In the end, they walked out of the cage

"Better treatment! Better treatment!"

"No workers, no Karax!"

"Fulgrim, you've betrayed us!"

Through the glass window, looking into the distance, dozens of people suddenly surged at the manor's entrance, shouting slogans and clashing violently with the patrols maintaining order.

In Karax Fortress's not-so-rich historical records, there are plenty of accounts of similar worker protest gatherings.

A dozen years ago, before Fulgrim had made her mark, the entire Karax Fortress was on the verge of revolt.

For the workers, if they had to toil over twenty hours a day in despair, they might as well all die together—it would be a relief.

However, ever since Fulgrim became an engineer and improved the production machinery, drastically enhancing the workers' conditions, the situation turned around.

With hope in life and motivation in work, people naturally rallied around Fulgrim.

Correspondingly, protests gradually dwindled and disappeared.

Logically, no one would dare cause trouble at the engagement ceremony of the workers' savior—Fulgrim.

And that was indeed the case.

"I've never seen them in the factories."

Fulgrim's expression turned grave as she leaned close to Kasgar's ear and whispered.

"Those protesters. They're not workers."

"Their expressions and movements are deliberate and exaggerated, more like they're putting on a show with the patrols."

Her Primarch-level eyesight and logic allowed her to quickly grasp the effective information.

Though they were shoving each other, the lack of attention to detail still exposed their true purpose—

to sabotage this meticulously prepared engagement ceremony.

As for who would hatch such a vicious plan, it went without saying.

"Looks like my dear brother Herod Sherlock's handiwork," Kasgar murmured in reply.

"Their methods are truly despicable."

"Probably soon, the riot will escalate, and then the patrols will deliberately lag a step, letting these thugs, under the guise of workers, smash, loot, and kill."

"We need to get out of here."

"Go notify the others to evacuate first. If things get worse, we'll break out."

"Alright."

An open scheme.

This was a pure open scheme.

Kasgar's brow furrowed deeper.

Herod Sherlock knew Fulgrim's standing among the workers, and he also knew her terrifying strength—she could forge alloy with her bare hands.

If he dared to protest at the engagement ceremony, Fulgrim would toss him out of the venue like trash.

Kasgar and Fulgrim were a perfect match—how could a monster like him oppose them?

But if he used incitement to spark conflict, Kasgar and the others had no good countermeasures.

Building trust wasn't easy, but destroying it was incredibly simple.

Fulgrim's reputation came from the workers' support.

By disrupting the scene in the workers' name, he could easily tie the hands of this legendary goddess.

If she laid a hand on the "workers," it would be tantamount to admitting the accusation of abandoning them, branding her a "butcher" in everyone's eyes.

If she didn't act to stop the rioters and bloodshed ensued, Fulgrim's credibility among the nobles would plummet.

A dilemma.

In the end, Kasgar's best option was to retreat.

Leave early, and later catch evidence of the thugs colluding with nobles like Herod.

But no matter what, the other side could still use the pretext of quelling the riot to disrupt the engagement ceremony.

Or perhaps, he was after even more.

Thinking this, Kasgar couldn't help but glance at Old Patriarch Sherlock, who looked bewildered.

Smack!

Even as many guests tried to ignore what was happening outside, the increasingly loud shouts and clashes seemed to be a fire that couldn't be hidden by paper.

Crackle!

Several crackling sounds and screams, accompanied by a few rapid flashes of bright light, suddenly exploded outside the venue.

Gunfire rang out.

That was the cry of a laser gun.

The patrol seemed to have vastly underestimated the rioters' methods.

Sharp blades swept through, and the patrol wisely dodged aside, clearing a path for the rioters charging into the scene.

"Why fight for those noble lords! Fulgrim, why!"

"Nobles cannot be trusted!"

"Lapdogs, lapdogs! They're all lapdogs of the nobles!"

"Brothers, kill these nobles, and we'll rule Karax ourselves!"

Shouting, the Riot Leader, his face covered with a red cloth, kicked open the main hall's central doors and swept his gaze over the trembling guests inside.

