The Demon King is unfathomable

Chapter 614 The Chaos That Followed

"...Do you want to be a coward for life, or a hero for a moment?"

“A swarm of insects has taken over our council, claiming that everything will be different, but the result is no different. Nobles still sit in their castles, merchants buy the churches where commoners pray at extremely low prices, bread is still out of reach, and the children of the Holy Light are wailing in hunger… Now they even want to bring the king back to try the revolutionaries who built the barricades.”

“Fayet has betrayed his own principles. The jackal still sits in the summer palace in Roland City, and he himself is a lackey of the Duchy of Campbell, selling the Twilight Province to that Grand Duke, and even wagging his tail to the empire whose hands are stained with blood.”

"Now--"

"Only you can save the First Republic. You're the only one I can trust."

The whispers from the darkness, like celestial music from the night, urged Doc, whose hands and feet were strapped to the interrogation table, to wake from his coma.

He opened his eyes and was met with pitch blackness, with only the kerosene lamp in front of him illuminating two serious faces.

His chapped lips curled into a mocking smile as he closed his weak eyelids again.

Looking at this stubborn young man, Officer Engley, sitting behind the oak table, felt a bit of a challenge.

Torture, magic, and potions... they used every means at their disposal.

They almost turned him into a ghoul.

It has to be said that the guy who brainwashed him behind the scenes was really something, even considering the interrogation he might face afterward.

Just two hours earlier, Marshal Fayette had personally visited the police station.

Upon learning that the interrogation had yielded no results, the marshal said nothing, but left with a grim face. His face, clouded with worry, clearly showed he had prepared for the worst.

Engle had a terrible premonition—this republic belonging to all the people of Ryan was now pushed to the brink of disaster.

If the real culprit cannot be found in a short period of time, an unprecedented large-scale battle is probably inevitable... It's hard to say how many people will die in the end.

Time is tight.

He took a deep breath and stared intently at the young man sitting behind the interrogation table.

"Don't try to play dead and get away with this. Tell the truth! Where did you get your rifle? Who ordered you to do this?"

Faced with the interrogator's reprimand, Doc simply smiled, his eyes filled with a look of resignation to his fate.

“Alright, I’ll confess... I was actually acting on Marshal Fayet’s orders. Sheriff, go and arrest him.”

Engle was taken aback, immediately realizing that this guy was playing him. He slammed his fist on the table, making the flame in the kerosene lamp flicker, and shouted angrily.

"I'm asking you this very seriously!"

"Well then, I'll answer your question very seriously."

Doc casually adjusted his posture to be slightly more comfortable and looked directly into the other person's eyes. "Why can't it be Marshal Fayette? Are you so sure he's a supporter of the National Assembly? I have a feeling... he can't wait for Charles to give him the title of Earl."

Hearing this shameless remark, Engle narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze sweeping over Doc from head to toe.

He had lived in Roland for many years and was not a first-time police officer; in terms of experience, he was far more senior than the new authorities, which had been established for less than a year.

Although he didn't recognize the face, he recognized the type of person.

They were the city's unemployed vagrants, spending their days idly, and this was no different during the Devalo dynasty or the National Assembly era.

Before the Crimson Realm descended, the bravest thing they had ever done in their lives was probably whistling at the widow next door hanging out her laundry and extorting a bit from the honest vegetable vendor.

If you gave them a felt hat, they'd wear it askew and show it off. But if someone told them that anyone could explain the meaning of the Holy Light, they'd immediately support that person and then take the empty promises Karen had made to Hans to cash them.

Of course, Officer Engle acknowledged that these scoundrels were not without merits; for example, their bravery was unmatched.

After all, most stonemasons in Roland City were bound by family and guild obligations, and their resistance would not have been so fierce unless they were driven to desperation.

But these people are different.

The fire in their hearts had been burning for a long time, and the Encyclopedists' manifesto only added fuel to the fire, giving them a reason to ignite that nameless flame.

Since most of them have no family, or if they do, it's practically the same as having none, so their fighting spirit is the strongest, and no one can find their weakness.

Some called them New Testament believers, others called them adventurers, but Officer Engley insisted on calling them scoundrels.

Regardless of who they support or oppose.

This is called a police officer's intuition.

“The Stonemasons’ Faction? The Barricades Faction? Ah, I see. Your eyes tell me you don’t belong to either faction,” he said, squinting, “but I still believe you’ve been used. With your strength, it’s impossible for you to kill a Gold-level mage. Is it really that interesting to take credit for someone else’s work? You thief.”

"Maybe he was careless?" Doc grinned, not easily angered by the remark. "Officer, don't underestimate the power of the Roxay rifle. I've personally witnessed adventurers with over a decade of combat experience being taken down by a single shot from that thing."

