hands that are producing the wealth! You laugh at their lack of education? Then who shut the door to learning for them? Who used laws and taxes to bind them to fields and workshops? That is systematic deprivation!"
The Goateed Man (expression displeased): "That is the natural order! Each class has its role. They need only know obedience and diligence. Balance? To make peasants and craftsmen equal to us? That would shatter all discipline and lead only to chaos!"
The Man (voice filled with fervor): "No! It will lead to fairness. The order you uphold is an order of exploitation. It suppresses the potential of an entire nation. I speak of acknowledging their true value, returning to them their deserved share of the fruits, and giving them a voice. When those who labor recognize the true power within themselves, no prison or sword will be able to subdue them. The tremors that change society have never originated from the palace; they always erupt from the fields and the workshops!"
The debate dragged on. The goateed man sneered: "You're a dreamer. The royal family needs corruption to maintain the Garden of Immortality—the fruit of immortality for kings and lords. The common folk are just tools." But the man retorted: "Tools? They are the foundation of the economy. If you insist on following that path, it will lead only to decline."
Suddenly, the wave of memory receded. Khanh jolted awake, finding himself still sitting in the forge, the book on his lap. His mind reeled; his chest felt strangely hollow.
Le Vy, who had just stepped into the forge looking for him, called out: "Khanh? What's wrong with you?"
He didn't answer, only blinking slowly, his expression strange—like someone who had lost their soul, hearing and seeing nothing around him. Le Vy shook his shoulder, worried: "Hey, Khanh! What are you thinking about that you're so dazed? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Khanh gradually came back to himself fully, his heart pounding as he looked at Le Vy. A profound fatigue, a peculiar emptiness, weighed heavily in his chest. "It's probably... just because I'm too tired."