The war had come to an end, and dawn's first light was about to arrive.
The Imperial Capital still stood in silent stillness, like a frigid corpse, watching everything with hollow eyes.
The audience watched the scenes unfolding onstage with rapt attention. None of them noticed the faint, almost imperceptible floral fragrance that had somehow appeared in the air, nor did they realize that the range of the illusion created by magic was gradually expanding. Some audience members in the front rows had already unknowingly become located within the illusion.
They seemed completely unaware of it, still immersed in the opera.
At daybreak, a bitterly cold wind swept past, carrying a suffocating stench of blood and letting out waves of mournful wails.
The soldiers silently cleared the battlefield, searching for their fallen comrades and piling up graves for them.
War was like this.
Perhaps at the beginning, there were dreams of victory and hopes for the life to come.
But as time passed, blood and death gradually numbed the heart.
Victory and defeat no longer seemed to carry much meaning.
The girl rose to her feet and quietly watched the surrounding scene. The blood in her hair had long since dried, while the wound in her abdomen still sent waves of stabbing pain through her.
Yet she found that pain rather pleasant.
At least it let her know that she was still alive, that she had not become a cold corpse.
"It's over."
Another girl draped a coat over her shoulders and spoke softly.
"Not yet." She shook her head and raised her eyes toward the Imperial Capital before her.
Grand and indifferent, towers with stark, rigid lines pointed toward the sky. The buildings rose in layer after layer, and even the royal city at the very center could be