The Demon King is unfathomable

Chapter 627 Bloodstained Hope
The dungeon was gloomy and dark, the air was damp and gloomy, and the moss filling the cracks in the walls gave off a putrid smell.

This is the "locked room" of the Summer Palace.

Before the revolution, this place was used to imprison people whom Theoden de Vallout disliked, and now it is used to imprison people whom the National Assembly dislikes.

For example, Antoine.

This once revered "Iron Wall of the North" is now a prisoner, being rudely pushed into a cell by two military police officers.

His military uniform had been forcibly stripped off, leaving him only in a thin linen shirt. It was January, and to strip someone down to their last garment was nothing short of torture.

However, the military policeman showed no sympathy; instead, he spat fiercely onto the man's boots.

"Go inside, you coward!"

Antoine staggered a couple of steps after being shoved into the cell, and only managed to steady himself by leaning against the stone wall.

He straightened his disheveled collar and tried to straighten his back, attempting to maintain the last shred of dignity in this dark dungeon.

“You know absolutely nothing.” He stared intently at the military police outside the iron bars, his breath ragged and filled with suppressed trembling and rage. “I’m doing this for Ryan’s future! Someone has to bring back the truth from the front lines to prevent those idiots in the council from making a misjudgment!”

"For Ryan's future?" The military policeman, who was about to leave, stopped in his tracks, turned around, grabbed the iron bars with both hands, and stared intently into Antoine's eyes through the gaps in the bars. "How dare you say you're doing this for Ryan's future? You've left 30,000 young men in the freezing cold of the front lines. Do you think you've lived up to Marshal Fayet's trust in you?!"

He roared, wishing he could rush into the cell and give the guy a good beating.

If it weren't for another veteran standing nearby stopping him, he probably would have already taken out the keys he had just put in his pocket and done so.

"Calm down—"

"How can you expect me to stay calm! My brothers are right there! This bastard dares to say he's doing this for us!"

"You understand nothing!"

Antoine gritted his teeth, clenched his fists tightly, and roared back at the hot-blooded young man.

"Do you think war can be won by bravery alone? How many more people will have to die just to bring that crown to the ground? Does anyone in this city still remember our original slogan?"

"And you, have you thought about your brothers? Have you really considered those 30,000 young men? You're just like those guys sitting in the council chamber, spouting the harshest words from the safest spot. They don't care about this republic at all!"

Although Antoine did not deny that he returned here for his own future, his words were heartfelt.

The royalists led the allied forces of the various kingdoms into the Kingdom of Ryan, but it could also be said that the allied forces of the various kingdoms pushed the royalists forward.

Whether they are republicans or royalists, they are all ultimately people of the Rhine, and even Saint Sith cannot change that.

Few people in this city probably remember that their original slogan was "No charter, no bread."

Now, not only can these two things not be seen, but almost no one even remembers what they said back then.

However, he really didn't expect it.

His desire not to become cannon fodder was instead used as tinder by the group of councilors sitting in the Summer Palace.

Hearing this shameless remark, even the veteran's face darkened, and he looked at Antoine with a hint of contempt.

"Save your breath, Lord Antoine. I respect your bravery in storming the Royal Prison, but now you... you'd better take a piss and look at yourself in the mirror. You're just a deserter who was scared out of his wits by the Rhodes' cannons! My brother said you're a coward, and that's absolutely true."

Antoine showed no fear on his face and spoke slowly and deliberately.

“I just don’t want to take my brothers with me to be buried with them as part of their show! Do you think that just because you shout a few words here today, Roland City will really be without a king? Once this fire is extinguished, you will realize that I’m not lying to you. All those who died for those slogans died in vain.”

The older military policeman curled his lip in disdain, too lazy to listen to the traitor's sophistry any longer.

"Say whatever you want. Save these grand pronouncements for the judges of the military court and see if they'll believe your nonsense."

The heavy iron gate slammed shut, shutting out Antoine's resentful glare.

Neither side could convince the other.

Antoine firmly believed he saw the future of Roland, while the gendarmes only saw a spineless coward who had abandoned his brothers.

Perhaps neither of them was wrong, and perhaps both were wrong.

However, regardless of who is right or wrong, simply imprisoning a traitor is not enough to appease this metropolis of three million people.

Fear spread like a plague, penetrating the streets and alleys of Roland and quickly taking hold.

Just as Coles, the leader of the Fury, had heard in the oracle, a mad flame was burning in the heart of every Lane.

When Marshal Fayet learned that his trusted confidant had betrayed the revolution, he was both shocked and furious. He went to Parliament to explain and declared that he would not cover it up.

