I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 464 The Drama Ends
Dorok didn't have a good impression of the tavern ruins where he had hidden the night before, because the place was dilapidated and filthy, filled with the excrement and indescribable filth left by vagrants.

So, the next day he left the ruins, met up with the nearest player, and prepared to find a clean place to hide again.

However, on the second night, Dorok and Owl, like two frightened mice, fled back in a sorry state and once again hid in the cellar beneath the ruins of the tavern.

This time, however, what came from the heavy wooden planks above was no longer the sporadic sounds of searching, but had completely transformed into a deafening roar of war.

The frenzied clanging of metal, the agonizing screams of the dying, the roar of burning and collapsing buildings, and the fervent shouts of "Long live the King!" that swept everything like a tsunami...

All of this intertwined, penetrating the cracks in the floor and causing the barrel he was hiding in to tremble slightly.

"Damn it... what's going on..."

Dorok muttered to himself, not afraid of being discovered, because normal sounds were barely audible amidst the enormous external noise.

Judging from the noise, this is no longer a small-scale conflict, it's a full-scale war!

How is this going?

Has Bagnia's army invaded?
Oh dear, wasn't it said that the Holy Expeditionary Army wouldn't arrive near Treasure Island City until the day after tomorrow?
Dorok was puzzled and couldn't figure it out, because he hadn't received any notification, and both sides in the battle seemed to be wearing blue military uniforms.

Just then, the battle on the street outside seemed to be drawing closer.

He heard a chaotic, panicked sound of running and shouting, mixed with some vaguely familiar, bluffing threats... the voices of the local gang members!
Dorok remembered these people's voices because they had been so arrogant when they were chasing him, making him grit his teeth in hatred.

"Get out of our way! Do you even know who we work for?!"

"This street is protected by the Blood Weasel Gang, so don't cause trouble!"

At this moment, the voices of those arrogant men chasing after Dorok were filled with a fear that masked their underlying cowardice.

Their response was not negotiation, nor reprimand, but a cold, orderly, and despairing twang of bowstrings and the whistling of crossbow bolts piercing the air!
The brief screams abruptly stopped.

Immediately following was the sound of heavy, orderly footsteps, like iron hammers striking the ground… With his war experience, Dorok recognized it as the sound of a large contingent of heavy infantry advancing.

There were no unnecessary shouts of killing, only the dull thud of metal boots treading on the stone pavement and crushing over corpses that might still be twitching.

A cold, officer's voice gave a brief order.

"Clean up the area. All armed bandits are considered accomplices to the traitors and should be killed without exception."

Dorok pressed his ear against the wall and barely managed to hear the sound, and he immediately burst out laughing.

Serves you right, you idiots.

Outside, a brutal massacre is underway.
The officer leading this guard did not conduct a trial or make any distinctions; he simply waved his hand and sentenced all the bandits to death.

Before these reorganized guards, filled with a thirst for blood and a desire for reward, local bullies and gang leaders became easy targets to crush and earn military merits in the process.

Their power, which they previously gained through chaos and the gray areas, is as fragile as a sheet of paper in the face of real, organized state violence.

However, the plight of the gangsters was merely a minor footnote in this war; a far greater catastrophe befell ordinary residents.

On the streets, flames engulfed houses, and thick smoke billowed, obscuring the sky and the moon.

The sounds of residents crying out in terror, pleading, and screaming as they fled were either accidentally injured or directly caught up in the fighting.

The Imperial Guard soldiers were in a bloodthirsty frenzy. In their eyes, any building that was not of their own faction and might be hiding "traitors" was a target for attack, and anyone who stood in their way could be violently pushed aside or even cut down.

Looting and atrocities inevitably occurred in the relatively undisciplined newly formed ranks.

The so-called Guards were actually just a few elite, somewhat capable ordinary soldiers. The real Minisian Guards had been wiped out in the previous war with Bagnia.

The current Royal Guard is merely a name without strict discipline, as evidenced by how easily Charles can instigate internal riots.

Under the swords of the Imperial Guard, a once-prosperous city is sliding towards the brink of hell overnight.

Dorok was unaware of this matter at the moment. After the commotion outside subsided, he could no longer suppress his curiosity and left the badly injured owl behind while he prepared to leave.

Dorok carefully pushed open the heavy wooden planks of the wine cellar, and a strong, pungent smell of smoke mixed with the stench of something burning immediately hit him, causing him to cough violently. The wound under his ribs was also aggravated, sending a sharp pain through him.

He covered his mouth and nose, and after a while, he could barely open his eyes and see the scene outside.

The tavern ruins were located in a secluded alley, and since half of the ruins had collapsed, Dorok could see directly outside.

At this moment, an abnormal, flickering orange-red light was shining from the direction of the alley entrance, stretching the shadows of the ruins into elongated and distorted shapes like ghosts... That was the Treasure Island City Canal Port.

He crouched low, like a thief, and carefully made his way towards the seemingly burning harbor.

