I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 333 The Cannon Fire Marks the Birth of the New King
The weather finally turned cold, and the first snow of winter fell one morning, covering the earth with a thin blanket of snow and adorning the trees with silver frost.

Taiwan, the jewel in the crown of Minicia, should be a snow-covered wonderland at this moment.

The first snow of early winter gently covered the city streets, ancient stone bridges, and exquisite royal pavilions, bending the pine needles and covering them with crystal-clear frost.

Everything seemed pure and peaceful, as if time had frozen at that moment.

On one side of Treasure Island City, right next to the lifeline of the capital... Emerald Lake.

This vast and deep freshwater lake is the exclusive property of the Minisian royal family and the source of fresh delicacies for the tables of two to three hundred thousand citizens in the capital.

Even in the dead of winter, the lake is not completely frozen over. Near the shore, the ice is thinner, and the dark lake water can be faintly seen flowing beneath the ice.

The lake is rich in plump trout, perch, and silver carp. Every winter, the royal fishery organizes orderly ice fishing, transporting baskets of lively fresh fish through specially made insulated channels to major markets in the capital.

Thanks to the generous bounty of Emerald Lake, even in the coldest winter, the common people of the capital could buy fresh fish and meat at low prices, nourishing the entire city.

On the lake shore, you can still see the abandoned simple wooden dock and scattered fishing net frames of the fish farm, standing silently in the snow, telling the story of the past bustle and vitality.

Noble ladies once boated and frolicked on the lake, their laughter and cheerful voices still seeming to echo in the cool air.

However, this winter tranquility and the bountiful gifts of the lake were completely shattered by the glaring weapons and the grim atmosphere.

On the eastern shore of Emerald Lake, on a vast meadow that was originally used for royal picnics after autumn hunts, the snow had been trampled into mud by countless heavy military boots, revealing the withered yellow grass and black soil underneath.

The thin blanket of snow could no longer conceal the desolation here.

The two opposing sides, like two blocks of ice about to collide violently, cast huge shadows in the frigid air across the ravaged snowfield.

On the east side of the lake stood the Minisian royal army, commanded by the eldest prince Alfred, their ranks imposing and their banners brightly displayed.

The blue and white royal banner fluttered in the cold wind, embroidered with a golden scimitar whale emblem... a symbol of the royal family.

The soldiers wore uniform plate armor or chainmail, covered with blue and white robes. In front of the formation was a solid wall of heavily armed spearmen and swordsmen and shieldmen, behind which were musketeers standing ready. The cold barrels of flintlock muskets and matchlock muskets gleamed in the snow.

On both sides of the military formation were more than fifty bronze field cannons, which were the last remaining stock in the royal armory.

Occasionally, one can see knights clad in magnificent armor and riding tall horses in the procession; they are royal court nobles loyal to the king.

The entire army was silent and oppressive, like a huge, cold piece of steel, exuding the majesty of royal power and an unquestionable force.

The soldiers' breath formed a low, heavy cloud of white mist. Their eyes were resolute, yet they could not hide the weight of witnessing their compatriots killing each other.

On the west side of the lake was a combined force of nobles and religious soldiers surrounding Princess Eleanor.

The scene here is much more mixed, with flags from different families and sects mixed together, colorful but somewhat chaotic. There are emblems representing ancient families, flags of blue tridents and sacred dolphins symbolizing the sea god, and various flags representing local lords.

The soldiers' equipment varied greatly, including well-equipped noble private soldiers and foreign mercenaries, wearing cloaks and plate armor with family crests, and carrying flintlock muskets and two-handed greatswords.

There were also fanatical temple guards who wore leather coats engraved with religious symbols and carried harpoons or scimitars.

There were also some militiamen who were temporarily conscripted, dressed in simple leather armor or cloth clothes, holding pitchforks or logging axes in their hands.

Before the allied forces' ranks, several high priests, dressed in heavy robes, held sacred symbols or scrolls, chanting incantations, seemingly performing pre-battle prayers or boosting morale.

The air was filled with the scent of incense burning in the censer, which mingled with the soldiers' sweat and the cold metallic smell, creating a peculiar and tense atmosphere.

In contrast to the silence of the royal army, the sounds of priests chanting, officers shouting, and soldiers whispering anxiously could be heard intermittently.

The noble alliance had more men than the royal army, which numbered around 70,000 compared to the royal army, which numbered only around 30,000. They also had more cannons positioned on both sides of the formation, numbering over a hundred, although the types of cannons were not uniform.

From ancient stone-throwing cannons and crude cast iron cannons to the most advanced bronze field guns in Miniscia, as well as light artillery modeled after the Bagnian barbarians, they have it all.

