Borson looked at Julian on the ground with a complicated expression, in fact, this old man can not die, and there is no need to die. The whole self-help meeting of the pen and the fun and the pavilion www.biquge.info has gone bad after the frenzy of the riots. He is not the only one who has deteriorated, there are many people, and there is no need for him to pay for all his sins, and there is no need to die at this time. Perhaps he died under the condemnation of his own conscience, unable to face these who were still alive and about to ...... Dead people.

Looking at Julian, Bolson quickly thought to himself, if I had such a day, how would I choose when this day came?

It is to live in a humble way, like Andorra, surrounded by despair and fear, unable to extricate itself, and completely sinking.

Or is it like Julian, who uses death to atone for all the sins he has ever committed, looking up to the divine kingdom of heaven in the abyss?

Unbeknownst to Borson, his mind was once again hardened as iron when he withdrew his gaze. He told himself that he was not Julian and that he was going to do something ten thousand times more terrible than Julian had to do, but that he would never regret it and would not atone for his sins because he was not wrong. What is wrong is the world, the rotten human heart.

Shaking the thick stack of booklets with dense names in his hand, he stood in front of the black-pressed captives, stood behind the amplified magic array, and said loudly: "Next, we will call names, and the people who call the names will raise their heads, if someone raises their heads indiscriminately, or if they don't raise their heads when they call their names, the whistleblower can be exonerated and the evasor will die!", he paused for a moment, so that the group of prisoners who were still in a state of panic had a process of acceptance and understanding.

After a while, he began to quickly roll call, one by one familiar or unfamiliar names came to mind, and the heads full of desperate expressions slowly raised, and the people who lowered their heads were lucky and snickered gloatingly. Their gaze flickered, constantly exchanging glances in private. The one who raised his head looked disgraced.

"Kent!"

Kent, who had been trembling, shuddered suddenly, and instantly felt a burst of damp heat on his inner thighs, and the smell of the fishy smell stimulated his nose, and he raised his head in embarrassment and embarrassment, his face turned blue, and his cheeks bulged high. Gradually, he didn't care about the disgusting eyes of the people around him, yes, he was going to die, did he care about the point? He looked up at the sky, and there was only one thought lingering in his heart, when did the peaceful life start to change?

The long roll call finally came to an end, and more than 3,700 people raised their heads and knelt on the ground, some looked up and laughed, some wept bitterly, some were expressionless, and some begged for help. All kinds of desires are like colorful paints, and at this moment, they are colorful. The whole world is like a huge dye vat, desire is the dye, and it is human nature that is woven and dyed.

Borson took a deep breath and coldly looked at the most of those who were surprised or silent, bowing their heads and silent, and a sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth. He waved his hand, and starting at the end of the crowd, rows of soldiers raised their swords, knives, and spears, and beheaded the workers with their heads bowed. The bones of the heads rolled on the ground, swirling and spurting blood. The bloody blood was so hot that the rioting people wanted to stand up in an instant, but because of their lack of trust and cooperation with each other, not only did they not stand up, but they were implicated and fell to the ground one after another due to the chaos between them, and they could not get up again.

It was a massacre that was fought without resistance, and all the workers who participated in the Balatan uprising had to pay the price for all the consequences they had caused.

The sound of cursing, screaming, and crying could not melt the hearts of the soldiers, but could only bring more fear to those who were still alive in front of them.

After more than an hour, the killing had subsided, and Boltson finally understood what the old saying "blood is like a torrent of water that crosses a collapsing river, crowding every place where it can stay" is a scene. The blood that had not had time to be absorbed by the soil remained on the ground, and the feeling of being thick and slippery when stepping on it was very obvious, as if stepping on rotten soil. The moment he lifted his foot, his heel rose off the ground, and the thick blood lines were stretched and broken along with the heel, and the ground that exposed the red dirt was soon covered with blood again.

Many soldiers turned pale, and some even vomited in the dark, this killing was terrible after all, both for the losers and for the successful.