Seeing that the guy was still joking around, Engley slammed his hands on the table and stood up, pushing back in his chair.

"What the hell do you want?"

He roared, strode up to the young man, grabbed his collar, and pulled his smug, arrogant face right in front of him.

"What good will killing that guy do you? You'll plunge the entire Kingdom of Ryan into war! Your neighbors, your brothers and sisters, and everyone you know or don't know will line up to die because of your stupidity!"

Spit sprayed onto his face, but Doc's smile remained undiminished.

He did many foolish things in his life, but finally, at the last moment of his life, he found the meaning of his existence.

The epic tale of the continent of Os is destined to leave its most magnificent mark in this small room—

A young man named Doc prevented the royalists from usurping the fruits of the revolution, putting the Ryan people back on the right track of history!

As for death—

Everyone dies; it's just a matter of when they die.

He smiled softly, admiring the face that was gradually sinking from rage into despair.

"Tell me why you're so anxious."

"I did it right again."

……

A biting north wind swept across the towering spires and battlements of the gate towers, where soldiers carrying muskets patrolled in neat rows.

The low-lying clouds were within reach, and the occasional roar of a manticore echoed through the air.

That was a flying magical beast that the Duke of Eiffel bought from the south. Although it was smaller than a griffin, it was much cheaper.

Ever since he heard that the Duchy of Campbell had come up with something called an airship, the Duke of Eiffel had begun to make systematic preparations for aerial warfare.

In addition-

The magical airship, made using Xuebang's magical technology, is also under intensive preparation.

Long ago, Xuebang created a magic-powered flying machine, and every year during the enrollment season, they would take it for a spin around the border.

Although the cost of that thing was considerable, it was not unaffordable for a duke who owned tens of thousands of square kilometers of land.

Besides, this isn't about price.

It concerns the survival of the Devalo dynasty and whether the ancient authority can continue to be passed down.

The shadow of war loomed over the northern border of the Kingdom of Ryan, and almost everyone could smell the suffocating atmosphere that was about to engulf them.

Whether it was the peddlers on the street or the adventurers in the tavern, everyone subconsciously tensed up and lowered their voices.

In the Duchy of Eiffel, the ducal estate, a young man of about seventeen or eighteen years old stands by the marble railing of the balcony.

He wore a magnificent cotton robe draped over his shoulders and a jewel-encrusted scepter at his waist.

Beneath her golden curls were a pair of melancholy eyes, which were now gazing in the direction of Roland City.

Until a year ago, he was living a carefree life on his own land.

As a result, news of the king's death spread throughout his territory overnight, and the vast Kingdom of Ryan was soon torn apart.

Charles's feelings were very complicated.

On the one hand, he hated Marshal Fayette and the brutality of the citizens of Roland, and on the other hand, he couldn't help but wonder if all of this was Saint-Sis's punishment of the Devallo family.

However, one thing he was certain of was that the so-called enlightenment and humanistic thought were indeed a poison that caused great harm.

He had heard those poets speak of equality and fraternity, and he acknowledged that their vision of heaven was beautiful.

However, what he saw was only absurdity, bloodshed, and barbarity... even more so than his distant uncle whom he had only met a few times, the late King Theodon de Valou.

Just then, he heard quiet footsteps behind him.

A middle-aged man in a dark suit walked up behind him, his voice as gentle as an early spring breeze.

"Your Majesty, the wind is so strong, why don't you rest indoors?"

Charles turned around and looked at Duke Eiffel standing on the balcony, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Thank you for your trouble, Your Grace. The fireplace in the room is burning too brightly, so I came out to get some fresh air."

The Duke of Eiffel nodded slightly.

"It was my oversight. I will instruct them to reduce the fire."

That impeccable manners left Charles with an inexplicable unease.

He turned his attention back to the south.

That direction is both towards Roland and towards his directly governed barony.

"Your Excellency Eiffel, is this civil war... something we absolutely have to fight?"

This land was ultimately his property; every table they overturned belonged to him, as did the vases and teacups they smashed.

From this perspective, they are indeed at a disadvantage compared to the National Assembly.

Those who have nothing can sell churches and land without any scruples... regardless of who buys them.

This is probably what chills him most about the New Testament believers; they have absolutely no sense of reverence.

Even though the National Assembly never acknowledges any connection with the New Testament denominations, anyone with eyes can see that their true nature is "enemy of Saint Seism." Moreover, they do so in the name of a love that surpasses even the Holy Light.

To this end, they invented a set of ideological guidelines in the name of natural human rights, and even planned to publish it as a declaration.

