Simultaneous travel: I am a talented person in all the worlds

Chapter 430 Welcoming the Royal Army! A Bloody Night in the Capital!
Esdeath followed the Sartus tribe and set off from the west.

The massive army marched south along the wide official road.

Unlike the previous northern battlefields, which were filled with ice and snow and bloodshed, this journey was less of a campaign and more of an armed outing.

Esdeath rode a snow-white warhorse, her chin resting on her hand, her delicate face etched with the word "boredom."

Behind her stood 100,000 warriors of the Sartus tribe, their banners fluttering and their armor gleaming in the sun.

The overall style of the journey was somewhat comical.

Whenever the army marched to the foot of a city, the imperial guards on the city walls would often only glance at it from afar before a brief commotion would break out.

Immediately afterward, before Esdeath could send anyone forward to announce her presence, the city gate would creak open on its own.

We warmly welcome the royal army!

The whole process was extremely smooth.

The powerful families in the city, whose members had held high office for generations, were naturally unwilling to simply submit to slaughter. They used all sorts of tricks, including threats and inducements.

But the garrison troops in each town were not fools either.

They numbered in the tens of thousands, or at least a few thousand, and were mostly inland troops who had hardly seen bloodshed; their combat strength was about the same as that of the militia.

Normally, relying on their superior numbers and equipment, they could only manage to fight off bandits and highwaymen, and suppress starving mobs—that was their limit.

Are you suggesting they face the humanoid calamity Esdeath, along with the 100,000 clearly formidable tribal warriors behind her?

What a joke!
No matter how many benefits are promised, you may have the life to receive them but not the life to enjoy them.

As for what the powerful families said, such as the other side liking to massacre cities, etc.
These guards aren't blind.

They are soldiers, the kind who are as skilled as a comb, so you can't see the spirit of an army.

Orders are obeyed and everyone is united.

Even during the march, the ranks were so orderly that they looked as if they had been drawn with a ruler.

An army like this is clearly disciplined.

If you fight to the death, they might resort to the dark tactics of slaughtering one city and subjugating ten others, just to deter future invaders.

Now that you've surrendered voluntarily, even if the "royal army" needs to replenish its supplies, the first place they'll raid is the homes of you powerful and wealthy families.

What does this have to do with us lowly soldiers who only earn a few hundred copper coins a month?

After all, the best things are all in the mansions of the landlords.

No matter what kind of army it is, even if you think about it with your backside, they would rob the landlord, leave a small part of the troops behind, and then continue to raid the next place.

To expand one's sphere of influence to the greatest extent possible in the shortest time, until there is simply no more capacity left to expand.

That's when we'll digest and expand our power. Whether it's development and construction or plundering for profit, we'll see the difference then.

What makes sense to massacre the surrendered city in the first place?
These ordinary people may not have much foresight or wisdom, but having lived on the same land for generations, they have passed down various survival experiences by word of mouth.

National righteousness and national pride are things that are somewhat outdated for the last dynasty.

Unless the new master is so inhuman that he doesn't give them any chance to live.

If you're given a way to survive and can live a better life, that's not occupation, that's liberation.

While the Church of the God of War might not seem to have reached that level in the eyes of these people, it certainly didn't make their lives any worse than before.

And so, Esdeath, bored out of her mind, "acquired" more than a dozen cities along the way.

As the empire's strongest warrior, she knew this would be the outcome before she even set out, both in terms of individual strength and command.

But as a pure and warlike general, she didn't want to think about anything else; all she wanted to do was fight.

And those tribal warriors who yearned for battle, who longed to exchange the blood and heads of their enemies for war merits and to enhance the power of the war god within them, thought the same way.

But along the way, let alone enemies, there wasn't even anyone who dared to speak loudly.

Military regulations don't allow them to act recklessly!

Before they set off, the three tribes had just taught them the consequences of disobeying military regulations through bloody lessons.

Having witnessed the trial firsthand, none of them dared to defy the odds and continue their misdeeds at this time.

Until the scouts brought an urgent report that the area ahead was actually controlled by the Southwest Resistance Army.

"Are we finally here?"

A glimmer of light appeared in Esdeath's icy blue eyes.

Why did she come here with the Sartus tribe? Wasn't it because she believed the rebels would never surrender?
The 30,000 elite tribal cavalry under Esdeath's command, each with one rider and three horses, traveling day and night, perked up at Esdeath's words.

They rushed for several days, but didn't fight a single battle. They gained dozens of cities for free, and they felt like they were about to get a rash.

Is it finally time for a war to break out?