Borson's body was trembling, and he stiffened his head and looked at the more than 3,000 people who were barely reacting, still alive, "You are lucky, but also miserable, because you still don't understand that you should atone for your sins." ”

Fear, disgust, or whatever other emotion made him quickly throw away the roster in his hand, and his pace became faster and faster, faster and faster, until at last he began to run. He couldn't stand the scene, he couldn't stand the smell of this place, he couldn't stand the despair and spreading emotions here, and he couldn't stand himself.

Yes, a young man who once had a lofty ideal of changing society, alleviating class conflicts, and benefiting the common people as his political ambition has finally become an executioner under the hands of the aristocracy in the face of cruel reality. What ideals are you talking about? His hands are full of blood, and his dead head and gray eyes will accompany him all his life until he dies.

The entire Balatan riot was completely ended at this moment.

A month and a half ago, according to official and unofficial statistics, Balatan had a permanent population of 490,000 and a floating population of more than 300,000, which is no less than the capital. But today, a month and a half later, right here, there are less than half a million people left. In addition to some mobile populations and evacuees who had taken refuge in the suburbs, the turmoil reduced Baratan by more than 100,000 people. Between 60,000 and 70,000 of them were workers who participated in the uprising, and more than 30,000 of them died in the initial phase of the revolt.

The remaining part split into several shares, and the seven or eight thousand people who went out of the city were easily reduced by Wren and the Black Armor Army, while the rest were in a pool of blood outside the city.

In addition, there are 10,000 or 20,000 civilians who died in the riots, those who were mistakenly killed by the authorities, and those who were mistakenly killed by the Self-Help Association. This is a very terrifying number, especially in today's underdeveloped population, such a large number of population losses, it will take at least ten years to make up for the lost population from the "numbers". It will take a decade or two for these "numbers" to be turned back into the right workforce.

Balatan's economy was also almost completely paralyzed, with direct economic losses exceeding hundreds of thousands of gold coins, as well as various collateral losses and immeasurable ones. In order to build this city and make it so prosperous, it took several generations, two or three hundred years. But it only took a month and a half to destroy her, less than fifty days.

It is easy to destroy, but it is difficult to build, and it may take a long, long time to restore Balatan to the size it was a month and a half ago!

Whoever comes to terms with this mess, the first thing they have to face is to find a way to deal with more than 100,000 broken families, and to do everything they can to keep the remaining people from starving to death. Presumably, in the next three months to half a year, Balatan, the flower of Tulum Province, will be reduced to a city of despair....... It's going to be like the old Ortrenburg, numb, hopeless, and gloomy!

However, all this has nothing to do with Wren. Not only did it not matter, but Wren got a lot of benefits from this operation, first of all, he suppressed the riot, although he was a golden nobleman, but Pars always had to give him a little praise and benefits in terms of face, otherwise how to make those wavering nobles firmly surround the royal family? Political correctness has always been advocated by the royal family and all rulers.

Secondly, he had to take with him nearly four thousand workers from here, and these skilled workers could be said to have piled up money from repeated mistakes, and would not only shine for the construction of Ortlenburg, but also pass on their skills and crafts. Of course, in order for them to be able to work in Ortlenburg, the necessary pacification is necessary, and taking away some of their families is obviously the easiest and most direct way, and for this purpose it will also increase the population base of Ortlenburg.

Another gain is the people of Andorra, who have a lot of wealth to themselves, which belongs to them and to Rennes. At least if there is no Wren, they don't talk about wealth or anything, and they can call it lucky to be able to save their lives. They can only live in Rennes's sphere of influence for the rest of their lives, and once they leave Rennes's sphere of influence, the robbers and magnates who coveted their wealth in the Balatan Rebellion will take their lives, and the working class who have been betrayed by them will also swarm and tear them apart.

As for the friendship between the nobles that brought about the suppression of the Ortlenburg uprising, it was the least important part.

"You mean, right now, in the city of Balatan, there is still a titled alchemist?", Wren looked at Andorra, Andorra's face changed color, he can't be as crazy as Hugo, and he can't be as free and easy as Julian, in order to ensure his transcendence in this group of high-level Self-Help Association leaders who have "taken refuge" in Wren, he must build a more stable bridge with Wren.

And the alchemist he found was the bridge between him and Wren.

Andor gritted his teeth and nodded repeatedly, even if he offended the Crucible Guild, "His name is Gael, and his title is Molten Gold." ”