I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 454 Nightmare in the Night
Players are always exceptionally efficient in their actions, especially when doing bad things. They are even less afraid of getting dirty or tired, and their action efficiency is off the charts.

Just like now, when someone calls on them to cause trouble on the island and attack noble soldiers...

As night fell, the outline of this coastal city on the island appeared particularly imposing amidst the sparse starlight and the occasional flickering torchlight.

The air was filled with the salty smell of the sea and a sense of impending storm.

Sir Felton, a private army officer loyal to a marquess, gripped the hilt of his overly ornate sword tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force.

He led his hundred soldiers swiftly along the empty streets toward the heart of the city... toward a granary located beneath the eastern city wall.

Felton, who was walking at the front, subconsciously turned around. He could hear the dull screech of the soldiers' armor in the night and see that everyone's eyes were as sharp as a hawk's. So, the knight felt relieved.

Felton and his men, who were walking at the front, carefully and meticulously scanned every dark corner along the way and every closed window of the houses along the road.

They were wary not only of potential mobs, but also of the private armies of other nobles.

Previously, they were barely allies for their shared goal, but now Felton knew that when the city was about to fall into the control of the adults, those allies around him would automatically turn into enemies.

This suspicion froze the atmosphere in the team like a block of ice.

Felton hadn't gone far when he spotted the mission objective... The towering stone building of the granary stood at the end of the street, a hundred meters away, dark and menacing like a crouching behemoth.

The granary doors were tightly shut, and the silence was unusual.

Felton immediately raised his hand alertly, and the team stopped immediately. The more than one hundred soldiers then spread out into a guard formation in a well-trained manner.

Compared to the kingdom's regular army, the difference between the lower and upper limits of the nobles' private armies is enormous, and the soldiers under Felton's command are just at the middle level... They have better discipline and training than the militia, but their equipment is not up to the kingdom's standard.

Of course, the kingdom's army soldiers are also poorly equipped now, as the long war has depleted the country's equipment reserves.

Felton looked at the quiet warehouse and the closed doors, and he suspected that someone had already gotten to the grain silo.

Damn it, looks like a fight is unavoidable.

Felton thought to himself, but he wasn't about to leave just like that... If he just left, he'd lose his future.

"First team, go forward and inspect the gate; the rest of you, keep watch around!"

Felton lowered his voice and gave the order. After preparing himself mentally for battle, his unease grew stronger.

Upon receiving the order, the soldiers immediately began their operation. Just as the vanguard cautiously approached the massive wooden door...

"boom!!!"

A loud bang, not from artillery fire, but from some enormous force crashing inside the warehouse, suddenly erupted. The heavy warehouse door was not pushed open, but rather smashed open from the inside as if by an angry bull, sending splinters flying everywhere!

Before the fragments and dust had settled, a burly figure, like a demon emerging from hell, roared and charged out of the hole!

The moonlight and torchlight quickly illuminated the figure.

The first thing that caught Felton's eye was a menacing horned helmet, beneath which was a face contorted by the passion of battle, and his finely crafted chainmail was splattered with unidentified dark stains.

The enemy gripped a round metal shield tightly in his left hand and brandished a gleaming sword in his right; he was clearly a seasoned swordsman and shieldman.
The appearance of this enemy was like a clarion call to attack!

"Charge for your fucking head!!!"

The battle cry of Dorok, who was leading the charge, was strange yet full of fanatical power. He gave the noble army no time to react and crashed into the astonished soldiers at the front like a whirlwind.

With a flash of sword light, the soldier at the front, who was still in a daze, suddenly spat out a stream of blood from his throat and collapsed to the ground before he could even utter a sound.

Dorok moved with inhuman speed. After killing one enemy, he raised his round shield with his left hand to parry a hastily thrusting spear. Then, with a swift and cunning thrust of his sword, he pierced through the armor of another soldier wielding a spear as if it were made of paper, and the soldier fell backward, spitting out blood.

"Enemy attack! Form ranks! Form ranks quickly... No, fire! Kill them!"

Sir Felton roared at the top of his lungs, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest.

He had seen such a mad, efficient killing machine. On the battlefield of Bagnia, only those madmen loyal to Chris could produce such concise and deadly slashes and stabs, their killing efficiency was chilling.

Therefore, at first glance, Felton recognized the true identities of these people, and he ordered his soldiers in a panic to eliminate the enemy as soon as possible.

