Even though many among the crowd could no longer bear the sight and had begun to flee the majority still remained.
Their eyes were fixed upon the woman in white standing amidst the carnage. But instead of fear, what lingered in their gazes was something far more complex.
Gratitude.
Some clasped their hands to their chests and bowed their heads. Others whispered silent prayers.
"Blessed be the sister of judgment...Blessed be her hand…"
To them, what she had done was not an act of cruelty, but of divine justice. A purging of evil that the heavens themselves had sanctioned.
This was no massacre. This was deliverance as the people understood who these men were.
Only months before, the southern plains had been struck by the worst floods in two centuries—fields drowned, villages washed away, barns emptied, families left without a single grain of rice to survive the coming winter.
