That era truly seems to have come to an end.

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Bai Ling collected all the medals and carefully packed them into his bag.

One hundred and thirteen in total.

His fingers curled inside his pocket, gripping his own. No… including his, there were one hundred and fourteen.

This should have been a list of honors, not a roster of victims…

Bai Ling stepped hard on Gram’s neck, watching his face turn a painful red from suffocation. This kick was for himself, but even more so, it was revenge for everyone.

“Ha… cough, cough, hahaha…” Gram’s face turned from red to purple. Despite feeling that his lungs were ready to burst open, he still forced out a sneer. “You… you don’t actually want to send the medals back, do you?”

He showed a distorted smile, his speech slurred. “Those people… I’ve played them rotten long ago. They’re ruined. Just like you, they’ve become unwanted trash…!”

Gram squeezed out a triumphant laugh. “—Trash doesn’t deserve a medal!”

Bang! The laughter stopped abruptly. Gram’s head slammed into the ground like a ball, one side visibly flattening.

His eyes were still darting around in terror, but black blood flowed uncontrollably from his lips.

A cold glint flickered in Bai Ling’s eyes as he wiped his soiled boot on the stars of the Major General’s uniform.

Trash…

His chest tightened as he gritted his teeth.

No, these parasites are the real trash!

The owners of those medals, their unyielding souls will never be dimmed by humiliation.

Because true heroes shine brightly even when covered in scars.

Bai Ling’s gaze was icy as he glanced sideways.

However, filthy bedbugs are nothing once stripped of their fancy clothes.

With just a glance, Pavo’s soul nearly left his body. He knelt and kowtowed until his forehead thudded against the floor, devoid of his previous arrogance. “Don’t kill me! Don’t, don’t kill me! I have money, so much money, I can give it to you—”

Bai Ling sneered as he idly twirled the magazine between his fingers.

The nobles were accustomed to measuring human life in currency. In their eyes, it seemed everything could be bought; no matter how many sins they committed, as long as they slapped a stack of bills in someone’s face, they could be absolved.

Forgive them once, and there would surely be a hundred, a thousand more times.

They must be pulled out by the roots.

His gaze inadvertently swept past the porthole. The ship was flying toward the heart of the artificial continent.

Suddenly, Bai Ling had an idea.

A brilliant idea that would add a bit more “festive cheer” to Thanksgiving.

He kicked Gram over; the man’s dead-fish eyes rolled back in front of Pavo. Pavo stared and let out a wretched wail: “AAAAAAAGH!”

Pavo was shaking all over and crawling around the floor, his mind fracturing under the immense horror.

Bai Ling didn’t care if he was truly mad or faking it. He casually pointed the muzzle at Pavo’s forehead, tilted his chin, and dismissed him:

“Go. Move these six to the hatch.”

Pavo’s eyes darted rapidly as he asked desperately, “Are you letting us go? Is that it?”

Bai Ling gave him a cruel sliver of hope. “Yes. I’m letting you down.”

Down to hell.

Initially, Thanksgiving was meant to be a simple minor holiday for reunions and gratitude toward family.

It only warranted a single day off, but Izsu Paraiso extended it to three more days with a grand wave of his hand.

Faced with protests from many business owners, Izsu Paraiso had said:

“Even if a country is destitute, it will not perish because its citizens took two extra days of holiday.”

That Old Emperor always spoke in shocking, extreme terms, leaving no room for retreat.

Yet, everyone knew that Izsu Paraiso possessed exactly the confidence to back it up.

Looking back at the four-hundred-year history of the Imperial Merfolk Dynasty, it seemed that no matter the Emperor, while they looked down upon the earth from their lofty heights, they all harbored a sense of compassion.

A respect for life, a pity for the weak.

No matter how good or bad their reputations as rulers were, if one looked deep enough, there was always a trace of humanity.

The “Flower Ship Parade” was born from this spirit.

According to tradition, on the first night of Thanksgiving, the government held a parade. Military ships from the starports served as the “Flower Ships.” Every year, those rugged, iron-clad giants would be draped in lace covers, piloted by veteran captains with illustrious war records.

With the same rigorous precision they used for top-secret missions, they would hover the Flower Ships over civilian districts. Just so they could blare through military-grade megaphones, shouting in coarse, boisterous voices: “Happy Thanksgiving! Stay healthy, everyone! Mother, can you hear me? I’m the one flying the ship this year—!” while simultaneously kicking the rookies’ butts, making them toss handfuls of cotton candy from the hatches.

In those moments, if an old lady came out shaking her cane to scold them, the neighbors would burst into laughter and present the “Thanksgiving Cotton Candy” to the hero’s mother as a token of their gratitude.

Normally, a soldier mixing personal feelings with a mission would result in a deduction of points.

But on Thanksgiving, the entire nation, including the government, turned a blind eye. Everyone shared a tacit understanding, collectively indulging this special eccentricity.

This tradition persisted until the fall of the Old Empire.

When the new monarch took the throne, Kaide decisively canceled the Flower Ship Parade on the grounds of “disturbing military discipline and tarnishing the government’s image.” Instead, he replaced it with a three-hour televised speech from a palace secretary.

Long and tedious.

The young bird once didn’t understand why Kaide had done it.

It wasn’t until Bai Ling entered the military that he realized those bold, meticulous old captains had long since been squeezed out by the nobility.

Since then, no one possessed the exquisite skill to hover a warship so close to the earth, using passionate, excited words to shout blessings to the people and their families.

Gratitude, reciprocity, loyalty, honor… all had slipped away through the cracks of time.

Thanksgiving was now a numb formality. The holiday remained, but it was indistinguishable from any other day off. Better than nothing, but barely.

Yet, when people stood dully by their windows, looking up at the dead, silent night sky, they would suddenly realize with a start—

That era truly seems to have come to an end.