A different world game? A different world game!

At a banquet inside the castle.

The servant stumbled and pushed open the heavy, carved wooden door of the banquet hall, his magnificent uniform soaked with a mixture of sweat and blood.

He almost collapsed at the feet of the Grand Eunuch, screaming hoarsely.

"My lord! The traitors...the rebels have stormed in! The old knight...he...he's covering the rear! Quickly...quickly escort His Majesty out! The city gates...the city gates have been breached!"

If he were smart, he would know to tell me quietly in this situation, but the situation outside completely terrified him.

He's almost delirious now.

The banquet hall, which had just been filled with insincere laughter, the clinking of crystal glasses, and complaints about the Night's Watch "disrupting the market," fell into a deathly silence.

Immediately following was King Ctyr VI's deafening roar.

His obese body sprang up abruptly from the magnificent throne, scattering the delicacies on the table with a crash, and nearly causing his jeweled crown to fall loose.

"What?! A bunch of lowly commoners, how dare they do this! Guards! Where are the guards? Hang all these vile bastards! Hang them on the city wall to dry in the wind!"

That hysterical screaming, that furious roaring.

This was his birthday banquet, and for this situation to occur was a slap in the face to him as king, and extremely insulting to a member of the royal family.

For decades to come, he may become a laughingstock among the nobility.

However, when the servant added with a sob in his voice...

"Knight Commander... is being held back... they're about to reach the inner fortress!" Upon hearing this, the king's face, which had been flushed with rage, instantly turned ashen.

All his violence was instantly replaced by fear. He felt as if his bones had been removed, his obese body swayed, and he collapsed directly beside the throne, his crown, inlaid with a huge sapphire, crookedly resting on his forehead.

He frantically tried to get up, but tripped over his own gold-embroidered royal robe that dragged on the ground, wriggling awkwardly on the floor like a startled, fat beetle.

"A secret passage! Yes...a secret passage!"

He screamed shrilly, completely ignoring the queen who was pale and about to help him up, and even roughly shoved away his youngest son who was trying to hug his leg.

The child burst into tears, and the jeweled rattle in his hand rolled onto the carpet, but the king didn't even glance at it.

"Quickly! Take me away! Now! Immediately! Queen... Queen, come with me!"

He rambled incoherently, frantically trying to climb behind the throne at the enormous tapestry depicting the ancestors' conquests, where the royal family's last escape route was hidden.

The murky urine left a dark, foul-smelling stain on the scarlet velvet carpet he had crawled over.

He was so ugly; no king had ever been so ugly.

No king would be in such a defiled state; this is not how a ruler of a country should behave.

That's why the Night's Watch chose this place as the origin of the new order.

This place was once home to human kings, the birthplace of the first king.

He was an absolute hero, a hero who led humanity in rebellion against the elves.

This is a place of glory.

However, after a long period of division, the former grand dukes and nobles expanded outwards, dividing the kingdom.

The original human kingdoms were just a small region compared to the entire continent now.

Meanwhile, the truly great powers had long since prospered through expansion and conquest.

For all the nobles of the kingdom, this place is now only a memory of past glory.

All that remains is its symbolic meaning.

The former kingdom's territory consisted of the kingdom's capital, several surrounding satellite cities, and scattered villages and towns.

The location isn't great either.

To avoid incurring public wrath by attacking this place, and to prevent it from becoming an excuse for other nobles to attack.

Nobody is interested in this place.

Under such circumstances, the originally sacred bloodline becomes increasingly absurd.

They have fallen from their former glory.

In the past wars between evil gods, those with even a little talent had long since fallen into the arms of the evil gods, causing one chaos after another and leading to the extreme decline of the entire country.

The already impoverished national strength has weakened further, until now only superficial glory and history remain.

The chaos and madness brought about by the evil god led to the successive deaths of the bloodline of the former kingdom.

The current king is merely an incompetent puppet who has been elected and has not even received any education.

The king's blatant disgrace and abandonment of his wife and children caused an uproar in the banquet hall, like a drop of boiling oil being thrown into a pot.

"Oh my god, take us away."

"Those peasants started a rebellion; they've gone mad."

The shrewd react the fastest.

Count von Eric's arrogance had vanished; his eyes were sharp as an eagle's. He grabbed his mistress and whispered a wink to a few of his trusted noblemen.