The frigid air seemed to freeze, even the falling snowflakes seemed to deliberately avoid this area. The gazes of the soldiers on both sides clashed silently across the trampled snowfield, like tangible swords.

The calm surface of Emerald Lake reflected the leaden gray of the sky and the grim military formations on both banks, like a giant mirror reflecting the sorrow of this kingdom's division.

Occasionally, the faint cracking sound of ice breaking could be heard on the lake surface, sounding particularly clear in this deathly silent battlefield, as if it were the groans of the fragile foundation of this land.

The once fertile lakes that nourished the capital have now become a cold testament to the fratricidal strife and the division of the kingdom.

The pristine snow blanket was trampled and stained, the winter tranquility was replaced by the deathly stillness of the pre-war era, leaving only the cold blades and silent hatred frozen on this land that should have been peaceful.

The combined forces of 100,000 men were like two primordial beasts, locked in a fierce struggle on the once tranquil lakeside, their heavy breathing seemingly threatening to crush Emerald Lake.

Such a massive population and equipment constitute the cruelest form of devastation to this land.

On the flank of the preparatory battlefield where the two armies were positioned, there was a third party bearing the royal banner... Charles Stuart, and his retinue, stood on a small hill.

Scouts from both armies, running along the flanks of the battlefield, naturally wouldn't miss this scene. They all saw the scimitar whale flag and the Third Prince's personal insignia, and then they all ignored the third-party forces.

The scouts ignored the presence of the third prince, not only because he was a member of the royal family, but also because his group was small, numbering only about fifty people.

With such a small number of people, they obviously posed no threat to either side on the battlefield, and with the royal banners in place, the scouts on both sides ignored their presence.

"This is truly... a man-made disaster!"

The third prince of Minicia sighed, draped in a white velvet cloak, riding a white horse and observing the surrounding environment of both armies through a telescope, including lakes and farmlands.

Because young Charles Stuart cared more about feeding the citizens of Treasure Island the following year, or about a legion's Emerald Lake and fertile farmland, than about the impending tragedy of war.

The once clear lake water, especially the part near the military positions on both banks, has long since become murky due to the ravages inflicted by both armies during their encampment.

The excrement of humans and horses, the dumped garbage, and the oil and rust from washing weapons and armor relentlessly polluted this source of life.

The edges of the ice were covered with nauseating filth. The shallow waters that once teemed with silver carp and pikeperch were now lifeless, with only mud slowly churning beneath the ice.

Those wooden docks and fishing net frames that were abandoned this fall have long been completely crushed and turned into firewood for soldiers to start fires for warmth or materials for building temporary fortifications.

Scattered wood fragments and broken ropes lay half-buried in the muddy snow, silently announcing the end of fishing activities.

The air, carried by the breeze, no longer carried the fresh scent of fish and moisture; instead, it was filled with a pungent, strange mixture of sweat, horse manure, cheap gunpowder, and incense.

Even though they were far apart, Charles felt disgusted by it, and was angry and nauseous at the actions of both sides in the war.

Along the lakeshore, the meticulously maintained grasslands and white mudflats have completely disappeared, and Charles still remembers the joys of his childhood.

However, this lakeside paradise, once a place where noble ladies strolled and children played, was transformed into a huge, filthy swamp by soldiers who walked, camped, and relieved themselves on it.

It was trampled and crushed by countless military boots, horse hooves, and heavy gun wheels, the snow and mud mixing into a thick, cold, gray-black slurry that reached ankle-deep.

The heart of the standoff, that open meadow once used for post-hunt feasts, is now unrecognizable.

The snow was trampled away, revealing the soil beneath that had been repeatedly crushed and turned over. The withered grass was completely crushed and mixed with the mud.

This land, which should have been vibrant and fertile in the spring, is now covered with deep ruts, hoofprints, trenches, and ugly scars left by artillery.

The fertile soil structure has been completely destroyed, and next spring, it will probably only grow weeds or be barren.

Further away, the farmland within sight was also not spared.

In their quest for fuel, building materials, and open firing range, the Allied and Royal Army soldiers swarmed like locusts.

The field ridges were leveled to reinforce the camp, and the carefully planted windbreaks and fruit trees along the field edges were felled in large swaths. The thick trunks were turned into chevaux-de-frise and barricades, while the thin branches became fuel for the campfires.

Large patches of bare tree stumps remain on the snow-covered ground, like the eyes of the earth that have been gouged out.

The furrows that were originally covered with winter crops, such as winter wheat or radishes, were dug up and became pitted and uneven. The crops were either trampled to death or eaten by hungry soldiers and livestock.