The Constituent Assembly accepted Marshal Fayette's statement and immediately announced the establishment of a military tribunal to try Antoine's crimes.

During the investigation, Antoine was dismissed from all his posts. The Constituent Assembly confiscated all his property, leaving him only a cotton coat for his imprisonment.

There was nothing wrong with the process itself, and even Antoine himself calmly accepted the outcome after he calmed down.

However, perhaps because Marshal Fayette communicated so smoothly with the Constituent Assembly, the trial of Antoine appeared to be a charade in the eyes of the citizens who already had doubts about them.

"They're sacrificing a pawn to save the king!"

A tavern in the lower town.

Angry citizens pounded their fists on the table, tore the latest issue of "Voice of the Citizen" to pieces, and threw them into the stove.

"Marshal Fayet has no intention of punishing his own people! They've been in cahoots from the beginning, trying to sell the republic we fought for with our blood and sweat for a good price!"

"The top brass of the National Assembly is rotten to the core! I've said it before, the royalists have already infiltrated our parliament like a sieve!"

“I will never listen to their excuses again! When I saw Baron Wickton Westley still sitting in the position of Secretary of State for Economic Affairs, I knew they were no different from Theodore!”

Once a crisis of trust erupts, there is only one path: a complete collapse.

At this time, whatever the National Assembly was doing was seen by the citizens of Roland as an attempt to surrender to the royalists who were marching in from the Duchy of Eiffel.

Fueled by that nameless rage, tens of thousands of citizens surrounded the Summer Palace. Holding torches and pitchforks, they blocked the surrounding streets.

Waves of anger surged as they roared, demanding that the executive committee immediately hand over the traitor and send him to the guillotine to atone for their sins.

Inside the meeting hall of the Summer Palace, the members of parliament looked ashen-faced.

Hearing the deafening protests outside the window, some people's legs trembled uncontrollably, while many more looked bewildered.

“By Saint Sis… I thought my surname was Devalo.”

On the second-floor terrace, Foreign Minister Conrad looked at the scattered firelight outside the window, his face devoid of any elegance.

Count Theron Gard hurried up behind him, looked at Conrad who had turned around, and asked anxiously.

"What on earth happened?! What's going on with those people outside? What do they want?"

Hearing the barrage of questions, Conrad inwardly groaned and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"My lord, please do not worry, our marshal will bring the situation under control—"

"Believe? How can you expect me to believe?!" Theron was genuinely panicked.

Having been besieged by the Green Forest Army in Sparrowwood Fortress, he knew better than anyone how terrifying a group of out-of-control peasants could be.

When these people get angry, they'll even kill themselves. If he could, he really wouldn't want to mess with them at all.

Suddenly, he remembered that there was a capable person in the Summer Palace, so he hurriedly grabbed Minister Conrad's arm and asked.

"By the way, where is Prince Colin? Where is he?"

He... left a letter.

"A letter?" Theron paused for a moment, then quickly asked, "What did he say in the letter?"

A bitter smile appeared on Conrad's face. He stammered for a long time before finally managing to squeeze out the words.

"He said... thanked the National Assembly for their hospitality and welcomed us to visit his estate when we had time. Also, Miss Ophia was unwell, so he took her back first."

They went back?
Upon hearing the news, Theron was struck dumb, remaining stunned for a long time before a bitter expression appeared on her face.

It seems that Saint Sith is not on the side of the Republic of Lein.

The only saving grace was that the National Assembly still preserved the best of Roland City in the minds of the two distinguished guests, preventing them from seeing it in such a disheveled state.

Roland City is now on the verge of spiraling out of control.

Inside the parliament hall, some members of parliament had already begun to shout that only the immediate execution of Antoine could quell the anger of the crowd outside.

Thankfully, there were still some people in the council chamber who hadn't gone mad.

A member of the stonemasons faction stood up and rejected the madman's proposal.

"Are you crazy? Just because those lunatics outside are shouting louder, we're going to give in to them with our laws? What if they start yelling the next second, demanding that we all hand over our heads? Are you going to do that too?"

The congressman, his face flushed with anger, retorted sharply.

"How could anyone make such a request! Even if someone did, no one would cooperate with them—"

“Then how do you explain this?” the stonemason faction member roared, pointing out the window. “Not long ago, just last night, could you have imagined they treated us like the Devalo?”

This statement leaves one speechless.

Even Marshal Fayette fell silent, looking at the badge hanging in the council chamber, seemingly deep in thought.

To this day, he still remembers the speech that Grand Duke Campbell gave to him and a group of officers in the Thunder City prison.