The group quietly retreated to the side hall—clearly, they knew of more than one secret passage.

Of course he knew.

After all, he is the actual power behind this kingdom.

Several powerful nobles who were truly manipulating the country behind the scenes immediately exchanged glances, dispersed, and quickly left the scene amidst the chaos with their trusted subordinates.

The idiot is still shouting.

The baron with the vine badge who had been complaining about the "drop in price of Château Golden Spike's fine wines" was now red-faced, waving his gold wine glass and cursing loudly towards the gate.

"What are you afraid of! A bunch of rabble! The inner fortress's bronze doors are half a foot thick. Do you think they can gnaw them with their teeth?"

"Guards! Hold the line! Hold the line! You'll each get ten gold coins as a reward!"

The other equally bloated and sycophantic followers around him nodded, trying to appear calm, but their trembling hands betrayed their inner fear.

Holding a handkerchief, he kept wiping the sweat from his forehead.

The socialites screamed, their piercing screams echoing like knives scraping against glass.

The pearl necklace was torn off and tumbled to the ground, landing under the hurried high heels.

The expensive silk dress was stepped on and torn.

Her heavily made-up face was distorted with fear, and her carefully styled hair was disheveled.

They huddled together like startled pigeons, completely bewildered and only able to scream and cry.

Many more people wandered aimlessly through the magnificent hall like headless flies, trying to find a way to survive.

Someone knocked over the champagne tower, and golden liquid and shattered crystals splashed everywhere.

Some people pushed and shoved each other and hurled insults at each other in order to grab what seemed to be a safe passage.

An old marquis tried to move a heavy, solid gold candlestick as a weapon, but he twisted his back and curled up on the carpet in pain, groaning.

The entire banquet hall, the core fortress symbolizing centuries of "nobility and glory," was now nothing but luxurious ruins, the pungent stench of urine, hysterical screams, and the ugly face of humanity exposed under the threat of death.

Meanwhile, the battle had reached its climax at the last bronze gate of the inner fortress.

The roars of the mob, the clash of weapons, and the dying wails blended into a symphony of destruction.

The adventurer leader, nicknamed "Black Wolf," wore faded leather armor stained with blood, yet wielded his heavy two-handed battle axe with the force of a whirlwind, each strike powerful and devastating.

The attack, fueled by the pent-up anger of the common people for a century, slammed down on the knight commander clad in gleaming plate armor.

The knight commander was a master swordsman, his family's "Lionheart Sword Technique" was powerful and sweeping, the blade tearing through the air with a piercing hiss.

"You lowly reptile! How dare you challenge the honor of the Griffin family?!" The knight commander's eyes were bloodshot, his face under his helmet twisted with anger and shame. Every block he made made Black Wolf's arm go numb, but the wild flames burning in Black Wolf's eyes burned even brighter.

"Glory? Glory built with our blood, tears, and the bones of our wives and children?!"

The black wolf roared and with a powerful sweeping blow, forced the knight commander back, leaving a deep dent in the opponent's magnificent breastplate.

The only reason I have achieved success and fame, the reason I have already established glory in the expansion of the continent of Taril, is to return.

It's about revenge.

The reason he became one of the first adventurers, rushing to join the Night's Watch's pioneering team without hesitation.

It was because he had nothing and his heart was filled with the rage of revenge.

When he felt he had the strength, he returned without hesitation.

He was furious with these damned nobles and wished he could tear them to pieces.

"Taste what it's like to be trampled underfoot, noble sir!"

The Knight Commander was stronger and possessed a more powerful fighting spirit, nearly driving Black Wolf into a corner several times.

But Black Wolf was not fighting alone.

From the shadows in the distance, a silent arrow shot out like a venomous snake, precisely embedding itself in the joint gap of the knight's left leg armor.

"Ugh!"

The knight commander froze in pain.

At this critical moment, the black wolf pounced like a real wolf, its battle axe whistling through the air.

From a tricky angle, it cleaved the connection between the knight's helmet and neck armor from below.

Scalding blood spurted out, staining the black wolf's ferocious face red.

This strike was powerful and heavy.

Magic gathered upon it, and the attack's ferocity increased several times over due to the rage.

"I will cut off your head, even if it is a favor, it will still cost you your life!"

The knight, whose health was already low due to several attacks, had his health bar completely depleted in this final attack.