However, the nightmare had just begun.

Just as Dorok drew the enemy's attention like a rock and successfully tore apart the noble army's front line, more than ten dazzling flames suddenly burst forth from the broken gate of the granary and the shadow of the high wall next to it!

bang bang bang...

A burst of rapid, crisp flintlock gunfire ripped through the silence of the night. White smoke billowed from the warehouse doors as deadly lead bullets hurtled in like venomous bees.

Screams erupted from Felton's ranks. The soldiers, trying to surround the terrifying shield-and-sword man, had no idea that enemies would open fire from inside the warehouse.

At this engagement distance of no more than fifty meters, the flintlock pistol was incredibly powerful; even if it didn't hit a vital spot, it was enough to instantly incapacitate a person.

With just one volley of fire, four or five of Felton's soldiers were shot down.

After the first volley, seven or eight other players, dressed in similar mixed attire but with the same fanatical flame burning in their eyes, followed him out.

They used a variety of weapons, including battle axes, maces, and even stolen spears, but without exception, they all possessed a ferocity far exceeding that of ordinary soldiers and a seemingly painless madness.

A player was stabbed in the shoulder by a spear, but he just roared and swung a short axe backhand to split the attacker's head open.

Another player had his arm slashed open by a knife, deep enough to expose the bone, but he seemed to feel nothing. Instead, he became even more excited and pounced on the next target, shouting as he went.

"Second kill!!!"

Their teamwork was not smooth, and even somewhat chaotic, but the simplicity of the tactics did not require much coordination.

Dorok stood at the forefront, using his shield and body to create opportunities for his comrades behind him, while the players behind him reaped the enemies whose formations had been disrupted by Dorok.

They were like a brutal and savage killing machine; the fighting power unleashed by these twenty-odd men forced the noble army, whose numbers far exceeded theirs, to retreat continuously.

Sir Felton attempted to command with his sword, but he despairingly found that his orders were utterly ineffective in the face of the sudden chaos and the extremely efficient killing.

His soldiers were terrified. They could face an equally disciplined army, but they couldn't understand these madmen who seemed to live for battle and death.

The formation quickly and completely collapsed.

"Retreat! Get out of the street! Retreat now!"

Felton finally uttered the order in humiliation.

He watched as one of his bravest guards charged at Dorok with his sword raised, only to be thrown off balance by Dorok's shield. Then, the armed sword pierced through the gaps in Dorok's armor like a viper, killing him instantly.

Simple, brutal, and effective.

The surviving soldiers had long lost their will to fight. Upon hearing the order, they fled in disarray as if granted a pardon, abandoning the wounded and the dead, even their weapons and dignity. The orderly ranks they had come from were now a completely rout.

Sir Felton staggered backward, protected by his confidants, and glanced back one last time at the granary gate.

The figure wearing a horned helmet stood at the boundary between firelight and shadow, leaning on his sword, his chest heaving, like a dragon guarding its treasure.

At his feet lay the corpses of noble soldiers lying in disarray.

Those attackers... they weren't afraid of getting dirty, tired, or even dying.

With just twenty people, they formed an insurmountable wall.

The granary of Taiwan, a strategic location they were determined to capture, now seemed to have become a monster's lair devouring lives under the control of those twenty-odd fanatical figures.

Sir Felton was filled with cold fear and immense confusion. What were these people?
……

Coincidentally, similar incidents occurred in front of various important buildings on the island. When noble private soldiers attempted to take over granaries, banks, armories, and even city halls, they encountered almost identical, violent attacks from the shadows.

In front of the bank vault.

Another group of noble private soldiers was pounding on the bank's heavy iron-clad doors with battering rams, and the bolts were about to break. Suddenly, the windows on the second floor of the adjacent building burst open, and the barrels of seven or eight flintlock muskets coldly protruded.

"put!"

There were no warnings, no shouts. Only a single, concise command followed by the deafening roar of death.

Lead bullets rained down from above like hailstones, and the soldiers who were crowding at the doorway and ramming it with all their might became the perfect targets, falling down in droves in an instant.

Amid screams, a deafening roar erupted from a narrow alleyway on the side of the bank, as a dozen or so players surged out like ghosts, wielding sharp blades and directly plunging into the chaotic flank of the group.