It should be noted that the Church of War's military merit system is somewhat peculiar. Although territorial expansion and legion command are also considered military merits, they are greatly reduced.

On the contrary, the military merits of killing enemies in battle were exaggerated to the greatest extent!

Moreover, besides military merits, the power of the God of War within them can only be enhanced through battle and slaughter.

Strength determines whether they can kill more and stronger enemies, and is directly linked to their glory and status.

The scout on Pegasus reported:
"Reporting to the general! The enemy has already set up camp on the mountain ahead, and their numbers are around 300,000!"

Three hundred thousand!
A tenfold difference in troop strength!
Upon hearing this news, the 30,000 elite tribal cavalry showed no fear whatsoever; instead, their eyes shone brightly and their breathing became heavy.

Finally, there's a damn war to fight, and it's worth 300,000 military merits!
For a moment, the high-ranking officers, including Esdeath, Chief Sartus, and the commander of ten thousand, were very excited.

Their elite cavalry were very excited.

With 30,000 against 300,000, each person could earn an average of ten levels of military merit!
The atmosphere on the tribe's side was getting excited.

At that very moment, a rider suddenly charged out from the opposing army formation.

He rode alone, galloping all the way to the front lines of the two armies.

Upon seeing this, Esdeath's lips curled into a smile.

Will you announce your name upon arrival? Or will we duel on the battlefield?
interesting!
She was preparing to spur her horse forward, to be the first to kill the enemy general and establish her merit.

But just then, the bearded man opposite him shouted:
"We surrender! We surrender! We, the resistance, are willing to join the Church of the God of War and serve the High Priest!"

"..."

Esdeath, who was about to charge, froze on the spot and almost fell off her horse.

"Ah this."

Behind her, 30,000 warriors of the Sartus tribe stared wide-eyed, frozen in place.

That's completely unacceptable.

Three hundred thousand military merits! Three hundred thousand military merits!

It’s just gone!
Gone! !
The bearded man felt that the tribal elite cavalry of the Church of the God of War were looking at him strangely, as if they wanted to devour him. He sighed inwardly:

'Good heavens... Is this the ferocious army of the Church of War? They truly live up to their reputation! That killing intent is terrifying!'
-
imperial capital.

The residence of Lord Ernest.

Inside the luxurious room, a priceless antique vase was violently swept to the ground by a large, fat hand, shattering into countless fragments.

"A bunch of pigs! A bunch of complete and utter idiots!"

Minister Ernest's chest heaved violently, and his fat face turned a deep liver color from extreme anger.

His composure and calmness vanished upon receiving this "surprise" from the southwest. He felt a rush of heat to his head, his vision blurred, and he nearly collapsed.

He clutched his forehead, which was throbbing from his soaring blood pressure, and sat down, leaning on the chair for support.

Incomprehensible.

I really can't understand it!

Are those powerful families, who call themselves the elite of the empire and so-called nobles with a thousand-year-old lineage, really filled with filth?!
Ernest was actually aware of the shady dealings between the rebels and those powerful families.

In fact, his strategy for dealing with this thorn in his side in the southwest was to assassinate the real grassroots generals and suppress the uprising.

After all, he was well aware of the consequences of his own tyranny; the pressure within the empire was too high, and there had to be a way to release that pressure.

It was precisely because of his simultaneous assassinations and indulgences that those powerful families were able to so easily promote their own people to high-ranking positions in the resistance.

From Ernest's perspective, this rebel army, which had been thoroughly infiltrated by powerful families, should have been able to reach a consensus when facing the Church of War, a common enemy of both sides.

This has nothing to do with anything else but survival.

For the powerful clans, the doctrines of the Church of War were a hundred times more terrifying than Ernest's iron-fisted rule—a "natural disaster."

Property was confiscated, medals were awarded based on military merit, and all class barriers were broken down.

This is practically digging up the ancestral graves of a powerful family.

Therefore, in his play, the emergence of the Church of the God of War is both a crisis and an opportunity.

That's why he dared to make that bold strategic decision.
Abandoning the north, they redeployed troops originally intended for defense against the southwestern resistance, concentrating all forces along the Huguan and Hulaoguan lines to maximize the strengthening of the eastern and northern defenses.

If the Church of the God of War fails to enter the pass, it will inevitably clash with the resistance army.

If the two sides can fight to the point of mutual destruction, and I can then reap the benefits, the empire might even be able to continue its national fortune for another century.

then
The rebels surrendered.

This bunch of pig-like noble families can't even keep an eye on their own dogs!

What Ernest found even more unacceptable was that, according to the intelligence he possessed, the Church of War had not sent anyone to persuade the rebels to surrender!
From beginning to end, their strategy was to sweep across the land, including the rebel territory in their attack range.