What lies beneath the snow is no longer a field brimming with hope, but a devastation ravaged and plundered by the relentless machinery of war.

Charles silently lowered his binoculars, his eyes, hidden by his black bangs, revealing a menacing anger.

Norton Peril, commander of the Fifth Legion of Miniscia, rode a black horse, half a meter behind the white horse beside him, and turned his head to look at the prince's profile, watching his anger.

"Your Highness...our plan is about to succeed."

"...However, I don't really want that kind of success."

Charles spoke without turning his head, his voice low and filled with helplessness. He sighed softly, and a ripple of "pain" seemed to flash in his eyes, which were hidden by the shadow of his bangs, but deep down there was still a cold sharpness.

"This should never have started... My father's sudden death caused everything to... spiral out of control."

Lieutenant General Norton remained silent, but he could sense the heavy sense of responsibility in the prince's words.

“Yes, Norton.”

Charles's voice carried a hint of empathetic compassion, as if he could feel the struggles and pain of every soldier in the distance.

"Looking at all this, I feel nothing but endless sorrow. My eldest brother and second sister... were blood relatives, yet they had to fight each other on this land that our father loved so much, causing the clear waters of Emerald Lake to be tarnished and the tender sprouts of winter wheat to be trampled by iron hooves..."

This is the greatest tragedy of our Stuart family, the deepest wound in the kingdom.

He shook his head slightly, his tone filled with helplessness.

"How I wish... how I wish none of this had ever happened."

His gaze swept sadly over the deep blue royal flag on the east bank.

“Brother William… he’s not a bad person at heart.”

Charles's tone carried a hint of regretful honesty.

"He's just... too much like a spoiled child. The glamour of the court, the thrill of hunting, the aroma of fine wine—these mundane pleasures are more likely to capture his heart."

The heavy burden of governing the country and the hardship of understanding the people's sentiments... these responsibilities, which require quiet contemplation and selfless dedication, may have been too heavy and tedious for him.

I often worry that if he were to truly wield power, the sycophantic court parasites around him would lead him astray, ultimately emptying the national treasury and betraying the legacy left by his father and the expectations of the people.

He sighed again, "I... really don't want to see that."

Then, his gaze turned to the west bank, filled with deeper worry.

“As for Eleanor… she is indeed intelligent, I never deny that.” Charles’s voice was filled with complex concern.

"She knew how to win people's hearts and minds, but the price she paid for that win-win situation and for that position was far too high."

Look at the ever-growing ambition in the eyes of those local lords, look at the increasingly undisguised arrogance of the sea god priests. In order to gain support, she made too many promises and relinquished too much power that should have been firmly held by the royal family to protect the unity of the kingdom.

I am truly afraid that if she succeeds, the will of the Temple of the Sea God will supersede the majesty of the crown, the great nobles will act as they please in their own territories, and the royal decrees will likely be unable to even cross the gates of the capital.

This is hardly the crowning of a queen; it's clearly... personally plunging Minicia into an abyss of theocracy and feudal fragmentation.

The Third Prince's words were filled with deep concern for the kingdom's future, which resonated deeply with Lieutenant General Norton.

Charles slowly lowered the binoculars, his movements carrying a hint of weariness. He turned to look at Norton, the sharpness in his eyes now masked by a heavy sense of responsibility, making him appear exceptionally sincere.

"So, Norton, do you understand my pain?"

His voice was not loud, but it was filled with a sense of helplessness and sorrow.

"This war is the last thing I wanted to see. It tore the land apart, polluted the lakes, trampled the farmland, and dragged countless loyal soldiers and civilians into it, causing them to kill each other... Whenever I think of these things, my heart aches."

He paused for a moment, as if suppressing his grief and indignation, his tone becoming more firm and helpless.

“But Norton, when the kingdom is pushed to the brink, when the monarchy is crumbling, when the people are lost in the darkness of the future… someone has to step forward, doesn’t he?”

He gazed at the ravaged land in the distance, his eyes seemingly piercing through the smoke of war and seeing into the future.

"Someone has to clean up this mess tainted by blood and ambition, to cleanse the filth, to rebuild order, to reclaim the monarchy from the shadow of divine authority and the greed of local tyrants, and to truly restore Minicia to its vitality and dignity."

Even if this road is fraught with thorns, even if I bear the burden of infamy, for my father's legacy, for the people of this land, for the future of Minicia, I have no choice but to shoulder this responsibility.

Charles did not say "I want to be king," but as a listener, he felt that the third prince, with his strong sense of responsibility and mission in the face of family tragedy and national crisis, was the right person to shoulder this heavy burden.