But now, it looks like he's going back to prison.

After a long silence, Fayette sighed and got up from his chair.

Facing the gazes fixed on him, he slowly began to speak.

"No matter what, the tragedy that happened in the palace must not happen here again."

“I will stop those madmen from breaking into the Summer Palace… but I hope you can use this time to seriously think about our future.”

After saying this, he walked out of the meeting room and went to direct the soldiers to set up the defensive line.

With Marshal Fayette gone, the meeting hall erupted in a cacophony of noise as everyone argued heatedly, yet no idea came to mind.

At this critical moment, it was Attorney General George who stepped forward.

Before becoming a minister, he was a stonemason and the only minister from a commoner background in the Lane administration's cabinet.

Unlike specialized departments like the Ministry of Economy, the laws of the Republic of Leyne are still under discussion, and the Ministry of Justice doesn't require much technical expertise.

George knew very well why he was placed in this position; he and Antoine were no different, both being figureheads that the National Assembly had no choice but to put up.

After all, if the six ministers appointed by the new authorities are all knights or barons, the citizens who support them will certainly not accept it.

Although the National Assembly, which was taking charge for the first time, realized the importance of propaganda, it was clear that it was still too hasty or, to put it another way, too straightforward in its actions.

If Colin were to do this job, he would immediately order twenty ministers, give each of them an impressive title, and then create a separate small group for the few who would actually do the work.

This way, there's no need to worry about who does the work and who's just a pretty face, and you won't have to put the pretty face in a bind by having to find work when there isn't any.

George is facing this very situation right now.

Antoine was at a loss as to how to stop Count Clyffetz's iron hooves with 30,000 new recruits, and George was equally at a loss as to how to balance the dignity of the judiciary with the citizens' trust in Parliament.

In order to demonstrate to the whole city the Republic's absolute determination to resist foreign enemies, he decided to do something.

While the "insects" in the parliament were arguing incessantly, he bravely came to the gates of the Summer Palace and stood before the angry citizens.

Facing those skeptical gazes, he adopted a more impassioned and indignant tone, delivering a speech destined to be recorded in history—

"The alarm bells have rung, citizens of Roland! But remember, this is not a signal of panic, but a clarion call for our assault on the enemy!"

"The Rhodes' iron hooves have already trampled the Golden Plains, and the royalists' swords are hanging over our necks! There is no time for us to fight amongst ourselves; we must unite against the common enemy!"

"To defeat our enemy, we need to be brave, even braver, and always brave!"

"Roland City will never surrender! Our republic will be reborn from the flames!"

As he roared, the battalion commander of the National Assembly artillery battalion stationed outside the city fired blank shots to cheer on Minister George.

With three deafening cannon shots, the fervent slogans immediately ignited the passion in the hearts of the Ryan people, reigniting their fighting spirit in those skeptical eyes.

"Long live the National Assembly! Long live the Republic!"

"Let's fight the Rhodes!"

"We will never back down!"

The cheers that rose and fell left Minister Conrad, who was standing on the terrace, stunned, as well as Marshal Fayette, who was preparing to clear the area by force.

Including George himself, who was covered in sweat.

Standing in the wind and snow, he felt his knees trembling. His ferocious expression wasn't entirely due to surging blood; half of it was also because of fear.

If someone in the crowd were to shoot him, he wouldn't have the superhuman strength to stop the bullet.

Fortunately, no.

Perhaps his speech pleased some great being in the unseen world, and that unseen yet omnipresent hand secretly protected him.

A large number of enthusiastic citizens dispersed from the gates of the Summer Palace, carrying torches as they surged toward various conscription points throughout the city.

They chanted George's name as they had chanted Fayette and Antoine's, vowing to drive every last Rhodes out of the Golden Plains.

The crisis appears to have passed.

Everyone in the Summer Palace breathed a sigh of relief, especially Earl Theron Gard, who was shivering on the terrace.

He had just discovered that not only was Prince Colin missing, but the delegation from the Duchy of Campbell had also quietly withdrawn from the city.

They seemed to have heard the wind.

No one told him that.

Seeing the mob surrounding the Summer Palace disperse, Theron dared not harbor any more illusions and immediately slipped out of the palace through the back door, heading to the dock on the banks of the River Run.

As it turns out, there was a reason why this opportunist survived the catastrophe in Twilight Province. The nobles of Roland City weren't as clever as him; they were already in deep trouble, yet they were still watching the commotion at the Summer Palace from their own balconies.

George's intentions were actually good.

