Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 383 Scared

Can it bear fruit?
It was Emperor Rebaton... personally holding the most potent oil!

He personally gathered the essence of hundreds of prominent families from the entire north and even most of the central lands... all the talents, resources, ambitions, and power accumulated over thousands of years... and threw them all into the bonfire he had set up for the hunting grounds!

Millions of living lives were sacrificed, the strongest backbone of the old order in the Middle Kingdom was used as a "sacrifice"!
Just to thoroughly sweep away the dust beneath his throne!

Just to make the empire's golden radiance... shine even brighter on the corpses?!

Even with Robin's cold-hearted nature, a subtle, indescribable ripple couldn't help but pass through the depths of her consciousness.

This political maneuvering...this ruthlessness...this scheming...cannot be simply described as "vicious".

"...It was a gross underestimation of that heart of rotten wood, gnawed by insects." Robin's voice was extremely low, like cold iron slowly scraping across sandpaper, leaving only fine, cold dust drifting in the depths of consciousness.

He wasn't lamenting the nobles' fate, but the variables on the chessboard had been completely detonated by external forces in a far more violent way than expected, forcing him to reassess that seemingly rotten, emperor's piece.

“Teacher…” A weak, weary voice, filled with undisguised sorrow and despair, broke the heavy silence that was like a tombstone.

William Bucket dragged his heavy steps, trudging through the scorched and dark red mud, until he reached a short distance behind Robin.

His black robe was tattered and filthy. The once inflated aura of power from the legendary fruit had been completely crushed, leaving only the dazed feeling of surviving a catastrophe and a deep-seated exhaustion.

His face appeared even younger in the crimson glow of the setting sun, yet it was shrouded in an inescapable sense of desolation.

“Black robes… ‘Liberation Army Regiment’…” William’s voice trembled as he struggled to squeeze out broken words, “The losses… were too… heavy…” He took a deep breath, as if trying to force down the suffocating feeling in his chest, “Wenger’s final backlash… covered too much area… To delay them… our men rushed in too fast… and… too densely…”

His eyes were filled with the images of his comrades lying on the scorched earth, the flesh and blood evaporated by the aftershocks of energy, and the fragments of bodies trampled and crushed by the fleeing noble soldiers in their desperate escape... those former "buckets"...

He looked up, his eyes filled with confusion, pain, and a hint of unspeakable... doubt as he gazed at Robin's retreating figure.

Is this massive, million-dollar crater truly the price they pay for the new, equal world they're pursuing?

The sparks they ignited ultimately only set off a catastrophe used to burn offerings.

Robin did not immediately answer William's accusations and hesitation. He slowly turned around, the shadow under his hood revealing only his hard-lined jawline.

“Stand up, William.” Robin’s voice was calm and unwavering, offering no reassurance or explanation, only an unquestionable command.

William stared blankly at Robin's silhouette, which appeared exceptionally tall in the blood-red sunset.

“Stand up,” Robin repeated, his voice low but sharp as a cold steel needle piercing William’s confused mind. “Look up.”

He didn't point to the horrific mass grave, but instead raised a finger and pointed beyond this scorched inferno—towards the golden, shrouded place symbolizing the pinnacle of royal power—the capital.

“Look at that empty territory that is about to open up for us…” William’s gaze unconsciously followed that cold finger to the blurry outline of the capital in the distance.

The afterglow of the setting sun gilded the spire there with a false gilding.

Empty? Territory?
Robin's voice, like icy spring water, extinguished the embers of bitterness in William's heart: "The old skeleton... has already been... smashed by 'our own people' in this 'cleanup'." His words carried an almost cruel insight, "Bones are everywhere."

"Wailing... will soon turn into a new despair within the capital."

"And the Central Plains..."

Robin withdrew his finger, his gaze returning to the scorched earth beneath his feet, which reeked of death: "This empty shell, soaked in blood and fire... now, whoever steps forward first... will be able to re-establish 'order'."

His voice suddenly became more forceful: "It's not the end, it's the beginning."

“Go tell those who survived…go tell those who are hiding in the corner, terrified but still clutching the ‘breathing technique’ booklet…”

“Tell them, the flag of the buckets…” Robin’s gaze pierced through William’s shattered defenses like a tangible object: “Now! Pierce it into the heart of the capital! Stand it atop the corpses of their enslaved ancestors… in the now empty palace!”

“Tell them—” Robin’s voice pierced the deathly silence of the battlefield, carrying an undeniable iron-blooded power: “A new empire, built by their own hands from the ruins…is right before our eyes!”

The bitterness, confusion, and pain in William's eyes were like smoke and dust scattered by a raging wind.

Instead, there was a violent heartbeat and a new light that was forcibly ignited, a mixture of shock and bewilderment, but ultimately fueled by a flame of great ambition and possibility!
A new nation rises from the ruins?

It's not the end, it's... the beginning!
"Huff...huff..." William's breathing suddenly became heavy and rapid!

He didn't even realize that he had somehow become standing perfectly straight!

The heart in his chest, which had just experienced despair, was being struck by this cold and cruel grand blueprint and began to beat wildly!
He clenched his fist tightly, his knuckles cracking from the excessive force!

The devastating news that the Middle-earth noble alliance had lost a million soldiers and armored warriors in the heart of Saint Mingsu in a single day, along with towering figures like Duke Wenger, turned to dust, was like a chilling bell that froze the soul, its mournful cry instantly sweeping across the entire kingdom!

At first, the hidden ambitions of the four regions were like molten lava, but after the terrifying battle report came, they all froze in frozen fear!

At the Northern Snow Lion Fortress, the once gleaming, blood-soaked scimitar, which had been ready to drink blood at any moment, was personally hung back on its long-dormant rack by the old marquis. The clanging of metal echoed deathly in the empty hall.

The private army that was fully prepared to set off on the banks of the Peacock River in the southern border lost its banners overnight, leaving only the bewildered faces of the soldiers and the messy footprints they left in the mud.

The young people in the western territories who had been talking loudly about the revival of nobility in the taverns suddenly fell silent, lowering their heads to sip their drinks, as if the blood and smoke of battle had already reached their noses!

The coastal defense outposts in the east were brightly lit all night long. The soldiers' eyes were like arrows, piercing the dark sea, for fear that the next giant wave would not leap out of fish and shrimp, but a vengeful warship carrying a black flag!
They were all terrified.

(End of this chapter)