Among them, the legendary goddess was nowhere to be found.

She seemed to have already left this place.

Not here?

The Riot Leader breathed a sigh of relief.

Good thing she wasn't here, or they'd have become the "lambs" for sacrifice the Prophet spoke of.

But their target wasn't just Fulgrim.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the Old Patriarch Sherlock, cowering and trembling nearby.

A grin stretched across his face.

"Hey, old man."

"Time to go."

The gun in his hand flared red.

Zap!

Blood burst forth.

"Hurry! Protect the attending guests—don't let the rioters harm them!"

The patrol, truly equipped with full armaments, didn't seem to have arrived at the venue in time.

Arriving a step too late, Herod Sherlock directed the rescue efforts, his expression frantic.

"What's going on! How could the patrol be so negligent!"

Looking at the manor in shambles, he acted utterly distraught.

"Damn it!"

"I told you, trusting those workers not to cause trouble was nothing but a pipe dream!"

"Report!"

A Police Inspector appeared at his side.

"Over a dozen worker rioters have escaped. We found traces of a secret passage they used to flee nearby."

"...Fulgrim."

"It must be Fulgrim!"

"She's the fortress's engineering designer—she must have tipped off the rioters about the secret passage!"

Herod ground his teeth.

"Also."

The Police Inspector lowered his voice slightly.

"We found Gentleman Sherlock's remains at the venue."

"What did you say!!"

Herod's shout shot up an octave, drawing the eyes of nearby guests.

"Damn those lowlifes!"

"How dare they incite rioters to murder my father!!!"

"Where is she now?"

"According to surviving guests, she and Kasgar slipped away from the venue before the riot began. This further supports the likelihood that they orchestrated the incident."

"Good, good."

Herod laughed in fury.

"Notify the patrol. As the New Patriarch of the Sherlock family, I order an immediate search. We must find the criminals Fulgrim and Kasgar!"

Outside Karax Fortress.

The raging storm had calmed slightly. The steel fortress Karax remained embedded in the mountainside, resting silently.

How long had it been here?

Ten years? A hundred years? Or perhaps a thousand?

No one knows, save for the yellow sands.

The world was empty of all things, save for a man and a woman walking across the wasteland beyond the city.

"A pity. The old patriarch trusted his son too much to leave with us."

Perhaps, even at the very end, he would not believe that he would die at the hands of his most beloved eldest son.

"By now, I imagine we're both wanted criminals."

Kasgar gave a bitter smile, tilted his head back, and fell silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Fulgrim."

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry. I ruined your plan to take control of Karax. Made it imperfect."

"Imperfect?"

Fulgrim laughed.

Beneath Chemos's eternal twilight, her smile was especially radiant.

"Perhaps. But clearly, some things are more important than perfection."

Stepping onto the boundless desert, Fulgrim was full of curiosity.

The timeline had changed.

But perhaps that was not a bad thing.

The engineer of Chemos, at this moment, was finally liberated from the bloated, decaying vanity of nobility.

Like a child touching the world for the first time, or a prisoner who had shattered their old shackles, she tried for the first time to feel this world she had never before attempted to understand.

Imperfect, yet full of throbbing.

A throbbing from deep within her heart.

"And what about you, Kasgar?"

Fulgrim asked in return.

"Will you be sad to lose your noble status?"

"I've never worried about that."

After a moment's thought, Kasgar shook his head.

"What I fear more is that one day, we'll end up like those stubborn, decaying nobles—holed up in a place called Karax, sealing ourselves off, ignoring everything outside."

"Forever immersed in the illusory glory of the past, afraid to face the pain of reality; cursing and envying the friends who still trudge forward in misery, and calling that perfection."

As he spoke, Kasgar looked behind him.

The steel fortress with its sealed gates still stood there, silently greeting the yellow sand, the setting sun, and his gaze.

"How pathetic. I don't want to live like that."

"Perhaps, Fulgrim."

"Perhaps."

Like that man and woman who walked out of Eden, lost yet full of hope.

The two exchanged a smile.