He transformed the unsettled fear in the hearts of the citizens of Roland into the courage to defend their homeland in the most direct way.

At his call, people did indeed disperse from the gates of the Summer Palace, preparing to rush to the front lines to defend their hard-won freedom.

However, that is precisely where the tragedy lies.

Worse than messing things up is doing the right thing too much.

Roland City's logistics system was simply insufficient to handle such a massive influx of people. The recruitment points were quickly overcrowded, and the officers in charge of registration were so packed with the enthusiastic crowds that they couldn't even keep their tables.

Ultimately, the National Assembly's conscription system was inherited from the Devalo dynasty, as were its bureaucrats.

No one expected so many people to join the army, so much so that they ran out of registration papers.

It wasn't just the paper that ran out; the Roxay rifles in the warehouse also ran out.

Tens of thousands of passionate citizens stood in the cold wind, unable to get a carriage to the front lines or even a receipt to register for conscription.

The anger burning in his chest had no outlet.

These truly brave people, incited by a group of cowardly pretenders, quickly turned their anger towards the only target they could vent their frustrations on—

"Since we can't reach the enemies outside the city, let's take care of the enemies inside the city first!"

Someone shouted that in the crowded throng.

This statement is like a lit match thrown into a barrel full of gunpowder.

The citizens of Roland City, their eyes bloodshot, quickly set their sights on the enemies within the city whom they could "find without going to the front lines."

They were the old nobles who remained in Roland, the priests who refused to swear an oath to the charter, and the political prisoners suspected of having ties to the old dynasty.

Under the influence of the atmosphere of war, these people were all labeled as traitors and became a hidden danger that could collude with the enemy forces outside the city at any time.

As night fell, Roland City did not fall asleep; instead, it was filled with a bloody revelry.

Armed civilians, carrying still-burning torches, pitchforks, and daggers, surged like a tide towards the major prisons of Roland City.

That grand and imposing scene was like a reenactment of the storming of the royal prison years ago.

The only difference is that in that uprising they had an enemy whose name they could recall, but tonight no one knows exactly who their enemy is, only that he is called a traitor.

No one would wear the word "traitor" on their face, and no one would use it as their name.

So they had to find it themselves.

The prison gates were easily broken open.

The guards on duty at the prison were dumbfounded, never expecting the angry crowd to attack. They dropped their weapons and scattered like birds.

It was fortunate that they ran fast, otherwise they would have certainly become the first wave of cannon fodder to die under the wrath of the crowd. However, while they escaped quickly, those imprisoned suffered.

Back then, the royal prison didn't hold many real political prisoners, and the affiliated prison of St. Anne's Monastery obviously didn't hold many traitors from the old dynasty either; it mostly held petty thieves.

However, the neighboring Saint-Abbé prison had already executed a hundred people. If they didn't kill a single one, wouldn't they be ridiculed by their own people?
After some discussion, the angry citizens finally set up a trial bench in the prison courtyard using a few wooden tables, and a so-called citizens' court was hastily established.

The "judge" sitting behind the table didn't even listen to the criminals' excuses before the verdicts of "guilty" were announced one after another.

There was no defense, nor was there an opportunity to appeal.

Hundreds of unarmed prisoners, bewildered and helpless, were dragged into the yard like livestock by the mob.

Among them were thieves, counterfeiters, indebted poor people, prostitutes, vagrants, and even people with mental illnesses.

Dozens of homeless teenagers were even targeted and persecuted as “future criminals” or “seeds of royalists.”

Don't even mention that none of these people are nobles.

Even the only priest was captured from the nearby streets.

Illuminated by the surrounding torches, spears mercilessly pierced chests, axes cleaved skulls, and sickles were wielded like harvesting wheat.

The screams were drowned out by the deafening slogans, turning the prisons large and small in Roland City into a shocking blood-red mess.

No one knew who they were fighting; all they could hear from the increasingly thick fog were shouts of "Long live the Emperor!" filled with fervent passion...

……

The night sky over Roland was already illuminated by blinding firelight.

The flames of the riot not only engulfed the major prisons, but also spread along the muddy streets of the lower city all the way to the most magnificent street.

Standing on the street where the fog was thickening, Coles wore a maniacal smile as he looked up at the red light that seemed to set the night sky ablaze.

"My Lord, your prophecy has been fulfilled once again!"

His voice trembled, and his expression was distorted with excitement.

The crowd standing behind him did the same, their gazes fixed on his back as if they were looking at a god.

Saint Sis above—

That guy really did predict it!

Roland City was indeed engulfed in flames!
If a few days ago the Fury faction lads still harbored a sliver of doubt about Coles's prophecy, now no one doubts it.