A player wielded two curved knives that were clearly just seized from the enemy, spinning like a top as he slashed through the air, severing limbs wherever he went.

Another player, as burly as a bear, swung a massive two-handed warhammer, ignoring several longswords aimed at him. With a single blow, he smashed a squad leader who was trying to organize a resistance, denting him and his armor, with blood gushing out from the gaps in the armor.

"Monsters! They are monsters!"

The soldiers collapsed in an instant. The street in front of the bank was quickly stained red with blood as the players silently and efficiently reaped the spoils, then swiftly retreated into the shadows, leaving behind a scene of devastation and terrified survivors.

Central Armory Square.

An even fiercer battle broke out here.

A larger and better-equipped Marquis's personal guard has overwhelmed the guards here, successfully controlled the outer perimeter of the armory, and is now attempting to open the inner vault doors.

The guards were more vigilant, setting up sentries and simple barricades.

However, the attack came from an unexpected direction...the roof.

After a few soft sounds, several dark figures swooped down from the heights like falcons, landing directly on the core of the group. At the same time, several players rushed out from the alleys on both sides of the barricade, launching a fearless charge.

"The enemy is up there!"

The alarm blared mournfully, but it was too late.

A player fell from the sky, his feet landing heavily on the back of an officer. The clear sound of bones cracking was enough to make one's teeth ache. With a swift stroke of his short sword, he killed a terrified crossbowman standing nearby.

Another player rolled forward the moment he landed, dodging several spears thrusting at him. When he got up, the axe in his hand had already severed the leg of a flag bearer.

Players who charge head-on are playing a life-or-death style of combat.

They withstood the sporadic arrows and musket fire from the Royal Guard, their bodies riddled with arrows and bleeding, yet they charged into the gunfire as if it had no effect whatsoever!

"For the Alliance... oh no, for Charles!"

A player covered in blood laughed maniacally, using his body to pin down several spears, creating an opportunity for his teammates to break through before collapsing.

Amidst the chaos, the armory doors were opened from the inside, and a bronze field cannon roared into action... Clearly, players had infiltrated the area.

Under such a pincer attack from both inside and outside, even the Marquis's elite guards quickly crumbled under this completely unreasonable and fearless frenzied assault.

St. Lawrence Church Heights.

The terrain here is high, overlooking a large part of the city. A viscount's army has just occupied this place and is setting up defenses, preparing to use it as a command and lookout point.

They were also attacked, and these unfortunate souls didn't even see where the enemy came from.

No one knows when the attack began; all they know is that sniper rifles were fired intermittently from the dark streets, broken windows, and even sewer grate, accurately taking down sentries and officers.

Whenever the soldiers tried to rush out to find the gunman, they either came up empty-handed or ran into a player assault team that was already lying in ambush, wielding melee weapons.

These shadowy ghosts, like a persistent leech, use their familiarity with the city's terrain and some unknown means of communication to constantly harass, ambush, and divide the group.

They never launched a direct assault, yet they made it impossible for the Viscount's troops occupying the high ground to advance, resulting in a continuous increase in casualties and a rapid decline in morale.

A young noble officer cried out in despair to his viscount father.

"Father, let's retreat! They're everywhere, and our people are being killed one by one. They...they're not even human!"

Sir Felton shivered in a corner of a dilapidated hut he had found on the spot, wrapped in a mud-stained cloak.

He encountered several other remnants of noble private armies that had also retreated in disarray.

From their incoherent, fear-filled narration, Felton heard about banks, armories, churches… place names, and equally horrific experiences.

Those enemies, dressed in haphazardly, behaving madly, fearless of pain, and with terrifyingly high combat efficiency, seemed to have emerged overnight from the shadows of the island, striking with precision and lethality at all forces attempting to take over the city.

Who are they?

For whom are they fighting?

What do they want?
No one can answer these questions.

Sir Felton knew an uncertain answer, but he dared not say it. He only knew that seizing control of the island would probably be far more difficult and bloodier than adults imagined.

The city seemed to come alive suddenly, turning into a deadly trap designed to devour the noble army.

The hunters in the trap are a group of madmen from hell who find pleasure in war and killing.

He gazed out the window at the still chaotic streets, with occasional sporadic gunshots and explosions echoing in the distance.

The night grew deeper, but the nightmare for Taiwan seemed to have only just begun.

(End of this chapter)