It was those scions of noble families who were killed by the peasants and then rushed to surrender!
This move was like a sharp knife stabbing him from behind, piercing the heart of all his strategic plans.

The meticulously constructed defenses of Huguan and Hulaoguan instantly became a colossal joke.

With the Church of War and the rebels joining forces, there's no need to gnaw on those two tough nuts to crack. They can simply march in with overwhelming force along the western defense line, which Ernest himself had emptied out.

"Report—!" A messenger stumbled into the mansion, bringing the latest and most deadly military report.

"The Tongguan garrison commander surrendered the city! Wuguan... The Wuguan garrison mutinied, and the commander was killed in battle! The enemy... An enemy army of 600,000 men crossed the pass, their advance pointing directly at the capital!"

"Heh...hehe...hahahaha!"

Minister Ernest suddenly burst into a nervous laugh.

"Okay, very good!"

He slumped into the chair, as if all his strength had been drained away; the situation had now completely spiraled out of his control.

He schemed his whole life, but he never expected that his opponent, or rather, his 'teammate,' would be so foolish as to squander everyone's last chance.

But now that things have come to this, all regret and anger are useless.

The calculation failed, the situation was urgent, and there was no time to plan or implement a new plan.

Conventional methods are no longer effective.

Minister Ernest slowly narrowed his eyes, his panic and anger vanishing, replaced by a desperate and resolute madness.

He still held onto his last, and strongest, card.

A trump card that can flip the entire chessboard, and even send all opponents flying, along with the chessboard itself!

The little emperor, who obeyed his every word, was carefully "cultivated" into a puppet by him.

Ernest was certainly not so naive as to think that the title of emperor could have any effect when an army of 600,000 was at the gates.

If they dare to kill even powerful families, why would they care about the life or death of a puppet emperor?

What he valued was the bloodline flowing in the young emperor's veins—the blood of the man who had founded the empire a thousand years ago.

The bloodline of the First Emperor!
That was the only key to unlocking the Empire's first and strongest Imperial Arms—

The Guardian God of the Nation, "Supreme Throne"!
A super-large combat mech, towering over a kilometer high, lies dormant deep beneath the capital city.

Legend has it that, a thousand years ago...

It was by riding it that the First Emperor swept across the land, suppressed all the powerful and dangerous species within the empire, and laid the foundation for the empire's eternal rule.

If the First Emperor himself were to arrive, wielding the "Supreme Throne," he would even possess the terrifying power to hunt down super-dangerous species of the overlord level.

Of course, the young emperor, whom he had deliberately spoiled, was mentally and physically weak, unable to exert even one ten-thousandth of the First Emperor's abilities.

But, so what?

The lower limit of the National Guardian Machine God's ability to destroy a nation is right there in front of us.

Once it can be successfully started, it is invincible!

The thought of that colossal god, as imposing as a mountain, capable of destroying a city with a mere gesture, stirred a flicker of greed and fanaticism in Ernest's eyes.

Perhaps... this desperate situation is also an opportunity.

A golden opportunity that would not only allow him to quell all rebellions, but also to uproot and eliminate the deeply entrenched and troublesome powerful clans within the empire...
"Somebody come!"

From the shadows, four figures appeared silently, kneeling on one knee.

It was his most trusted private executioners, the elite chosen from tens of thousands of masters at the Imperial Fist Temple—the Four Demon Rakshasa!
“I suspect that spies from the northern barbarians have infiltrated the city and are colluding with certain unscrupulous individuals within the city, intending to overthrow the empire.”

Ernest's voice was icy, his eyes filled with murderous intent, "Your mission is to root out all these 'spies' and 'rebels,' leaving no one alive."

"Remember, it's...all of it."

"As ordered!"

The four demons bowed their heads in response.

"Go."

Ernest waved his hand. "Let the nights in the capital be a little cleaner."

"Yes!"

The four figures once again turned into shadows and disappeared, as if they had never existed.

Only Minister Ernest remained, gazing up at the waning moon on the horizon, a sickly smile on his face, his eyes seemingly burning with raging flames.

"Die, all of you... rebels and noble families... you trash, all of you will become sacrifices for the opening of my new world!"

The waning moon in the sky seemed startled by his madness, stirring up the surrounding clouds and obscuring its cold radiance.

Meanwhile, within the capital, an atmosphere of despair and panic was spreading through the mansions of the most powerful and wealthy.

They learned of the rebels' loss of control and defection to the enemy even before Ernest did.

After all, many of those "nails" whose heads were chopped off were their relatives and kin.

