The eighth scene.
A city. No banners of the Plague God flew from its walls, and no emblem of the Plague God hung above its gates.
Ordinary soldiers stood at the gate, wearing ordinary armor. There were no gray-green robes, no censers, no potions.
Those entering the city did not need to undergo physical examinations, collect tokens, or kneel in worship.
They simply walked in, as though entering any ordinary place.
The city was quiet. Its streets were narrow but clean, with shops lining both sides—bakeries, vegetable stalls, and stores selling old clothes.
The shopkeepers lounged lazily against their doorframes, occasionally greeting acquaintances passing by.
Everything was so harmonious.
No one cried by the roadside. No one rotted away in corners. No one dragged a body covered in festering sores while waiting to die.
At the center of the city stood a temple.
Calling it a temple was generous. It was more like a large warehouse.
Its walls were built of stone, its roof covered in iron sheets. There were no statues, no altar, no incense.
Only a long table stood at the entrance, laden with bread and water.
The bread was made from coarse grain, hard as a rock, but there was enough for everyone. The water had been drawn from a well, cool and clear, without the taste of medicine.
A wooden sign stood at the entrance, carved with several lines of crooked writing that looked as if they had been written with someone's feet.
"Freedom Temple. Believe not in gods, but in yourselves."
Lynn's gaze passed over the sign, the long table, and the temple doors before settling on the roof.
A young man stood there.
He stood atop the head of the Statue of the Goddess of Freedom.
The goddess statue was cast from bronze and