The nearby followers and guards were deeply moved, their eyes reddening, during Charles's speech, which was imbued with a sense of "grand" mission.

"Your Highness, you will become king."

"Yes... I'll clean up this mess."

Charles nodded vigorously, looking up into the distance, his grip on the reins tightening slightly, a cold glint flashing in the depths of his eyes as he surveyed the chessboard.

Thanks to his excellent eyesight and the high-definition telescope lenses meticulously ground by royal craftsmen, Charles could see that on both sides of the 100,000-strong army facing off, a group of people was leaving the army and heading towards the center of the battlefield.

That was his elder brother and second sister's team; they were holding a pre-battle meeting, making a final effort for peace.

Charles knew long ago that this meeting would take place before the great war, and that the person who brought it together was the high priest of the Church of the Sea God, the highest leader of the church, who had a high reputation in the Kingdom of Minicia.

Neither side in the civil war could ignore the efforts made by the highly respected high priest for peace.

Although the Church of the Sea God supported the Second Princess in this civil war, as the highest leader of the church, he was actually quite safe staying by the side of the First Prince.

The high priest is trying his best to persuade both sides to stop the war. He is trying to get both sides to accept a new system... the dual-king system, to bring the war to a halt.

This proposal, aside from offering no benefit to the future king/queen, held unimaginable allure for the great nobles.

It would divide the royal power, allowing nobles to gain more influence in the kingdom's political sphere and acquire more power.

Therefore, the high priest was able to successfully facilitate this meeting.

……

In the middle of the muddy open area between the east and west shores of Emerald Lake, a makeshift tent was erected.

Outside the tent, the two sides' most elite guards stood a few steps apart, glaring at each other warily, the air thick with hostility more biting than the cold wind.

Inside the tent, the atmosphere was so heavy it was almost suffocating.

Prince William Stuart sat at one end, dressed in magnificent royal hunting attire, with a dark blue cloak with gold trim symbolizing royal power over it. His face bore his usual arrogance and a hint of barely concealed anxiety.

Behind him stood several trusted nobles with gloomy faces, dressed in magnificent court attire.

On the other end, the second princess, Judith Stuart, appeared much calmer.

She wore dark riding attire that allowed for easy movement, with a cloak embroidered with delicate wave patterns over it, and the small trident emblem of the Church of Neptune pinned to her chest in the most conspicuous position.

She was surrounded by several representatives of the Church of the Sea God dressed in high priestly robes, as well as two representatives of the most powerful local nobles. Their eyes were filled with scrutiny of the royal power and consideration of their own interests.

The one who mediated the conflict was none other than Ignatius Moreau, the high priest of the Church of the Sea God.

His hair and beard were all white, his face kind yet exuding an undeniable majesty. He wore a heavy ceremonial robe inlaid with deep-sea pearls and sapphires, and held a trident scepter with a huge aquamarine at the top.

At this moment, he was using a calm yet penetrating voice to explain his "two kings" plan, which aimed to mend the rift and prevent the kingdom from collapsing completely.

"Your Highnesses."

High Priest Ignatius's voice echoed within the tent, carrying a soothing power yet containing an unquestionable authority.

"The gods, out of compassion, could not bear to see the glory of the Stuart family dimmed by fratricide, nor could they bear to see the land of Minicia soaked in the blood of their compatriots."

Therefore, I prayed to the wisdom of the sea god, who devised a plan that might temporarily calm the storm.

He glanced at William and Judith, his gaze deep, his lips moving as if about to utter that key word...

“BOOM…BOOM…BOOM!!!”

The muffled sound of gunpowder explosions did not come from underground, but from the side and rear of the tent, fifty meters away, behind the human wall formed by the guards brought by the second princess. Suddenly, three closely linked, deafening explosions erupted.

The sound was violent and short, with a piercing, tearing quality, quite unlike the muffled explosions deep within the earth.

It is the "Tiger Crouching Cannon" of the Kingdom of Bagnia.

This is a small field gun unique to the Bagnya mountain barbarians. Its barrel is short and thick, like a crouching tiger. It is not loaded with a single type of projectile, but with a large number of thumb-sized lead bullets and sharp iron shot.

Three thick plumes of grayish-white smoke, carrying a pungent smell of gunpowder, rose instantly from behind the human wall that had suddenly jumped apart.

Almost simultaneously with the explosion of the cannons, three visible metallic storms, composed of countless high-speed rotating death particles, swept across the makeshift negotiation tent like three invisible giant brooms, accompanied by a shrill whistling sound that tore through the air.