The once arrogant Griffin Knight Commander, filled with endless anger and resentment, collapsed to the ground.

The head was not severed; half of the skin and flesh remained attached.

The last thing he saw was the eyes of a commoner burning with the flames of revenge.

This wasn't the only battle here; all the knights were tied down or even killed.

On the other side, Sir Barton, an old knight with white hair and beard, was engaged in a fierce battle with a middle-aged adventurer who also had graying temples, was holding a sword and shield, and was dressed as a mercenary.

Both fighters used simple, unadorned techniques, yet each move was deadly, brimming with the ruthlessness and efficiency honed in battle. Their swords and shields clashed, producing a dull thud.

"Impressive skills, veteran!"

Sir Barton deflected a straight thrust, panting as he praised, a hint of admiration in his eyes.

"Which military unit did you serve in?"

He was very familiar with the enemy's fighting techniques; he had fought alongside soldiers like these when he was young, so he recognized them quickly.

"Northern Border Guard, 'Grizzly' Regiment".

The adventurer replied in a deep voice, his shield deflecting the opponent's swift counterattack.

And you, Sir?

"The Royal Knights, 'Iron Wall'," Sir Barton announced, his tone carrying both pride and a touch of melancholy.

"Where glory lies, there is no choice but to fight."

“I understand, Sir.”

The adventurer's eyes held a complex expression.

"We have no choice but to fight in order to survive and for our descendants to have a chance to catch their breath."

Both of them understood each other's position and principles.

After a brief silence, the battle resumed, becoming even more intense.

There was no flashy fighting spirit, only the experience and will to fight to the death.

Finally, after a powerful strike of the shield, Sir Barton, due to his age and the exhaustion from the previous battle, was a beat slower.

The adventurer's longsword, like a viper's tongue, pierced precisely through the weak spot in the old knight's rib armor.

Sir Barton grunted, leaning on his sword, and slowly knelt down, watching the crowd rushing towards the inner gate, and murmured.

"Glory...to..."

Before he could finish speaking, he breathed his last.

The adventurer silently sheathed his sword, gave a brief warrior's salute to the fallen old knight, and then turned to plunge into the fiercer battle.

Even if he was a respectable old knight, he was still an oppressive nobleman.

Not all knights were suppressed.

A burly knight wielding a long-handled warhammer displayed astonishing strength.

He stood like a rock blocking the path of the charging mob, his warhammer swung like a windmill, each strike bringing a storm of blood and gore, smashing a young adventurer who had charged too far ahead, wielding a short axe, to pieces, along with his weapon.

After being attacked several times, his health was depleted, and he died on the spot.

He laughed wildly: "Ants! No matter how many there are, they're still ants!"

However, the mob's torrent was endless.

The death of his companion fueled even greater rage. "Avenge Scarface!"

Several mobs wielding spears and two other experienced adventurers, a warrior with a two-handed sword and a burly man wielding a flail.

They pounced at the same time.

Spears thrust and stab, flails entangled the warhammer, while two-handed sword warriors fearlessly engaged in close-quarters attacks.

Despite his bravery, the knight was momentarily flustered.

A stray arrow struck again, hitting his warhorse in the rump, causing the startled horse to rear up.

The knight was thrown to the ground.

In an instant, countless weapons rained down—spears, pitchforks, maces, cleavers… like an angry tide crashing against an isolated reef.

The once arrogant knight was instantly overwhelmed by the raging crowd, and even his screams didn't last long.

The other two or three young knights, who were surrounded and saw that all was lost, trembled in despair, threw down their weapons, knelt down and surrendered, and were then brutally bound by the mob.

"Charge in! Hang those noble lords!"

"Drag the king out!"

"For old John! For everything that has been taken from us!"

Amidst deafening roars, the last bronze gate of the inner fortress, pushed and shoved by countless hands, hacked by weapons, and struck by battering rams, groaned under the unbearable weight and collapsed inward with a deafening crash!

A torrent of mobs and rebels, mingled with blood, sweat, and the fervor of revenge, surged like lava bursting its banks into the inner fortress hall, the ultimate symbol of power and luxury in the Kingdom of Ktyr.

Their goal was clear and violent.

Seize those trembling nobles and hang them from the flagpoles that symbolized their "noble lineage" and "the glory of Golden Harvest Manor." (End of Chapter)