The divisions within the National Assembly are one aspect; they are indeed not united enough, but they are by no means as weak as the royalist nobles mocked them to be.

At least Ciel never dared to underestimate this force.

They can be cursing and swearing at the parliamentary table while simultaneously eliminating dissidents with swift and decisive blows, carrying out their bloody and terrifying will to the very end with the guillotine, all while giving onlookers the illusion that they've had enough and will soon back down.

The entire city of Roland was both chaotic and orderly, like a pile of inextinguishable tinder. Even the Duke of Eiffel failed to see this; he still regarded them as monkeys in disguise, ignoring the fact that these people were nothing short of a group of schizophrenic monsters.

This kind of monster, which combines chaos and efficiency, has never been heard of in the past thousand years.

In the past, peasant uprisings would usually end with the nobles staying in their castles for a few months, and the peasants outside would break up on their own due to disagreements over the distribution of spoils.

Unless Chaos gives them some advice from behind the scenes, like the Green Forest Army, things won't get complicated...

And now, the National Assembly in Roland is showing signs of this.

Just as Charles was deep in thought, the Duke of Eiffel looked up and saw obvious hesitation in the young emperor's profile.

He sighed softly and spoke sincerely.

"Your Majesty, I regret to inform you that... whether or not we fight does not depend on us, but on our enemy."

Charles was silent for a moment, then tightened his grip on the marble railing.

After a moment, he spoke.

"If I go to Roland City and pardon the people who stormed into the palace that day, will that quell their anger?"

The Duke of Eiffel answered softly.

“I’m afraid your kindness will be seen as weakness by the jackals, and they will immediately strip you of everything you have.”

Charles gave a wry smile.

"I think so too."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a series of hurried footsteps broke the deathly silence on the balcony.

The visitor was the Duke's confidant; the man with the perpetually gloomy face strode forward and handed over a sealed, wax-sealed letter with both hands.

The Duke of Eiffel reached out and took it, glancing at it briefly before the somber expression quickly spread across his face.

Sensing something keenly, Charles turned back to him with an inquiring look.

"what happened?"

"The envoy from the Empire died on the busiest street in Roland City, right next to the Royal Theater."

The Duke of Eiffel handed the letter to Charles, his expression uncertain, as if he were weighing the potential impact of Earl Sean's death on the situation.

"Has Fayette gone mad?!" Charles exclaimed after reading the letter in his hand, but quickly realized, "No! This wasn't Fayette's doing. Earl Sean's death won't benefit him at all!"

Eiffel nodded slightly.

“That’s right, the most likely people to do this are those stonemasons who refuse to bow to the Empire… But if I may be so bold, it’s hard to imagine that even we who are standing here could think of this, so it’s hard to say that Fayet wouldn’t have considered using other people’s intuition.”

Charles stared at him blankly for a long time before finally managing to squeeze out the next sentence.

"What do you mean?"

Eiffel shared his conjecture.

"This is just my assumption. Considering Marshal Fayette's increasingly low approval ratings, even if his proposals bring peace to Roland, he won't be able to retain his power. On the contrary, if war suddenly breaks out, he will be able to remain in the position of marshal."

He paused for a moment, then continued.

"Not only that, he can also use this as an excuse to purge those who oppose him. As for the cost of angering the Empire, it will indeed be heavy, but he won't have to pay it, will he? The Empire won't declare war on an individual, at most it will declare war on the National Assembly, and if it loses, it will only be a reparation. The label of assassinating the Empire's special envoy can't be pinned on him no matter what."

Charles fell silent.

The Duke of Eiffel sighed softly, his gentle expression gradually hardening into a resolute one.

"The Kingdom of Ryan once again stands at a crossroads of fate, Your Majesty... We must end this chaos. We cannot allow them to continue their reckless behavior for their own selfish reasons. At the very least, we must show the Empire that our kingdom is not entirely filled with madmen, and that nobles like you and me are still worthy of their trust!"

Charles remained silent for a long time this time, as if he were making some kind of difficult decision.

Finally, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and the thought in his brows seemed to have come to a conclusion.

"I understand, Your Excellency. Go ahead and do it."

He handed the letter back to the Duke of Eiffel and looked up at the Duke.

“I will no longer utter those words about compromising with the mob. These madmen don’t need negotiation; they need their favorite guillotine. I, Charles de Vallo, will shoulder the responsibilities of the monarchy and restore the glory of my fathers.”

Those azure eyes burned with unprecedented determination, the confusion of just minutes before completely gone.

"Before those thugs burn Roland to the ground—"

"We will step over their bones to take back what is rightfully ours!"

……

The news spread like wildfire.