They couldn't help but wonder, could this guy actually be the divine child?!

Otherwise, how can we explain his ability to hear Saint Sis’s prophecies?

Under the watchful eyes of those waiting people, Coles closed his eyes once again and prayed fervently in his heart.

"My Lord, I implore you to once again guide your most devout believer! I will forever follow your prophecies and continue to move forward in the direction you have shown me!"

As before.

After a brief wait, Saint Sith's whisper echoed in his mind once more—

However, for some reason, this time its voice sounded somewhat listless, even though the show had only just begun.

“Very well, as I told you, Roland City… is on fire. The only way to reunite this fractured Ryan is to cut off everyone’s escape route with a complete break… that Orphea Castellion, she’s at the Royal Theatre, go and kill her.”

It doesn't matter anymore.

Norville had actually lost interest in continuing the act; in fact, it was only putting on this line out of professional ethics. After all, it was different from that arrogant fellow, and also different from the ever-grubbing Claw, who always gave up halfway. It rarely threw down its pieces, even when the game was out of control.

It prepared two scripts for the dear "Father".

One of them is a script about a hero rescuing a damsel in distress, in which Prince Colin's hands are stained with the blood of the citizens of Roland in order to protect Miss Orphea.

This blood debt will haunt him for life and become an eternal curse on the Colin family, haunting them into the distant future.

The other play is the greatest sacrifice—his hands are stained with the blood of commoners as well as the blood of Miss Ophelia.

If he realizes that Ophelia is a madwoman and refuses his invitation to dance, then he will use this "Plan B" to fulfill his despair.

However, now, its carefully prepared show has just begun, and the most crucial piece has left the stage.

That's not all—

That guy also sealed away the eye it had left on Ophia.

While it enjoys unexpected changes, it finds the changes meaningless if it cannot witness the entire process firsthand.

Coles was unaware of the Lord's waning interest; instead, he felt a heartfelt joy at the new prophecy.

He turned to face the believers behind him, raised the dagger in his hand, and like a fanatical preacher, proclaimed the divine message he had just heard—

“Saint-Sis told me that the traitors are in the Royal Theater! While our lads are dying on the front lines for a shameful war, our nobles are drinking and laughing with the Empire’s lackeys in the Royal Theater! It tells me that only by killing them all can we save the crumbling Republic! For Ryan! For the Charter! Follow me!”

Leading thousands of furious followers, Coles, like a general, pointed his sword at the Royal Theatre.

Just as the prison in Roland City never expected to be targeted, the Royal Theatre clearly never expected to become a target as well.

It all happened so suddenly.

From George's speech to the citizens' uprising, the entire process took only a few hours, even before nightfall.

Unlike the heavily guarded Summer Palace, the Royal Theatre, despite its name, has no Royal Guard on duty. In fact, there are very few security guards, let alone soldiers on duty; even including the staff, there aren't more than two hundred people.

Faced with the surging mob, everyone in the Royal Theatre was stunned; even those watching the play were caught off guard and didn't realize what was happening.

"Charge in!"

"Bring out the empire's lackeys!"

Led by the madman, the enraged young men easily breached the theater's thin defenses, and a dozen security guards were instantly hacked to pieces.

Driven by the bloody thrill, the operation to capture the imperial lackeys quickly spiraled out of control, turning into a horrific massacre.

Screams and wails echoed throughout the dome.

Whether they were gentlemen in tailcoats, ladies lifting their skirts, actors performing on stage, or even cleaning workers cowering in corners begging for mercy... regardless of whether they had seen the imperial nobles today, they were all hacked to death by the mob.

The cashmere carpet was stained with blood.

Miss Marie-Lambana, who had slipped out of the box, turned pale with fright, tore off her skirt, and tried to escape into the crowd.

Honestly—

She did come with the intention of befriending the imperial nobles, but when she arrived, she learned that Prince Colin and Miss Ophia had already left.

Having come all this way, she sat down in the box that the theater had reserved for her to watch the play, but before she was even halfway through, a group of madmen covered in blood rushed in.

These guys just slash anyone they see.

At first, they tried to identify each other by their makeup and clothes, but later they didn't care about that anymore and just swung their knives and killed each other.

Unfortunately, Miss Ma Rui, who was trying to slip through the cracks, ran right into this group of bloodthirsty lunatics and had her neck slit in the face with a single blow.

Before she could even beg for mercy, she clutched her neck and collapsed to the ground, freezing that expression of despair on her beautiful face.

"No—!" Newcastle roared in despair as he looked at Miss Marie lying in a pool of blood and rushed forward without regard for anything else.

