Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 729 - 407: Breaking the City (Part 2)

His sword’s light pierced through the overseer’s back, blood splattering on the armor.

"Fifth Legion, heed the order, full retreat!! Protect the Second Prince!!"

However, their retreat direction was not to support the Second Prince, but to rush toward the nobility district, to plunder, to seize wealth, exploiting the instability to the fullest.

The frontline of the Eighth Legion was suddenly isolated and helpless.

In front was Kaelin’s vengeful army and the dragonblood youth, on the left the defected Eleventh Legion, on the right the Fifth Legion leaving chaos under the guise of retreat.

The commander of the Eighth Legion slowly turned his head, looking towards the palace tower, his eyes revealing despair.

"Your Highness... please grant us a miracle..."

But the tower was empty. Not even a shadow of a person.

Duke Raymond rode through the rain, his armor shimmering with a cold silver under the lightning.

His words were merciless, like judgment: "Leave none alive. Let everyone see the fate of those loyal to Rhine."

The slaughter began.

The dragonblood youth tore through the heavy armor of the Eighteenth Legion like paper.

The Eleventh Legion’s spears pierced the chests of those who were just comrades from the flanks.

The Second Prince charged, slicing off the front legs of the Eighteenth Legion commander’s warhorse with one sword stroke. The warhorse neighed as it knelt, and he leapt forward, stamping the commander’s chest cavity.

Blood flowed across the square, forming streams in the cracks of the stone bricks.

Less than an hour.

The iron triangle that Rhine had pinned high hopes on—Eighth Legion, Eleventh Legion, and Eighteenth Legion—completely collapsed.

The entire Eighteenth Legion was annihilated, the blood mist enveloped the inner square, dyeing it like a pool stained after a dragon slaying.

Blood meandered down the steps, pooling at the foot of the palace tower.

......

The top floor of the tower still had the expensive red gold carpet, though now it had lost all symbolic meaning.

Red tea spilled from an overturned porcelain cup, mixing with the pulp on the ground, trampled into a mash.

The color was murky, like a pool of darkening blood.

A gold coin still rolled slowly, finally hitting the corner of the wall, making a crisp yet piercing ding.

The inside of the tower was deathly silent.

Outside were sounds of killing, screams, armor shattering, and the rumbling hooves shaking the ground, like dozens of storms tearing in from all sides.

The captain of the personal guard staggered before Rhine, kneeling down, his knee landing on the scattered gold coins, making a series of metallic clinks.

He gripped Rhine’s pant leg, his voice shattered and trembling.

"Your Highness... it’s over... all over..." He pointed outside: "The Fifth Legion, they took your money and withdrew..."

Rhine blinked, as if he had misheard: "Withdraw...?"

"They said..." The guard choked, "The contract only included defending the city, not dying. They’re robbing the commercial street now... saying they need to make the money back."

Rhine’s throat felt blocked, he squeezed out a dry voice: "Tell... tell them, I’ll add another hundred thousand... no, two hundred thousand! Have the commander come to see me!"

"It’s no use, Your Highness." The guard quivered.

Rhine’s eyes jolted, as if stabbed by a needle.

The guard continued to stammer like his tongue was twisted by malice, spilling the most fatal words:

"And... the Eleventh Legion..."

Rhine closed his eyes, using all his strength to maintain his composure: "What happened... I gave them double the payroll..."

"Your Highness..." The guard’s voice nearly collapsed, "The Second Prince shouted once and they turned... they threw the payroll on the ground, saying it was blood money... then led the way in hacking our overseer into minced meat..."

Rhine’s gaze was blank, as if he didn’t understand: "What about the Eighteenth Legion? Have them hold... They’re Imperial Capital’s... last line of defense..."

The captain of the personal guard shook like a sieve: "Your Highness... the Eighteenth Legion... annihilated, completely surrounded and cut clean! No one lasted! No one survived!"

Rhine seemed drained of his spine, collapsing onto the carpet.

He then crawled to the window, his hands trembling as he braced against the window’s edge, pulling himself up with effort.

In the night of the Imperial Capital, where rain mist crossed with blood light, he saw that scene.

