Sain stepped forward and grabbed the dazed Choya by the collar, his rough fingers sinking into the fabric as he dragged him out of the room.

Choya let out a weak groan, a pained expression appearing on his pale face.

Just as Choya was regaining consciousness from his faint, his head slammed directly into the stone steps by the door, giving off a dull thud as he fell back into unconsciousness.

Blood trickled from his forehead, tracing dark red lines across the gray stone steps.

Time seemed to stretch and compress at that moment, and by the time Choya awoke again, the world had changed.

The night sky was covered by a vast cloud, even the starlight hidden, and Choya suddenly realized his hands were tied behind his back, the coarse rope cutting deeply into his flesh.

All around, there were hundreds of workers holding torches, forming a wavering sea of fire.

The firelight dispelled the darkness of the street, illuminating every angry and determined face, the industrial area exceptionally bright like daylight.

"I am Doctor Choya, recognized by the White Family as the future deputy director of the industrial district hospital, what are you going to do?"

The workers did not respond; only the crackling of torches and the low sounds of breathing echoed through the night.

The crowd suddenly surged, making way for several other bound individuals to be pushed into the area.

Choya looked closely, and in the glow of the fire, he could see it was his father George and several foremen under his command. Their clothes were disheveled, their faces covered in grime and fear.

George, seeing his son, cried out in despair, "Choya! They're mad! They..."

Before he could finish, a hard punch cut him off.

Sain stood at the forefront of the crowd, his tall figure elongated by the firelight, casting a shadow on the wall like an icon of judgment.

He held a torch aloft, shouting loudly, his voice piercing the night sky:

"Factory director George, along with his son Choya, sold fake medicines made of flour and sugar to the workers, resulting in the deaths of twenty-eight workers in three months' time, and four workers coming forward to demand explanations were also beaten to death."

The firelight reflected in his pupils, like flames blazing fiercely.

"On behalf of the workers, I sentence George, Choya, and their five henchmen to hanging!"

The crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer, reverberating across the industrial district like a roar.

The torches the workers held formed a sea of fire, lighting up the night sky and illuminating their long-suppressed anger.

George and Choya were so terrified they almost wet themselves, dark stains appearing at the front of their trousers, as they hastily shouted, their voices filled with fear and despair.

"You have no right! The White Family won't let you get away with this!" George screamed, his eyes nearly popping from their sockets.

Yet no one paid attention to their pleas, only more angry boos and curses resounded.

There was no gallows, no formal trial, only the rage of countless souls who had been exploited for too long, finally erupting.

The men were roughly dragged to the streetlamp, the ropes looped around their necks, the other ends tossed over the lamp's crossbar.

In the final moment, Choya raised his head, as if seeing a blurry figure floating in the air.

His pupils contracted, his lips twitched as if trying to say something, but it was too late.

The ropes tightened, lifting him off the ground, and in terror and suffocation, the father and son struggled, their legs kicking hopelessly in the air, until all was still, utterly lifeless.

Above the crowd, Anna observed it all, a detached bystander.

Her ghostly form lightly drifting in the night breeze, moonlight shining through her semi-transparent body.

As the judgment concluded, the last trace of crimson tethering her slowly dissipated, leaving only a pure wandering soul.

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