Philip Thompson clenched his teeth and didn’t utter a single word. For two whole days and nights, Philip Thompson was beaten to death, with not a single patch of intact skin left on his body.

He died without a son, destined to become a lonely wandering ghost, unable even to preserve his corpse—wild dogs would still eat him!

Mark Brooks seemed to go mad. He threw several stones in a row, then grabbed a wooden stick and charged forward! This kid really had a fierce streak; the dogs were so frightened they fled in panic, and Mark Brooks chased after them furiously, refusing to let them go!

It took great effort to drive the dogs away. When he returned, his knees buckled and he knelt on the ground. The body of the coachman Old Thompson was right in front of him, battered beyond recognition, flesh and blood mangled, a scene of utter chaos...

A wrongful death, stripped of dignity, rejected by the King of Hell, doomed never to be reincarnated! He reached out to wipe Old Thompson’s face, but no matter how he wiped, it wouldn’t come clean. Tears streamed down Mark Brooks’s face despite himself.

“Leave it to me!” Edward Clark bent down and instructed, “Go buy some needle and thread, rouge and powder, and fetch a bucket of clean water.” Mark Brooks was a bit suspicious, not knowing what he intended, but still did as told.

Edward Clark’s expression was grave—he was returning to his old trade!

He carefully arranged the corpse, cleaned the wounds, and stitched up the torn skin, especially the face, where he dared not be careless. Because several patches of skin were missing, Edward Clark had to take some from the corpse’s thigh to patch it.

The color difference was quite obvious, but that was fine—he blended it with rouge and powder, applying it layer by layer. Finally, after working for half an hour, he finished!

“How is it? Does it look alright?” Even Edward Clark wasn’t sure.

Mark Brooks was dumbfounded. More than just alright—it was perfect!

Uncle Thompson looked even younger than he had in life. Amazing, Eddie!

Mark Brooks suddenly perked up and suggested, “Why don’t we tidy up and make up all the corpses? What do you think?”

What could Edward Clark say? Of course he agreed, but with so many corpses, it was really too much for just the two of them. At some point, a burly, dark-skinned man stood across from them, grinning and baring his teeth. “Brothers, I’m a subordinate of Marshal Guo. If you don’t mind, let me lend you a hand!”

Chapter 7: We Are All Rebels

Sudden newcomers are always met with suspicion. Both Edward Clark and Mark Brooks eyed the big man warily, unsure of his intentions.

The big man could clearly see this. He suddenly tore open his shirt, revealing a dark belly. From his side up to his chest was a scar nearly a foot long—though healed, it twisted and bulged like a tree root.

The big man explained, “My name is Albert King. Last year, I followed Marshal Guo to suppress Li Shouzhen’s rebellion and was wounded, so I stayed in the capital to recover…”

At this point, Albert King blushed.

His injury was no small matter. According to the commander’s orders, he was to be thrown out to fend for himself. By chance, Guo Wei was inspecting the troops and, upon hearing that Albert King was the first to scale the city wall and fought valiantly, couldn’t bear to let a good man die in vain. He specifically instructed the army doctors to spare no expense on rare medicines, and after much effort, they managed to save Albert King.

Afterward, Guo Wei went north to resist the Khitan, and Albert King continued to recuperate in the capital. In his own words, this life was saved by Guo Wei—he would be a dog to the Guo family for life!

As soon as he recovered, he would head to Yecheng to serve the Marshal.

But before he could leave, the Guo family was arrested, died tragically in prison, and their bodies were abandoned in the streets.

Albert King was driven mad with rage. He gathered a few fellow imperial guards, wanting to risk their lives to save them, but the brothers looked at each other and all shook their heads.

They were too few and too weak—there was no way to save anyone, and they’d only lose their own lives.

One of them, named Michael Thompson, said to Albert King, “Brother, we all admire your loyalty to the Marshal, but knowing it’s a trap, you can’t just jump in. You just got married last month—are you going to make your wife a widow? And your Han family has no heirs. Do you want to be unfilial?”

“Enough!”

These words all struck Albert King right in the heart. His loyalty was beyond doubt, but as Michael Thompson said, could he abandon his family?

His delicate wife was only sixteen! Without a husband, how could she survive?

For three days straight, Albert King did nothing but drink and curse. When he had nothing to do, he slapped himself until his face was swollen, but in the end, he still didn’t have the courage to go out.

One day, Michael Thompson came again and told him the emperor was leading a campaign in person, and Marshal Guo’s men had also arrived.

“Ah, so the Guo family can be saved?” Albert King asked in surprise.

Michael Thompson shook his head with a bitter smile. “You haven’t been out, have you? The Guo, Chai, and Wang families have all been killed, their bodies abandoned in the streets. It’s too tragic to even talk about!”

“Ah!”

Albert King jumped up with a cry and cursed, “Michael Thompson, do you have any conscience left? How could you let the Marshal’s whole family be left exposed in the streets?”

Michael Thompson spread his hands. “There’s nothing I can do. What if people say I’m an accomplice of the Marshal? Brother King, let me give you some advice—don’t do anything foolish!”

But Albert King wouldn’t listen and ran straight out.

The cold wind hit him in the face as Albert King ran until he was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.

As he got closer to the execution ground, his steps grew slower and slower… His mind kept racing: if he really was taken as one of the Marshal’s remaining followers and got arrested, what would he do then?