An hour ago, Miss Ma Rui's housekeeper sent him a message inviting him to watch a play here.

He arrived a little late because of parliamentary business, and only on his way did he hear that a group of thugs had stormed into the Royal Theatre, wielding knives and killing anyone they saw.

Unfortunately, Newcastle arrived too late and missed seeing his beloved one one last time.

Because he had stormed in with the rioters, the Fury faction members initially thought he was one of their own.

They didn't realize what was happening until they saw him rush to the body of a pretty girl—this guy was also a well-dressed fellow.

What happened next needs no further explanation.

Not to mention the advisors to the Constitutional Assembly.

Even if Marshal Fayet himself were standing here, he would get a few blows... if those guys could get their hands on him.

A blow to the head interrupted Newcastle's grief, plunging his world into darkness, and he collapsed heavily to the ground.

The blow hit the back of his head, and thankfully it hit the back of his head, so everyone thought he was dead.

The bloody massacre was quickly coming to an end.

Unable to find Miss Ophia no matter what he tried, Coles was filled with disappointment and panicked at his failure to fulfill the "Saint Sith" oracle.

However, the young "presiding judge" was not discouraged.

Because compared to those guys who indiscriminately killed people in prison, they did at least kill a few nobles, so their hands weren't covered in the blood of commoners.

Coles dragged out the theater owner and forced the trembling man to identify the corpses and pick out the nobles among them.

Without breaking a sweat, they quickly pulled Miss Marie Lambane and several other nobles out of the pile of corpses.

The Fury faction members were overjoyed.

After killing the theater owner, they severed the heads of the nobles and impaled them on spears they had snatched from the guards.

"These are vampires from the Lambane family!"

"Let's go! To the estate in Lambaréné!"

The demonstrators, carrying their blood-soaked spoils, marched in a grand procession toward their next target, determined to carry out a thorough purge to the very end.

The theater entrance was a complete mess.

As everyone sang their triumphant songs and left, no one noticed that a ragged beggar was trembling as he slipped out of the theater's back door.

Although the madmen of the Fury faction killed anyone they saw, they didn't target the beggars, since there were many more worthy targets around.

not only that.

They saw him dragging a "corpse" out, but assumed he was just trying to take advantage of the situation and didn't take him seriously at all.

And so, Newcastle were lucky enough to escape disaster.

The beggar gritted his teeth, threw him onto a dilapidated cart, covered him with a tattered overcoat, and dragged him out of the city.

……

The wilderness outside Roland was bitterly cold.

The beggar could no longer pull the cart, so he stopped it near a secluded grove of trees.

Just then, a cold wind suddenly blew by, and Newcastle, who was lying on the cart, instinctively shivered and finally woke up from his coma.

He let out a groan, his head throbbing with pain, and he nearly fainted again. Just then, he saw the man sitting next to him, his face covered in soot.

He paused for a moment, then suddenly recognized the face.

"Sir Skedkin...?"

“It’s me, you’re finally awake… Thank goodness, I was just thinking about whether to find a church to bury you.” Sir Skadkin handed over a worn-out water pouch, his voice filled with deep weariness and a hint of barely perceptible guilt.

Newcastle instinctively reached out and took the water pouch, but didn't drink a drop. He just stared blankly at the sky in the distance, which was reddened by the firelight, and then just sat there.

Seeing his distraught appearance, Skedkin's guilt deepened. He hesitated several times before finally taking a deep breath and speaking.

"Sorry, buddy, Miss Lambane died too suddenly, there's nothing I can do... I'm all alone, all I can do is get you out."

Newcastle's Adam's apple bobbed, and a weak word rolled out of his throat.

"Thanks……"

Another long silence followed.

Sir Skadkin lowered his head.

"No, I should be the one saying thank you to you. I've always wanted to repay the favor I owe you."

Newcastle stared blankly at him, shook his head, and then looked away.

“I don’t remember you owing me any favors. We were just accomplices... If you get a share of the king’s money, that’s your due.”

“No, I remember, I owe you a lot…” Sir Skadkin shook his head, looking earnestly into his eyes. “Not just money, but something else. Remember that night at the entrance to the Royal Theatre, when Miss Lambane slapped me? You came to my rescue. Although I ultimately lost my job in the Royal Guard, I still have to thank you for helping me.”

Halfway through his sentence, he suddenly felt that his statement was somewhat inappropriate, so he quietly added a sentence at the end.

“Ah, of course, it’s not because of this that I left Miss Lambane to die; I really did my best. The era of Devallo is over, and so is my hatred for her. Besides, I think… I didn’t deserve that slap.”

