The young man's words hovered over the ballroom.
The rich people below were so shocked by the young man's remarks that they remained in a daze for a long ti.
Many began to waver.
Seeing the silence of the affluent, Cervantes initiated today's the.
"Soone just said this is a farce, an immature and thoughtless act. I was reluctant to argue over such a topic, but it seems that most of you still endorse this view."
Cervantes glanced at a nearby guard, who signaled and raised his gun, aiming at everyone present.
"Before becoming a Commander of the Revolutionary Army, I was a Disciplinary Officer."
Upon hearing this, many were deeply shaken.
"I've seen many people with various labels and have personally sent many to Hell."
"These people share one common trait: they are all from the middle and lower classes, among you 'upper-class people,' there isn't a single one."
"I dislike presenting the bloody plight of the lower classes before you because I believe that different experiences cannot evoke any resonance in you. Even ordinary people cannot empathize with the lives lost in war, so today, no suffering will be presented."
"In this era, everyone is a cold-blooded animal. Perhaps those behind the scenes may recognize and sympathize with sothing because of minimal embellishnt, but rarely do they truly empathize, for different experiences and perceptions prevent it."
"So in this eting, we rely present what it ans to empathize."
"Starting now, one person will be executed per minute," Cervantes said.
"My words will be concise. Perhaps by the end of this eting, half of you will remain."
The calm and cold words echoed in the ballroom, like a steel knife tearing at people's skin, infiltrating their tissues, and seeping into the marrow. So listening to the young man's words even thought they had misheard, plunging into an abyss at that mont.
The sound of gunfire shattered the silence of the ballroom.
A rich businessman, not yet reacting, was hit in the chest and fell, a pool of blood forming beneath him, his pupils glaring wide open in death, unable to believe that Cervantes had truly given such a crazy order.
"I don't need to correct anyone's views because such corrections are aningless."
The people's faces were drained of color, so of the wealthy were already scared witless, trembling as they dared not utter a word, deeply afraid of attracting the soldiers' attention and becoming the next target for execution.
"I want you to empathize."
"Is it fear?" Cervantes's gaze swept over the crowd below.
In the corner, Sancho tried to intervene but was repelled by the young man's indifferent look.
"This guy," Angelina said with somber eyes, "No wonder there were rumors within the N3 Faction about Siphaun being too radical. He's a madman."
Recalling the scene of eting Cervantes when she first ca to Skyline City, Angelina found it difficult to connect the young man with the brutal figure before her.
She turned to look at Xu Xiaoyou, only to find the blond girl's figure missing from where she had been.
"Why fear?"
"Isn't this exactly what those 'immature' Bionics experience every single day in this 'stable' society that you talk about?"
"Not allowed to leave their cages, shackled and chained from birth."
"Worrying whether their behavior might draw attention, becoming an outlier in others' eyes."
"Worrying whether they might say sothing wrong that violates their label, leading to a lower score and being labeled by the Disciplinary Officer as unruly, with all the stories in the weather vane being malevolent until one day they are destroyed."
The sound of gunfire rang out again.
The second person fell.
"Isn't this precisely the anxious and nerve-wracking life that ordinary Bionics live every day?"
Soone rushed up, tears streaming down: "Please stop all this, they are already beyond saving, I'm willing to join the Revolutionary Army, I'm willing to dedicate all my assets to the Awakening cause."
Cervantes was indifferent to the person's pitiful state.
"Aren't those ordinary Bionics just like this, divided, opposing each other, criticizing one another, unable to unite as a whole, becoming a third party in Hell rely by existing?"
Cervantes knew he was cold-blooded.
From birth, he had always been exceptional, growing up in a privileged family environnt. His guardians were not harsh or stringent in managing him, instead surprisingly tolerant, allowing him to engage with literary works, films, and operas.
He never did anything excessively out of line, graduated with the highest honors from Asimov University, and beca a Disciplinary Officer.
When he personally witnessed the plight of those at the bottom, he found himself seeing them as exaggerated actors in an absurd drama, performing to evoke only his sympathy.
How could life be so terrible, why endure so much suffering, why was their breathing so oppressed, why were there people struggling and in tears due to their labels, why did they hide in the filthiest sewers, numbing themselves endlessly. Why do fathers and daughters embrace and weep, why can't those in love hold hands without it being taboo, why are their lives straight lines without a choice?
Why, why, why, why?
Eventually, he beca numb.
Numb to the suffering, indifferent to it.
Began to ignore the suffering of the ordinary people above these lower-class individuals.
Perhaps their lives weren't as bad, but they too lived in suppression and fear.
Those at the bottom dwelled in the lowest depths, and their lives could be seen by the attentive, but scattered throughout society, ordinary people without talents — which ordinary person would specifically docunt the suffering of another ordinary person?
Their lives were monotonous, so incredibly ordinary that it was a waste to write about their stories.
It was because of his cold-heartedness that he belatedly noticed these ordinary people.
What kind of suffering was ignored by them?
He began to observe, docunt, and think.
The more he observed, the more this pressure and despair suffusing society resembled invisible water, subrging great buildings, causing him unprecedented suffocation.
So they all experienced this...
The third person executed, the fourth person executed, the gunfire rang repeatedly, the wealthy fell one by one, like reeds broken in the wind, while countless wailing people sent echoes from behind the towering buildings.
Cervantes did not consider this sound beautiful.
On the contrary, he found this sound very piercing, very noisy.
"What a bustling noise."
"Listeners can only find it annoying, right?"
He hated telling stories of suffering and resentnt as these stories only make people numb to the suffering that most people are experiencing.
This is the root of the world's illness.
He aid to uproot this poison.
He not only wanted these upper-class people in the ballroom to empathize with this, but he also wanted those ordinary people to empathize with everything they were experiencing.
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