When the secret report, risked at the risk of his life to deliver, was placed before the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the heads of various powerful families, they knew that it was all over.

Their biggest trump card, the pawn they used to gamble with Ernest and even to try to change the dynasty, became the sharpest knife piercing their own chests.

Powerless.

This is a common understanding in everyone's mind.

A direct confrontation with the Church of the God of War?
Don't be ridiculous. They can't even beat Ernest, let alone someone who even Ernest found troublesome.

After a brief period of silence, these old foxes, whose lineage had been passed down for hundreds of years, decisively launched their final plan.

—To survive by cutting off the tail.

The legitimate heirs and family businesses that are out in the open have become "tails" that can be discarded at any time in exchange for the continuation of the family.

They secretly selected the most intelligent and resilient members of their respective families, and had them take their families' most important secrets, books, and treasures, and escape from the capital under the cover of night through different secret channels.

As long as the "spark" remains, hope remains.

Even if the First Emperor was incredibly wise and powerful, suppressing all the noble families in the world to the point of being unable to raise their heads.

But a hundred years later, didn't this world slowly fall into the control of these powerful families?
They have enough patience to wait for the next cycle.
-
At midnight, near the west gate of the capital city, in a dark, narrow alley.

A boy dressed in coarse linen clothes, his face smeared with mud, who looked no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, was carrying a heavy bundle on his back, pressed nervously against the wall, waiting for the signal for the city gate guards to change shifts.

He was the illegitimate son of the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

He was very intelligent, even more so than his elder brother, who was pampered and raised in a secluded mansion.

Perhaps it was precisely because of this intelligence that he was chosen by his father to become the "seed" of the family.

When his father handed him the heavy package containing the family's accumulated wealth over a thousand years, and gently instructed him in a tone he had never used before to "live on, for the sake of the family," he felt an unprecedented surge of excitement and pride.

It turns out that my father valued me.

It turns out that I was the family's true hope.

However, just as he held his breath, waiting for the appointed time when the guards his father had bribed would open a way for him to survive.

A flirtatious and alluring voice suddenly rang out behind him.

"Oh dear, it's so late, where are you going, little brother?"

The illegitimate child felt a chill run down his spine, his hair standing on end!

He turned around abruptly and saw a woman dressed in strange and revealing clothing, with an incredibly hot figure, leaning against the wall with a smile, looking at him with great interest.

Her smile was as bright and beautiful as a peach blossom in spring.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer's illegitimate son, however, glanced instinctively at her long, beautiful hands, and his soul seemed to leap into his throat:
"Who are you?!"

The Four Demon Rakshasa, Linglu.

This route was planned for me by my father himself; there's no way anyone else could know it! How could she be here?

"interesting,"

Linglu turned her head, looking at him with interest, and chuckled, "Looks like you recognized me."

The illegitimate son of the finance minister was trying to say something, to buy time, and to come up with a way to survive.

A figure swept past him, and the nails of long, slender fingers suddenly extended. In a flash of cold light, his body was shattered into several pieces like tofu being cut by a sharp blade, with blood and internal organs spilling all over the ground.

"I knew it... how could it be me..."

The boy gave a bitter smile, his face revealing a profound sorrow and realization, "So, I was just a discarded pawn..."

why me?
Because I am the smartest, the most like a qualified "spark," and the most capable of deceiving everyone.

He remembered the gentle look in his father's eyes when he handed him the package.

Looking back now, I realize that in that gaze, besides expectation, there was more of a sense of guilt and ruthlessness that he couldn't understand at the time.

So...that's how it is.

Knowing full well the ruthless methods of Minister Ernest, the father sought to safely transfer his own son, the true "seed of heaven."

He then sold all his allies, all the "seeds" of other powerful families, and himself, the "discarded pawn" used to deceive everyone, to his greatest political enemy!

As for where he obtained the classified information from other allies?
As the leader of this generation of aristocratic families, the finance minister is the one most adept at internal strife.

Planting spies in an ally's home to monitor them... isn't that basic tactic?
What ruthless methods! What cold-blooded schemes!
"Have you figured it out? What a smart kid, what a pity."

Linglu smiled and squatted down, reaching out to close the head on the ground, which lay there with its eyes wide open, staring towards the Minister of Finance's residence.

Warm blood stained the package containing the "family's hope" behind him.

At the same time, brief but shrill screams echoed from several other corners of the capital.

That night, the powerful families of the capital shed a great deal of blood.

Before the "spark" they had carefully prepared could even sprout, it was uprooted and extinguished by an unseen hand.

And all of this stemmed from the betrayal of their "good ally," the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

(End of this chapter)