He started the fire that broke out in winter.

Only Baron Wickton and himself knew about this; he dared not tell anyone.

Looking back now, that slap might have been Saint Sis's punishment for his desecration of his duty.

The person who should have been responsible for putting out the fire became an arsonist for his own selfish desires.

Ironically, he, a guilty man, has survived to this day, while a group of people who shouldn't have died have perished.

Sometimes he couldn't tell who Saint Sith was actually punishing...

Newcastle gave a wry smile.

"Okay, I won't argue with you about this. Anyway, you saved my life... Even if you owed me something, you've paid it back. As for Ma Rui... I don't blame you. There was nothing you could have done in that situation."

He knew very well that Skedkin was not a hereditary knight, and his superhuman strength was only at the level of an adventurer.

Those lunatics were clearly not ordinary people.

After all, nobles are accompanied by guards, and even if those guards are not top-tier superhumans, they are still of the level of fine steel or even silver.

perhaps--

They must have come with a mission, too.

This is the helplessness of mortals: no matter how hard Newcastle racked his brains, he couldn't see what was behind the fog.

Who exactly orchestrated all of this, and for what purpose?
He wanted to know the answer, but then he felt that it might not matter anymore, since the person he cared about was already dead.

Newcastle had to admit that his motives for approaching Miss Marie were not pure, but as they spent more time together, he fell in love with the lively, lovely, and somewhat eccentric girl.

She wasn't actually an evil person; her arrogance was only directed at people like Sir Skadkin or Bishop Claude. Ordinary people were simply not in her circle; if it weren't for tonight, they might never have crossed paths in their entire lives.

He even felt that the people who killed her were not evil either; they were simply insane.

Perhaps he should curse that mysterious will, but he didn't even have the strength to do so.

He felt like an empty shell, as if nothing mattered anymore.

Tonight, he lost the person he loved most.

And it's not just the loved ones who are lost.

Faced with Newcastle's forgiving gaze, Sir Skadden felt even more ashamed.

He kept his head down and remained silent for a long time before finally speaking out what had been buried in his heart.

"Thank you... Newcastle. There's another thank you I've always wanted to say to you."

“You’re a Campbellian, you could have just walked away, but you still did so much for us. Of course, you made me lose my job, but that’s not important… After experiencing what it’s like to be a human, I realized that being a dog isn’t so great.”

"Enough, Ryan, Campbell... What's the point of saying all this at a time like this?"

Newcastle interrupted Sir Geedkin's confession, clutching his head with both hands, hiding his pain beneath his blood-stained fingers.

Faced with that unspoken silence, he murmured softly, muttering to himself in a lost and dejected manner.

“We were all in a burning house, and this fire took everything from us. You lost everything, and so did I. Maybe I shouldn’t have been here in the first place…”

After saying that, he stood up unsteadily, leaned against a tree trunk by the roadside, turned his back to Roland City, and faced the direction from which he was leaving this land.

"Farewell, my friend, I'm going back to my hometown... Actually, the spirit within me reminded me that I should have stopped long ago; it's all my own fault."

Sir Skadkin did not try to stop him; instead, a relieved smile appeared on his face.

"Then at least let me see you off, my friend... I'm glad you consider me a friend."

Newcastle looked at him, took a deep breath of the cold air, and spoke in a somewhat incoherent voice.

“I have always considered you my friend. If you feel the same way, please take my advice and leave this place… No one can save Roland City. It is the fire itself. It will burn all the self-righteous people to ashes until it stops on its own.”

Sir Skadkin could hear the disappointment in his voice. He remained silent for a moment, then gently shook his head.

"I appreciate your reminder, but I still intend to stay."

Newcastle stared at him blankly for a long while before speaking.

"...Are you crazy?"

Even if the royalists win, he, who once abandoned the king, will not be valued by the new king.

And more likely than not, this guy won't even last that long; he'll be torn apart by the fierce factional struggle.

"Just think of me as crazy."

Sir Skadkin gave a wry smile and turned his gaze to the distant sky, which was reddened by the firelight.

During this time, he had been pondering the reasons for the destruction of the Kingdom of Lane. He considered the questions of many people, including the king, Baron Wickton, Grand Duke Campbell, and even the ethereal gods... but in the end, he still had to confront himself in the mirror.

The great fire in winter happened with his tacit approval; it was the king's tacit consent, but he was the one who carried it out.

A knight from the land of knights is supposed to protect the people behind him. He had long forgotten that sacred and ancient duty; he himself was the most blasphemous of them all.

