Several days passed.
Under Luo Qing’s oppressive rule, the members of the Tanit tribe had no choice but to follow the schedule he imposed on them.
Every morning, they had to wake up early and gather at the ruins square to perform a strange dance that Natalia had taught them.
To make matters worse, the music from the oversized gramophone was painfully off-key, and the awkward movements of the dance were nothing compared to the elegance of the Eremites’ techniques.
After dancing, they were forced to chant slogans like “Embrace new ideals, become model citizens,” and every night, they had to write a 5,000-word reflection on these so-called “new ideals.”
Many of them, being desert dwellers who had rarely even held a pen, were at a complete loss when it came to writing reflections. It was pure mental torture.
After just a few days, some tribe members were already feeling delirious, their lives devoid of hope.
Of course, they had considered rebelling. But Luo Qing’s immense strength made it clear that careful preparation was necessary to take him down in one decisive move.
Despite the mandatory morning exercises, evening drills, and nightly reflections, Luo Qing didn’t closely monitor them during the day. Life otherwise carried on as usual—except for the strict requirement to return to the camp by lights-out. Anyone who failed to do so would face an additional 5,000-word reflection and be forbidden to sleep until it was completed.
Babale used every hunting trip as an opportunity to send messengers to other tribes through Azarig. She portrayed Luo Qing as a heartless tyrant—a villain who enslaved men and turned women into… well, victims of unspeakable treatment. She urged the other tribes to prepare for an all-out assault on Luo Qing, framing it as a fight for survival.
Tonight, as everyone was gathered to “do their homework”—no, to write their reflections—Babale discreetly surrounded herself with her most loyal confidants, discussing how to overthrow Luo Qing.
“What’s the word from the other tribes?”
“Lady Babale, they’ve agreed to help. But they demand an additional 30% share of future resource exchanges,” Azarig whispered, glancing nervously toward Luo Qing’s guards, who were holding ominous black weapons.
One of them, a blonde-haired girl, glanced in their direction. Azarig immediately ducked his head and pretended to obediently write his reflection, his large hands awkwardly gripping a small pen.
“This can’t go on any longer. When will they be ready to act?” Babale bit the tip of her pen, utterly uninterested in the nonsense she was supposed to be writing. Just thinking about Luo Qing’s treatment of her these past few days made her blood boil.
She was the tribe’s leader! How could she be forced to endure the same humiliating tasks as ordinary tribe members?
“If all goes according to plan, tomorrow night. Combined, the tribes should be able to summon at least fifty vengeful spirits. Everyone will be in position, waiting for your signal,” Azarig murmured as he continued to write.
“Good… very good.”
Babale felt a surge of relief. This nightmare was finally coming to an end! Once Luo Qing was captured, she would make sure he suffered as much as she had—no, even more!
As she fantasized about her vengeance, a loud voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Time’s up! Hand in your reflections, one by one!”
The command came from Natalia, the blonde-haired girl, who seemed just as puzzled as anyone else about Luo Qing’s insistence on these bizarre nightly assignments. Still, as his subordinate, she had no choice but to comply.
At her order, the tribe members began lining up to submit their work. Natalia meticulously reviewed each one, her sharp eyes scanning for any shortfalls.
Anyone who failed to meet the 5,000-word requirement would face a harsh penalty: they’d not only have to write another 5,000 words but also endure a public flogging—shirtless, of course—before being hung up for the entire camp to see.
Seated beside Natalia, Rosalin idly played with her fingers. If anyone dared to cause trouble, she was more than willing to turn them into either an ice sculpture or a pile of ashes.
Her loyalty and warmth were reserved exclusively for Luo Qing. To everyone else, she remained the haughty and merciless Crimson Witch of Flames.
Though the members of the Tanit tribe were tough in their own right, they were no match for a former Fatui Harbinger.
At the back of the line, Babale was beginning to panic.
She had been so absorbed in daydreaming about her revenge that she’d forgotten to write her reflection.
“Azarig…” Babale whispered urgently, glancing toward Natalia and Rosalin, who were busy reviewing submissions. “Let me borrow yours.”
“Huh?” Azarig looked confused.
“You didn’t write yours?”
“No.”
“…”
Azarig hesitated. If he gave Babale his reflection, he’d have nothing to submit.
He’d seen firsthand what happened to those who failed to hand in their work: the whippings, the public humiliation, the sleepless nights.
Even though he was Babale’s subordinate, his loyalty wasn’t exactly unwavering.
“Well… Lady Babale, the weather’s quite nice tonight, isn’t it?”
“?”
Before Babale could respond, Azarig bolted toward Natalia, cheerfully exclaiming, “Teacher! Please check my reflection for its unwavering sincerity!”
“…”
“Don’t rush, don’t rush. One at a time,” Natalia replied, stifling a laugh. Was the tribe really so broken that they were this eager to submit their homework?
“Azarig, you traitorous fool!” Babale hissed under her breath.
Her suspicion had been correct: Azarig wasn’t entirely loyal. Still, she needed his strength to deal with Luo Qing, so she swallowed her anger—for now.
Since Azarig wouldn’t help, Babale turned to another target: a young boy from the tribe.
“Ret, how many words did you write?”
“Uh, 5,001, Lady Babale,” the boy stammered, clearly nervous at being addressed by the tribe’s leader.
“Good…” Babale nodded approvingly. “Ret, give me your reflection.”
“But… Lady Babale, I…”
“Don’t worry, Ret. Once Luo Qing is dealt with tomorrow, I’ll reward you handsomely for your loyalty.”
“But…”
Ret hesitated. If he gave his reflection to Babale, he’d have nothing to submit. That meant an extra 5,000 words, a whipping, and a sleepless night…
“What’s wrong?” Babale’s tone shifted to a subtle threat. “Are you defying your leader? Do you want to betray the tribe?”
“I-I wouldn’t dare!”
“Then hand it over!”
“Yes… yes, Lady Babale.”
Reluctantly, Ret handed over his reflection, his hands trembling as he watched Babale take it.
Just as she turned to leave, a voice interrupted them.
“Well, well, what’s this?”
The two froze as they turned toward the speaker.
“Copying homework, are we?”
—
T/N: heh i copy homework all the time…
Reader discussion
0 Comments
Be the first reader to share a thought about this chapter.