In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities-Chapter 233 - Anger, Sorrow, And Resolve.

Around him, the veteran warriors from an earlier era shared his anger, their expressions filled with grief and indignation.

"Sigh… I was once close to the previous Marquis of Dolche. To think his family would meet such a tragic end," one of the older knights murmured.

The evidence of the marquis's and his family's fate was painfully clear. After the fortress fell and every soldier perished, the family met a similarly grim demise. Perhaps they could have fled, but they chose to stay, facing a brutal death instead.

Anita's gaze fell on a smaller figure among the corpses, clearly a woman. Her torn and tattered dress hung loosely around her waist, a grim testament to the horrors she had endured. Unable to bear the sight, Anita closed her eyes.

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Nearby lay the bodies of two children, their small forms hinting at unimaginable suffering. Around them were the corpses of the marquis and his retainers, impaled in their armor. Each bore signs of torture, their mangled remains filling the air with a sickening stench whenever the wind shifted.

Michael stood silently, staring at the horrific scene. His mind swirled with a mix of emotions—anger, sorrow, and resolve.

One of the veteran knights glanced around the desolate fortress with a hollow expression. The wind howled through the empty ruins, rustling the poles and eliciting a creaking sound that resembled a ghostly wail. Amid the swirling dust, a lone flower petal drifted on the breeze, landing atop the corpses.

The petal settled between the marquis and his wife, a cruel echo of the love they had once shared. With a sigh of resignation, the knight spoke.

"The Marquis of Dolche and his retinue… they fought to the bitter end despite being outnumbered."

The other veterans listened in solemn silence, their bowed heads reminiscent of a mourning vigil.

"They resisted with everything they had," another knight said quietly. "And that resistance only led to greater cruelty for their family. The more they fought, the harsher the punishment their loved ones endured."

A white-haired sorceress gazed into the distance and said evenly, "It couldn't have been helped. Should they have surrendered instead? I don't believe the Marquis made the wrong choice."

Another woman, clad in sleek black leather, nodded in agreement. The wind brushed past the fortress walls, carrying her voice with it.

"Exactly. Do you think surrendering would have ensured their safety? Those bastards would have thrown them into cold dungeons, tortured them, and forced them to watch their loved ones die."

Her eyes carried the weight of past pain. She turned back to the swaying corpses, her voice heavy with old memories.

"I had a dear friend once, captured alive by those monsters. His mind was shattered before we could rescue him. Even after he was freed, he withered away and died, haunted by what he endured. They cooked the people who were captured alongside him into soup and forced him to eat it."

A heavy silence followed her words, filled with the weight of grief and shared anguish.

"Sigh… it's something many of us have faced," said another knight, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But what crime did the women and children commit to deserve this?"

The Pamir Empire's cruelty toward prisoners was infamous across the continent, a reputation etched in blood and fear. Michael listened intently, the stories of loss and helplessness resonating deeply with him. Even these legendary warriors had memories of failing to protect those they loved.

Clenching his fists, Michael sank into deep thought. If he wished to shield his family and subjects from such tragedies, he would need greater strength and systemic change. The Marquis of Dolche and his loyal retainers had sacrificed their lives for their country, yet their defiance only fueled the Empire's brutality.

The final breaths of the marquis's family had been extinguished atop the fortress walls, reduced to mere symbols of humiliation. Michael saw their plight as more than a simple defeat; it was a stark reminder of the harsh realities of the continent's political landscape.

Their resistance, though honorable, had failed to earn them the respect they deserved. Surrender might have spared their lives in exchange for a ransom, but even that would have tarnished their legacy. The current system offered no fair recognition for courage or sacrifice. Instead, it left the brave branded as failures, their families stripped of status and security.

Michael felt anger and sorrow rise within him as he reflected on the senselessness of the situation. The system, as it stood, rewarded cowardice and punished valor. It was a world where the most cunning or submissive survived, while the truly courageous were ground into dust.

In such a society, true valor and justice could never flourish. Michael resolved that this cruel cycle had to end. His first step would be to reform how the fallen were treated. Those who fought and died bravely deserved to be honored, not branded as failures.

It was time to ensure that sacrifice and courage were met with dignity and respect—not mockery and ruin.

As Michael and his expeditionary force set up camp within Dolche Fortress, far away in the Kingdom of Rania, Duke Rochester was consumed with worry over his son's safety. The duke's castle, constructed from sturdy gray stone, stood as a stately and imposing structure. At its heart lay the council chamber, an isolated and secure room symbolizing the power of the Rochester family, rulers of the kingdom's northwestern territories.

The chamber's arched ceiling soared overhead, exuding an air of grandeur, while intricately carved statues stood guard at each corner, resembling silent protectors. Some of these statues were said to animate and defend the castle during times of peril, serving as true sentinels.

Massive murals adorned the walls, depicting the glory of past battles alongside the family's noble crest: a crimson rose crossed with a golden sword. The crest embodied both the family's honor and their insatiable ambition.

One wall was lined with a towering bookshelf filled with tomes chronicling the Rochester family's long history of cunning and political maneuvering. The centerpiece of the room, a long mahogany table, was illuminated by magical candelabras, their glow reflecting on the faces of the gathered nobles.