Foosha Village.
The young people were hurriedly loading ammunition, magazines clicking and clacking.
All the young people in Foosha Village had gathered here—around fifteen of them, ranging from fifteen to twenty years old. Their leader was the village chief's grandson, an eighteen-year-old boy.
They all had red headbands tied around their heads, clearly an agreed-upon marker to distinguish friend from foe.
Most of Foosha Village's residents stood nearby, watching these "children" with worry. They clearly could not understand what benefit there was in risking their lives for something like this.
After all, if one king was overthrown, how would the Revolutionary Army be any different from the king afterward? Was there any point?
Village chief Uup, in particular, wore an angry expression. "You're going to your deaths!! Deva! You're as weak as chicks. You can't possibly defeat the King's Army guards. You're going to your deaths!!"
He repeated himself.
He was not an ignorant man. He understood even better how the world's overwhelming fighting power worked.
That was why he had never once entertained the thought of resisting the king. In his view, Foosha Village had excellent geographical conditions, not to mention the reputation of being the hometown of Garp, the Hero of the Marines. The king's taxes never reached them. All they had to do was remain here and enjoy simple, peaceful lives.
Why go out and fight? Why fight for others? Why risk their lives for others?
It was something the old man could never understand.
"Grandpa, you don't understand." The brown-haired boy—no, although the fuzz around his mouth had not yet faded, he was already a grown man—showed a brilliant smile. "This world is one whole. We are no different from everyone else. We are all brothers and sisters."
"How could anyone watch their brothers and sisters