In less than 24 hours, the bombshell news of the Imperial Envoy, Earl Sean, lying dead in the street swept through Roland City like a storm. Then, this winds of change reached the Duchy of Eiffel, the northernmost territory of the Kingdom of Ryan.

Crossing this territory means that the message has officially crossed the borders of the Kingdom of Ryan.

At this very moment, the Soul Sage Ormon Sirder, who was visiting Dragon City, also saw this message in the secret letter.

He immediately stopped meditating. Even the azure magic crystal embedded in his left eye socket stopped spinning as if it had jammed.

"Sean...is dead?"

Hearing his boss's monotone whisper, the assistant standing by immediately lowered his head. His young face was filled with awe, admiration, and a hint of barely suppressed fervor.

"Yes, Your Excellency. It is said that the shooter was a radical mob from Roland City. Yesterday morning in the downtown area, he shattered the envoy's chest with a single shot, and the man died on the spot!"

The assistant applauded wildly in his mind.

As expected of the wise man, this trick of diverting the trouble is absolutely brilliant!
It is said that not long ago, the envoy from the Empire visited Prince Colin, who was engaged in charitable activities in the Twilight Province.

Less than a month after the two sides met, the envoy was killed in Roland, and was killed by the Roxay rifle designed by the prince!

Even if this matter has nothing to do with Colin, it will definitely disrupt his plans in the Twilight Province and make him feel disgusted, like he's swallowed a fly!
However, unlike his assistant, who was filled with awe and secretly pleased, his master did not show any smugness at his accomplishment. Instead, he frowned and muttered to himself.

"Dead? He's actually dead..."

Weird.

Before he could even make a move, someone beat him to it... Who did it?
To be honest, Omon had been keeping an eye on that envoy for a long time, especially after he learned that the guy was investigating things he shouldn't have.

However, he also had some hesitation about whether or not to kill the person.

After all, he was an envoy from the Holy City.

Even if he can do things perfectly cleanly, it's hard to guarantee that his hands won't get a little bit of poop on them.

Nominally, Sean possesses Gold-level strength, but families with such deep-rooted backgrounds often harbor hidden secrets, the power of which is unpredictable. Sending someone too weak might result in their death, while taking matters into his own hands could leave him vulnerable to attack.

He prefers a methodical plan to such unexpected variables.

For example, the plan to seize the Crimson Realm is just like that.

Although Hegmer, the "chosen one," ultimately failed to advance, he still managed to collect some very valuable data from that catastrophe.

The same applies this time.

His plan was to systematically instigate the kingdoms to form an anti-Lyan alliance, completely crush the pawns surrounding Colin, and finally take over the Duchy of Campbell, restoring the Academy's rule over the eastern part of the continent of Os.

Using the "talent" from the northern wilderness still made him somewhat reluctant, since those young men were, after all, his own people.

Seeing his boss fall into a long silence, the assistant's expression gradually became more varied.

I didn't expect the Sage to be such a good actor.

If he hadn't known the task the Great Sage had given his boss, he would have almost been fooled by that surprised expression!
It is worth mentioning that Ormon never revealed that he was ordered by the Great Sage to kill Prince Corin.

However, it wasn't difficult for those around Ormon to guess this from the various actions of the Tower of Souls.

You can get a general idea of ​​what Lord Omon is complaining about every day just by listening to him.

Those who can climb to high positions in Xuebang are all experts at understanding their superiors' intentions. He only needs to smell Aomeng when he is using the toilet to guess what the boss ate last night and whether he slept well.

However, the expression on the face of the Sage Ormon made the young assistant somewhat hesitant.

Is it...

It really wasn't the boss who did it?

Just as he was about to lose his senses, Omon finally finished his calculations. The old gentleman straightened his dark blue robes, and his voice returned to its icy tone.

"Never mind. No matter what went wrong in the process, the result is ultimately in our favor."

"At least, the royalists within Ryan finally have an excuse to move their backsides. As for the Kingdom of Rhodes and those monarchs watching the show nearby, they can also take this opportunity to express their cheap loyalty to the Holy City."

At this point, Omon paused for a moment and looked at his assistant who was waiting in front of him.

"Go to Lord Blackwood's residence and tell him to move the puppet troops I've trained to the border. Also, write a secret letter for me to Duke Eiffel, saying that the time has come to wipe out the rioters, and that the nobles of the entire continent of Os will be their strongest backing... including the academic community in the northern wasteland."

"Yes, sir!" The assistant's expression hardened, and he immediately bowed and left the meditation room in a hurry.

A smug look lingered on his face, pleased that he had guessed his boss's thoughts. The envoy with the wandering eyes was the one his boss had killed!
What superb acting skills!

Just now, he almost fooled even his trusted confidant!

(End of this chapter)