The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 95 The King Respects Me? Chaos Escalates

The train, fully loaded with a large amount of supplies and research items transported from Yokohama Port, was exactly what Zhang Chang'an had been waiting for.

However, probably because it was a valuable item, he wasn't the only one eyeing the train.

Wearing simple kimonos, Katsura Kogoro and his companions had retreated to nearby villages and towns, quietly watching the distant flames gradually die out.

They were inconspicuous in the chaotic night. But the dozens of blood-stained, extremely fierce men with knives made it clear to anyone that they were unusual.

"Guisang, the people from the research institute have run away. These guys who usually act all high and mighty are more cowardly than anyone else when it comes to real trouble."

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The visitor was Yoshida Toshimaro, an important figure in the anti-shogunate faction. He walked up to Katsura Kogoro, pointed to the burning train deep inside the station, and expressed his helplessness.

Flames had engulfed all the carriages, billowing thick smoke mixed with a pungent odor. It was the distinctive fishy smell of burning whale oil, now drifting everywhere on the night wind.

Upon hearing this, Katsura Kogoro remained calm and composed, as if this was within his expectations: "This incident has caused such a huge uproar that the shogunate will certainly not let it go easily. But this proves that our thinking was correct, and the next step of our plan can proceed."

Katsura Kogoro finally turned around, his gaze sweeping over the other people on the roof.

Apart from Sakamoto Ryoma, almost all the key figures of the anti-shogunate faction in Kyoto were here.

Most importantly, their figures represent various riot sites in Kyoto, besides train stations.

There were commoners and ronin, just like here, carrying torches and shouting slogans. There were also executioners they sent out to behead some high-ranking official.

They were numerous, but even with their forces dispersed, the Shinsengumi were able to prevent many incidents and ensure that many of their outposts never returned.

But he had already achieved his goal: "We've proven that the people of Kyoto are just as angry as we are. It only takes a spark to ignite it. What we need to do next is make that fire burn even bigger."

As Katsura Kogoro spoke, he pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, which was covered with dense writing.

It was a hand-drawn map of Kyoto, marking the various strongholds of the shogunate, the residences of officials, warehouses, and post stations.

"Throughout the capital, there are people as angry as we are. Some have lost loved ones, and some have been oppressed to the point of not being able to survive. What happens tonight will make them understand a lot, and it will also awaken others."

He raised his head and looked at the crowd: "When the time is right, the Shogunate's headquarters, the warehouses of the Kyoto Shojidai, and the residences of high-ranking Shogunate officials—all these places will be burned down. That will be the time for us to act."

The crowd looked at each other, some excited, some worried, and some hesitant to speak.

But ultimately, there are still more people who yearn for this action.

"Bang!" An explosion came from afar, probably something inside the carriage had been ignited. Flames shot into the sky, casting flickering light on everyone's faces.

Yoshida took a deep breath, trying to calm his excitement. He knew he was witnessing history, but someone in the crowd still asked, "What about Ryoma's side?"

Katsura Kogoro's brow twitched slightly, then he regained his composure: "Sakamoto—he has his own path. He is indeed a force, but if we truly cannot work together, he will not hinder us. We need not concern ourselves with him."

After saying that, he stepped off the roof and disappeared into the night.

Behind them, Yoshida and the others exchanged glances and quickly followed.

The burning train was still crackling, its flames illuminating the land that had just been set ablaze.

But tonight's fire has only just begun to burn.

A night outside Moscow, Zhang Chang'an. He didn't know if he would ever have the chance to see it in his lifetime, but he had seen the nights of London and Kyoto.

After returning from the chaotic train station, Zhang Chang'an decisively put away his mask and wrapped up his long sword in a corner near the workshop.

Along the way, he discovered that the chaos in Kyoto tonight seemed to extend beyond the station: "After all, it's 1864, and there are many conflicts between the two factions in Kyoto this year, so it's not surprising."

It wasn't really his problem, because although his workshop was near the outskirts of Kyoto and a place where many commoners lived, it seemed to be relatively peaceful. So he quietly approached the back door and placed his hand on it.

However, the moment his hand touched her, the prompt from the Eye of Death arrived.

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"There's a murderous aura—" Zhang Chang'an's ears caught a few faint sounds coming from inside the workshop.

So even though he had removed the disguise of the Steam Demon, his hand was still on the hilt of the knife.

He didn't push the door again, but something was gently probing from the other side of the wooden back door!

Zhang Chang'an's breathing had become quite steady, and he was about to change his state and move his body, but at that moment, Zhang Chang'an suddenly turned his head and quickly caught the sound of hurried footsteps coming from behind him.

"Zhang Tiezhou—!"

A person rushed out of the alley, moving very fast, with a reckless and unrestrained spirit.

Zhang Chang'an saw the figure of the person who came over, but before he could respond, the person had already passed him and swung the long sword in his hand from its sheath in an instant.

"Ah!" A shout suddenly came from inside the workshop's backyard. The wooden door was rudely pushed open, and Zhang Chang'an took the opportunity to retreat and hide behind the door.

The man swung his sheathed longsword and decisively slashed at the person rushing out from inside. "Bang!"

The person who came out of the house was clearly a ronin holding a bamboo spear. His face was flushed with excitement. He had just rushed out shouting when he was hit head-on and staggered back a few steps before crashing into the door frame.

"There's one more!" shouted the man wielding the sheathed longsword, then spun around and swept it horizontally.

The other person inside the house, who had just rushed to the door with a short knife, was hit in the face by the knife and fell backward, rolling around in a heap with the first person.

Hearing the commotion, Zhang Chang'an slipped out from behind the door and saw the two people clearly.

Both men were dressed as ronin, their clothes disheveled, their faces flushed with excitement and reeking of alcohol. However, after falling to the ground, the weapons in their hands clattered to the floor due to the excruciating pain in their heads.

"Chinese!"

Of course, the fact that their weapons had fallen from their hands didn't stop them from talking. One of them struggled to get up and yelled at Zhang Chang'an, "Studying Western things on our turf—"

"Exactly! Using these things to pollute our land and destroy our country—"

The other one joined in the cursing and even tried to bend down to pick up the knife.

However, the people around Zhang Chang'an did not give them a chance.

He stepped forward, swung his scabbard again, and struck the two sides of the neck twice in succession, rendering one of the men completely motionless.

The second man had just straightened up when he was kicked in the back of the knee, causing him to kneel on one knee. Then, the scabbard struck his temple from the side, causing him to stagger and fall to the ground as well.

Zhang Chang'an frowned and shook his head helplessly: "I didn't expect to hear that title here. Did you come looking for me because of tonight's riots?"

He pondered, then looked toward another problem.

That was naturally the person beside him, Ju Qinglan, who was sheathing his long sword and putting it back into his belt.