Her gaze swept over the densely packed, neatly arranged figures, each exuding an aura of ruthless lethality.
These were the killing machines under the tyrant Ying Zheng's command.
From the moment Ying Zheng launched his war against the six nations until now, these soldiers had mercilessly claimed countless lives.
Watching these emotionless executioners, some of the hidden malefactors among the civilians couldn't help but gulp nervously.
If chaos truly erupted, would they be able to escape unscathed?
A chilling thought struck them—if they initiated the riot and assassination attempt, this ruthless army might disregard the surrounding civilians and simply slaughter their way through.
Better to kill a thousand by mistake than let a single enemy escape.
The more they dwelled on it, the more plausible it seemed. The tyrant might indeed issue such an order.
So, was this course of action truly just? Dragging innocent civilians into a bloodbath?
No, they weren't wrong.
Most of the people here were subjects of Qin, not the six nations. What did their deaths matter?
Besides, where did Qin's soldiers come from? Weren't they conscripted from Qin's own populace?
How else could Qin's military sustain such abundant resources for war? Weren't they backed by the labor and taxes of Qin's people?
Without the resources provided by Qin's citizens, how could Qin's soldiers have waged war against the six nations?
Thus, the true culprits behind the destruction of the six nations were not just the Qin rulers—everyone in Qin, from the king down to the common folk, was complicit.
Therefore, when the riot erupted and these people were caught in the bloodshed, they were not innocent. They deserved their fate.
At this thought, those who had wavered found their resolve strengthening once more.
Hmm?
Inadvertently, he also noticed people who were not from Qin—they appeared to be citizens of the six former states.
Could it be that these people shared the same ambition and were also here today to join them in attacking the tyrant?
Upon closer inspection, that didn't seem to be the case. They looked like ordinary civilians.
But if chaos erupted, these uninvolved bystanders would undoubtedly be caught in the crossfire.
Given the brutal ways of the Qin regime, those who were not originally Qin subjects would likely face even harsher reprisals.
Was it right for them to drag innocent people into this?
No, these people deserved to die.
Anyone who still harbored loyalty to the six states, who still remembered the national grievances and personal vendettas, should have joined their cause.
Instead, they chose to do business here, to scrape out a living, to abandon their past identities and assimilate into Qin.
If that was the case, then they deserved death—they were traitors, cowards.
His gaze shifted once more to a figure clad in luxurious black robes, a man who had just stepped down from a carriage and was walking toward the military review platform.
This was the tyrant whose crimes ran deep, the one who had destroyed the six states, shattered countless families, and plunged innumerable lives into hell.
If not for this tyrant's wars, he would never have been separated from his wife and forced to join the army.
When he finally survived the battlefield and returned to his homeland, he found it in ruins.
The home where he had once lived with his family had been reduced to charred rubble.
The most unbearable pain was discovering two skeletons among the debris—one large, one small.
Who else could they be? His wife and child.
And the architect of this tragedy was none other than the tyrant who had climbed to power over countless corpses.
The searing rage and hatred nearly drove him to charge forward and kill the tyrant on the spot.
But then, the words of a strategist echoed in his mind, cooling his fury.
At this distance, even if he rushed forward, he wouldn't stand a chance of reaching the tyrant—he'd only disrupt their plans.
He had to endure a little longer. The time wasn't right yet.
Suddenly, his body stiffened slightly as he noticed the people around him staring.
Had he been exposed?
Yet, the onlookers didn't linger on him for long, their gazes quickly returning to the tyrant. He exhaled in relief.
Perhaps his earlier anger toward the tyrant had caused his emotions to show, drawing their attention.
But for some reason, an inexplicable sense of dread crept into his heart.
Something felt off about the civilians gathered to watch the military parade—something eerie.
Could it be that these "civilians" were actually soldiers in disguise?
The thought sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't impossible.
If they launched their uprising carelessly, they might end up being ambushed by these "ordinary bystanders."
The urgency gnawed at him—he had to warn the others about this possibility.
But today's operation involved many participants, spread out across a wide area. There was no way he could alert everyone; he could only notify those nearest to him.
Yet another problem arose—he had no way of knowing who those nearest allies even were.
It wasn't that he had no companions at all, but rather that they were too scattered. This was to prevent betrayal and identification, which could lead to them all being captured at once.
Of course, the so-called companions he knew were also people from the State of Yan.
As for participants from other countries, they didn't know them either—again, to avoid being wiped out in one fell swoop.
He could only hope that other operatives had thought of this as well and would pay more attention to the ordinary people around them, determining whether they were truly civilians or soldiers in disguise.
His gaze once again fell upon the tyrant. Standing atop the platform, the ruler lightly raised his hand and pressed it down. In an instant, the entire venue fell silent.
If it had been just the military, that would have been one thing, but for the civilian spectators to be so uniformly obedient was truly unsettling.
The cruel monarch on the platform also briefly scanned the crowd of commoners.
When that gaze landed on him, the assassin felt an unprecedented pressure under its weight.
It was as if he were facing the wrath of heaven itself—an illusion so overpowering that it momentarily stunned him into holding his breath, his heart seeming to stop.
Once the gaze passed, his nerves, stretched to their limit, nearly gave way. In that moment of release, he almost collapsed to the ground, his body weak with exhaustion.
At the same time, his clothes were instantly drenched in cold sweat.
Steady yourself. Don't panic. Breathe normally. Don't act too suspiciously and draw attention from those around you.
So, as the assassin once again observed the civilians nearby, he realized not a single person had noticed him.
Logically speaking, he should have felt relieved in this situation.
But in reality, he instead sensed an intense dissonance, a profound unease.
If earlier he could describe himself as a wolf hiding among a flock of sheep, now he had the illusion that he was a sheep hiding among a pack of wolves.
Could it be that most of these civilians were actually soldiers in disguise?
But even if they were soldiers, something still felt off.
It was as if—yes, he remembered now—it reminded him of a nightmare he had once experienced.
He had once encountered so-called "living dead."
And the people around him now gave him the same chilling sensation as those living dead.
Was he standing in the midst of a crowd of the living dead?
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