Black Mountain County gradually fell silent beneath the relentless drizzle.
The evening's noise and bustle had faded. One pig cage after another had been sunk to the riverbed, and a group of young lives had vanished before everyone's eyes, lending the ancient riverside docks an air of sorrow and menace.
Apart from a few callous residents, most people felt grief and anger over the killing of those young people.
Unfortunately.
The world had descended into chaos, and the gap between ordinary people and Awakened had only grown wider. They were all lambs awaiting slaughter, surviving another day as long as they had a little grass to eat. How could they still act like they used to online, keyboard in hand, hurling abuse at anyone they saw?
Wouldn't that be asking to die?
The docks were quiet after nightfall.
Few people dared go out at night to begin with. With people having just died there, the nearby residents did not even dare glance that way, afraid they might accidentally see some of the dead standing by the river, waving at them.
Only a hunched old man in a black raincoat wandered the streets, carrying an oil lamp and a brass gong.
Every so often, he lightly struck the gong a few times.
It rang out with a clang, clang, clang.
The sound carried far through the deathly stillness of Black Mountain County, setting some household dogs barking furiously. Yet everyone who heard it felt reassured.
He was a Night Watchman.
Black Mountain County had divided the county seat's residential areas into numerous posts, with two Night Watchmen assigned to each. After nightfall, they followed fixed routes, striking gongs and calling out reminders.
These Night Watchmen were all ordinary people, and almost all were old, frail, sick, or disabled.
According to the