The Second Prince, Kaelin, covered in blood, stood at the center of the corpse-mound-like inner square.

His warhorse snorted white fog, its hooves stepping on the shattered body of the Eighth Legion commander.

He held the broken Imperial Longsword aloft, roaring skyward: "Kill your way in!"

That roar prompted the defected Eleventh Legion, border Knight Order, and even dragonblood monsters to respond in unison, their murderous intent and frenzy forming a black tide that overshadowed the sky.

That sound made the entire Imperial City tremble.

Rhine’s eyes lost focus.

There was no glow of gold coins, no illusionary power, no promise, contract, or leverage he labored hard to build.

There was only a prince with military talent, imperial blood, and real prestige.

And Rhine... never possessed such things.

He had never been trusted by any legion like this. Never had any knight entrust their life to him.

He suddenly laughed.

The laughter that squeezed out of his throat sounded worse than crying.

The Avenue of Triumph, once symbolized the Empire’s prosperity and glory, was swallowed by night and bloodfire at this moment.

Rain couldn’t wash away the stench of blood, firelight couldn’t illuminate despair.

With no walls to block, the order Rhine established crumbled like paper under violence.

The loyalty maintained by contracts, bounties, diplomatic rhetoric was no match against iron and bloodlust.

The heartland of the entire Imperial Capital, transformed into Purgatory within moments.

The border legions were not the first to charge the palace.

They, like a pack of wolves led into a pasture filled with meat, headed straight into the wealthy district and commercial streets on either side of the Avenue of Triumph.

"Smash it open!"

The iron door of the gold shop was hammered until it dented, deformed, then collapsed.

Knights with broken armor and soaked in blood rushed into the shop like mad dogs, looting.

Priceless oil paintings were torn apart, just to scrape off the gilding decorating the frames.

A noblewoman fled from a side alley, fell to the ground begging for mercy, diamonds and gems glimmering faintly in the dark.

A knight stooped to grab her hand: "Pretty."

A flash of the blade, four fingers dropped to the ground.

Blood was quickly diluted by rain. The knight arrested the fingers with his foot, pulled off the ruby ring from the severed digits, and casually stuffed it into his pocket.

"Keep robbing!" he roared back, "The Duke said, tonight the Imperial City is our hunting ground!!"

Tortured endlessly by potions, the dragonblood youths could no longer tell friend from foe, orders, or purpose.

They only possessed the most primal hunting instinct.

In the center of the Avenue of Triumph, three dragonblood youths surrounded an injured warhorse.

The first youth lunged at the horse’s leg, tearing open skin and flesh with his fangs.

The second youth grasped the horse’s tail, ripping a large sheet of bloody skin off.

The third youth knelt in the blood puddle, clawing at the horse’s entrails like a beast, blood continuously dripping from his chin.

Passing civilians were frightened to their knees, vomiting, convulsing, yet the instinct to flee was crushed by terror.

In the next moment, the dragonblood youths’ eyes turned towards them.

Vertical pupils contracted, red light flickered at the bottom.

In this instant, they found new prey.

In such chaos, only two forces still maintained purpose, namely the diehard personal guard of the Second Prince, and Raymond’s grayrock cavalry.

In their hands were rolls of parchment, filled densely with names.

Every name signified a family that once stood behind Rhine during his enthronement.

"Next, the Castor Mansion."

The grayrock cavalry smashed open the gates with a warhammer, the door panel shattered.

The nobles inside had no time to hide, dragged outside to the stone pillars at the entrance.

"Mercy! My... my family was forced to attend the ceremony, not wholeheartedly supporting!"

No response was given.

A knight wielded a hook-ended spike, nailing it through the noble’s shoulder blade.

Blood flowed down the stone pillar, mixing with the steps and rain forming dark streams.

No trials. No extra charges or explanations.

Only naked revenge. Another layer to the nature of war.

Kaelin’s command was simple: "Round up all collaborators."

Thus, the nobles’ once costly, dignified lives crumbled entirely tonight, blood flowed down the steps, staining the doors.

The Empire Capital’s most prosperous streets, adorned by death, like a sacrificial passage.