The closer they got to the port, the more intense the heat became, and the clearer the sounds grew: the crackling of flames, the rumbling of collapsing timber and stone, and even more chilling were the sounds of humans... no longer the orderly shouts of battle, but desperate cries, frantic screams, and dying groans.

He finally reached the vicinity of the alley entrance. Dorok hid behind a half-collapsed archway and looked out.

He froze on the spot after just one glance.

The scene before me was less like a city and more like a burning hell.

A street near the port was on fire.

The once exquisite houses with balconies, the shops with signs, even the marble fountain in the small square in the distance... everything was engulfed in flames.

The blazing flames greedily licked at everything that could burn, and broken beams and rubble, along with sparks, crashed down.

Thick smoke almost obscured the night sky, with only the firelight casting an eerie and terrifying orange-red hue over everything.

The heatwave distorted the air, making distant scenery appear as if it were shimmering in water.

The streets were a mess, littered with debris, overturned carriages, and... corpses.

Corpses dressed in various clothes—some were civilians, some were dressed as nobles' private soldiers, and even several were the bodies of guardsmen in blue uniforms—lay in pools of blood, gradually being approached by flames.

He saw a squad of Imperial Guard soldiers violently break open a fairly intact gate and drag out a screaming, well-off man who appeared to be a small businessman.

Ignoring his cries and pleas for mercy, the soldiers pinned him to the ground, snatched the money bag from his arms, and then killed him with a single blow. They then rushed into the house, where screams from women and the sound of objects being smashed immediately followed.

Elsewhere, several soldiers were excitedly carrying things out of a burning jewelry store, their faces beaming with greed, completely oblivious to the spreading fire.

"The traitor's property is all His Majesty's reward!"

Some people shouted this to justify their actions.

There was also sporadic resistance.

On a distant street corner, a nobleman's private army appeared to be putting up a desperate resistance from a stone building, with arrows and musket bullets occasionally shooting out of the windows, felling the guards who tried to approach.

But soon, more people in blue uniforms rushed up and set the building ablaze with rockets, and screams of agony immediately erupted from inside.

Dorothy even saw a woman carrying a baby running frantically out of an alley, trying to cross the street that had become a battlefield.

However, a stray arrow flew from nowhere and struck her in the chest.

The mother took a few steps forward, then stumbled and fell to the ground, the baby in her arms crying loudly as it landed beside the burning ruins…

Dorok jerked his head back, pressing his back against the cold, broken wall, his heart pounding wildly.

This is not a war.

This is massacre.

It was a carnival of plunder and destruction.

His previous guess was wrong, completely wrong.

This isn't an invasion by our own people; it's the Minisian Guard cleaning up the city!

Charles was purging all those he considered traitors, and the criteria for this purging were so vague and broad that any soldier could use it as an outlet for violence and greed.

The island city he once found crowded, noisy, but vibrant was being torn apart and set ablaze before his very eyes by its own guardians.

The splendor vanished, leaving only a burning framework, flowing blood, and desperate wails. Dorok felt a wave of nausea.

He participated in battles and killed NPCs, but that was a confrontation under the game mechanics; those who were killed all fought against Dorok with the intention of killing him.

Under such circumstances, Dorok had no psychological barriers to killing the enemy.

The sheer, indiscriminate violence and destruction before him had caused him, as a player, extreme physical and psychological discomfort.

His initial feelings of "watching the show" and "schadenfreude" had vanished without a trace, replaced by a deep sense of absurdity.

He dared not look any longer; seeing such things too often was disgusting and unpleasant.

Dorothy fled back to the filthy but at least temporarily safe wine cellar, like a startled rabbit, following the path she had come by. She then boarded up the wine again, shutting out the burning hell outside.

But those images and sounds were etched into his mind like a brand.

In the darkness, Dorok sat down against the barrel, panting heavily.

The owl asked weakly.

"How's it going outside?"

Dorok opened his mouth, but found his throat too dry to make a sound.

He ultimately just shook his head, even though the other person probably couldn't see him at all in the dark.

"……hell."

He used all his strength to squeeze out those two words through gritted teeth.

With just those two words, the owl understood everything. He was older than Dorok and had experienced more of the game's storylines, so he could easily understand what was happening outside.

Then, there was a long silence.

Only the faint sounds of the city's ongoing burning and death, emanating from outside the wine cellar, never ceased, like background noise.

……

The audience hall in the royal palace was brightly lit.

Although the distant city outside the window was still burning and the sporadic sounds of battle could still be faintly heard, the scene inside the audience hall at the deepest part of the palace was completely different.

The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back, blocking out the hellish scene outside, while countless candles and chandeliers illuminated the hall in a golden glow, as if it were daytime.

Exquisite silver cutlery and crystal wine glasses were already set on the long table. Although the feast had not yet officially begun, the air was already filled with the aroma of roasted meat and the mellow fragrance of aged wine.