He always had a feeling in his heart.

No matter how far he goes, his soul will eventually return to this land.

If this blood debt is not repaid, he will have to relive those tragedies again the next time he opens his eyes.

Since that's the case—

"I'm not going to run away anymore. I will fight for this land and for my brothers and sisters who live on this land."

"That was an obligation I once relinquished."

"I want to pick it up myself."

……

On the other side, on the snow-covered Golden Plain, Marmont, who had taken command of the Sixth Militia Regiment from Antoine, was holding a monocular telescope and gazing at the distant horizon.

Count Clement's banner still has not appeared.

It seems that the victory in Longville made the Earl completely underestimate his opponent.

Of course, he might also be hoping to break the courage of the citizens of Roland with a single letter and send Charles de Valloo back to the palace without bloodshed.

At that moment, Commander Wilt walked up to him through the thick snow.

To be honest, Wilt didn't quite believe that the young man could defeat Count Clement.

In terms of both quantity and quality, the allied forces of the kingdoms far surpassed those of the Republic.

Although they lost the support of the Academy, it did not mean that they had no magicians of their own.

And it's not just magicians.

The cannons of the Kingdom of Rhodes are in no way inferior to their magic.

"Have you come up with any ideas yet?"

Wirth asked casually, not expecting an answer from Marmont.

To his surprise, the young officer smiled and said confidently.

"Yes, Your Excellency Wilt, but I don't know if I should say it now."

Wilt paused for a moment.

"Does this need to be kept secret?"

Marmon shook his head.

"It has nothing to do with secrecy, it's just that I haven't figured out how to convince you yet."

Wilt chuckled and said.

"Just tell me what you have to say. Commander Antoine asked me to cooperate with you, and I will do my best."

I was just waiting for him to say that.

Marmont wore a triumphant smile and shoved the binoculars into his arms.

Wilt accepted it blankly.

Before he could ask, Marmont looked at him seriously and said in a stern tone.

“Commander Wilt, you know our situation. If we confront the royalist army on the plains, we have no chance of winning… That’s probably why Commander Antoine abandoned us.”

“He was trying to persuade the council—” Wilt’s expression was somewhat awkward. He coughed lightly, wanting to say a few words on Antoine’s behalf.

However, he was interrupted by Marmon as soon as he opened his mouth.

“That’s not important. No matter what the council decides, it won’t make our enemies disappear. What I’m going to talk about now is our only chance of winning. Do you see that forest ahead? You should take a good look at it. It’s the most expansive forest on the Golden Plains, and it’s our only hope.”

Wilt picked up his binoculars and looked ahead, a strange expression appearing on his face.

"You want to confront Earl Clement there?"

Strategically speaking, it was indeed a good idea, but how could Earl Clyffet not know that?
He even suspected that the reason the other side wasted so much time in Longway was to requisition all the city's wagons for supplies, in order to prevent the Republic's army from catching them off guard in the forest.

They need to advance steadily and surely; this war will likely be more difficult than he imagined.

The other party was clearly a very experienced general.

However, just as he was thinking this, Marmont's answer took him by surprise.

"Ambush them? I'm not that stupid. What I can think of, Count Clemente can certainly think of too. However, he would never imagine that I would have Commander Wilt lead ten thousand men in small groups, lying in ambush in the nearby villages. After their main force crosses this forest, we will strike their supply lines head-on—"

Wilt was stunned for a moment, then turned pale with shock.

"Are you crazy?! Break up into smaller groups?! All ten thousand of them will run away without a single one left! I'd rather fight them on the plains!"

Although he was prepared to die for his country, dying in this way would only make him a deserter.

Marmont seemed to have guessed he would say that, so he took a step closer to him, looked directly into those wavering eyes, and said earnestly.

“No one will escape, Commander Wilt, I assure you! The lads still on the front lines are just like you and me, the backbone of this nation!”

"We are all prepared to die heroically, ready to defend our republic with our blood, so stop treating them as serfs under the lords! There is only one thing we need to do now, and that is to make them believe that we can win this battle!"

Wilt stared incredulously at Marmont, at those azure eyes, and was speechless for a moment.

He thought the guy was crazy.

Even more insanely, he couldn't find the words to refute him—

This young officer actually intimidated him with his presence!
“What should I do…” He took a deep breath. “I mean, more specific deployment. Including how we break up into smaller units, how we maintain contact with the various units, and… exactly where to ambush them.”

Marmon smiled slightly, as if he had been prepared, and turned to walk towards the command tent.

"Come with me, and I'll tell you."

(End of this chapter)