Destruction came in an instant.

The sturdy canvas tent was torn to shreds like fragile rice paper the moment it came into contact with the metal storm! The supporting wooden frame made a teeth-grinding cracking sound and collapsed instantly.

The people inside the tents became the most direct victims of this storm.

The magnificent hunting attire and the deep blue cloak symbolizing royal power of the eldest prince, Alwillem, along with the frozen arrogance on his face, were instantly pierced and torn apart by countless lead bullets.

He was like a doll being brutally dismantled, his body violently shaking and deforming in the storm of lead bullets, blood mixed with fragments of internal organs bursting out from all parts of his body like a fountain, staining the flying tent fragments red.

Before the court nobles behind him could even react, they were engulfed by the ensuing storm of iron sand. Their bodies, hidden beneath their ornate attire, were riddled with bullets, and they collapsed with screams, becoming one with the muddy snow.

Time seemed to freeze. Amidst the roar of cannons, the composure on Princess Judith's face was replaced by utter terror... She had brought these cannons to assassinate her opponents after the negotiations ended. How could they fire at this moment?!

The terror lasted less than a moment before the deadly storm of lead bullets indiscriminately covered her location as well.

Her exquisite wave-patterned cloak was torn to shreds, and the trident emblem on her chest was pierced and deformed by a lead bullet.

The high priests and representatives of local nobles around her, whether in their heavy priestly robes or exquisite cloaks and plate armor, appeared extremely vulnerable in the face of such a close and dense storm of metal.

Humans were thrown into a meat grinder, blood and flesh flew everywhere, and the sound of bones breaking was incessant. The entire negotiation area instantly turned into a hell on earth, spraying blood mist and filled with the screams of death!

Only one place remains an isolated island in this absolute storm of destruction.

Just as the storm of lead bullets was about to tear the tent apart, the heavy priestly robes of High Priest Ignatius, inlaid with deep-sea pearls and sapphires, burst forth with a dazzling and profound eerie blue light.

The light was more intense and rapid than before, as if responding to the deadly threat its master was facing. A solid, almost tangible, translucent, dark blue sphere of light instantly enveloped him.

"Puff puff……"

A dense barrage of lead bullets and iron pellets pounded wildly against the pale blue orb, producing a muffled thud that sent chills down your spine.

The surface of the light sphere rippled and dented violently, like a soap bubble being blown by a gale, instantly covered with spiderweb-like cracks. Each impact caused the light sphere to flash intensely.

The high priest's hair and beard stood on end, his face contorted and grotesque from immense pain and the extreme strain of maintaining the divine spell.

His hands gripped the trident scepter tightly, the huge aquamarine at its tip flashing wildly with unprecedented brightness, as if burning its own primal power to desperately maintain this last, crumbling sanctuary.

The scorching lead bullets and sharp iron pellets were deflected and melted by the ball of light, piling up in a small circle of molten metal at the high priest's feet.

He stood unharmed at the eye of the destructive storm, yet felt as if he were trapped in the heart of purgatory, his eyes bloodshot as he watched the scene of carnage that had instantly transformed around him, letting out a desperate roar.

The deafening roar of the artillery fire still echoed across the frozen lakeside, startling the soldiers in the front ranks of both armies who stared in terror at the rising smoke between them.

Just then, from the crowd that was unleashing a storm of death, six figures dressed in the haphazard attire of Allied soldiers, but with fanatical eyes, suddenly stood up.

Ignoring the panicked and angry crowd around them, one of them suddenly raised the still-smoldering fire rope high in his hand and, with all his might, let out a hoarse but extremely penetrating shout. The voice was full of madness and determination and clearly echoed throughout the deathly silent battlefield.

"For Bagnia, for His Highness Prince Chris, glory to the mountains!!!"

Before the shout had even faded, the six assassins, without hesitation, plunged their already prepared, poison-coated daggers into their own hearts with swift, clean movements, without the slightest hesitation.

After that, their bodies swayed, and with the lingering echo of their frenzied shouts, they fell heavily onto the cold snow, black blood spilling from the corners of their mouths, dying instantly.

On the hillside, Charles Stuart's binoculars clearly captured the three deadly plumes of smoke, the violently shaking tent, and the eerie blue light emanating from within.

His hand holding the reins was as steady as a rock, and the cold curve of his lips, against the backdrop of smoke and blood, resembled the smile of death.

"Bagnia's Tiger Crouching Cannon...Prince Chris's assassins..."

He muttered to himself, his voice so soft that only he could hear it.

"What a...perfect coronation salute for the king."

(End of this chapter)