King Charles stood alone before the throne on the high platform at the far end of the hall.

He had already changed out of his bandaged hospital gown and put on an incomparably luxurious purple velvet suit, his chest adorned with gleaming medals.

With his back to the empty hall where the heroes were about to arrive, he held a crystal glass filled with deep red wine, swirling it slightly as he admired the wine stains clinging to the glass.

His face wore an almost intoxicated, victorious smile, his gaze seemingly piercing through the walls, seeing his glorious future.

"It's over...it's finally all over..."

He muttered to himself, his voice trembling slightly with excitement.

“Traitors… nobles… and those disobedient generals… have all been eliminated.”

He could almost hear the sycophantic toasts that would soon fill the place, the generals swearing allegiance to him and praising his “wisdom” and “decisiveness”.

He will regain firm control of this country, a kingdom that has been baptized in blood and is now free of constraints.

"Roderick... Hmph, foolish old man, did you think you could hold out for a higher price?"

He chuckled, took a sip of the wine in his glass, and felt the mellow liquid slide down his throat, bringing a burning pleasure.

"And Lapol, Hawke... you parasites, you should have gone to hell long ago! My kingdom has no need for your meddling!"

His mind grew increasingly excited, and he began to plan the subsequent cleaning in detail.

"That little Rapol is hiding? No problem, we'll issue a bounty tomorrow and find him no matter what, even if it means digging three feet into the ground! Hang him on the city gate!"

And those who remain neutral, those fence-sitters trying to wait and see… not one will escape! Their lands, their wealth, will all fill my treasury and be bestowed upon my loyal hounds!

He became more and more agitated as he spoke, as if he could already see those who had once looked down on him and betrayed him kneeling and begging for mercy.

The taste of power was so sweet that he couldn't help but raise his glass again and drink the rest of the wine in one gulp.

However, the moment the liquor went down his throat again, an extremely intense, excruciating pain suddenly shot through his abdomen.

"Ugh..."

Charles let out a short, painful groan, and the crystal glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the carpet, the crimson wine splattering like blood.

He stared in disbelief, clutching his neck tightly with both hands, trying to breathe, but only felt his throat and internal organs being burned and torn apart as if by a red-hot iron.

He stumbled forward and fell, knocking over a decorative table and shattering a beautiful vase.

The excruciating pain quickly robbed him of all strength and the ability to think, leaving the king curled up on the luxurious carpet, his body convulsing in agony, his purple robes torn and disheveled.

Black, foul-smelling blood gushed uncontrollably from his mouth and nose, staining the carpet and his pale face.

Charles's eyes were filled with utter astonishment, pain, and a hint of despair at the ultimate realization. He tried to lift his head and look in a certain direction, but his vision quickly became blurred and dark.

Just then, a gray figure, as if it had been waiting for a long time, silently appeared at the edge of his gradually blurring vision.

It's a gray shadow.

He was still wearing that gray cloak, his face expressionless, only with a deathly stillness.

He watched silently as the king struggled on the ground in agony, his life slipping away rapidly. His eyes held a complex and unfathomable expression, a mixture of relief, sorrow, and perhaps even a hint of indescribable pity.

Charles seemed to want to say something, his lips moved, but he could only spit out more bloody foam.

The grey figure slowly crouched down, approaching Charles, and spoke in an extremely soft voice that only the two of them could hear.

"Your Majesty...it's all over. Your kingdom...will have a better master."

After saying that, he stopped looking at Charles's shocked and resentful eyes and slowly drew out a poisoned dagger.

Without the slightest hesitation, Gray Shadow plunged the dagger precisely into his own heart. His body trembled slightly before collapsing to the ground beside Charles's gradually cooling corpse.

Blood seeped from the gray shadow's chest, slowly mingling with the black blood Charles vomited. Master and servant, schemer and shadow, met their end together in this tragic manner.

The hall fell into a deathly silence, with only the crackling of burning candles and the faint sounds of fighting in the distance as background noise.

Just then, the tightly closed doors of the hall were suddenly pushed open from the outside!

"Father, Mr. Grey Shadow, I'm back..."

A cheerful, childlike voice rang out as young Prince Charles, his face beaming with the excitement and joy of surviving a close call, ran in, accompanied by several equally smiling, newly appointed officers of the Guards, still reeking of gunpowder.

They came to announce good news, to celebrate victory, and to witness the moving scene of the king's rebirth and reunion with the prince.

However, what came into their view was two corpses lying in a pool of blood, tightly entwined, beneath the throne.

The smile on the little prince's face froze instantly, turning into extreme terror and bewilderment.

The officers' excitement vanished instantly, replaced by disbelief, shock, and horror.

The brilliant candlelight in the hall now only coldly illuminated this sudden, eerie, and ominous tragedy, freezing everyone's joy into icy fear and a huge question mark.

The celebration of victory came to an abrupt end before it even began.

(End of this chapter)