Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 728 - 407: Breaching the City

Against the palace tower's glazed windows, the tempestuous wind and rain produced a soft, pattering melody.

The vast Imperial Capital city seemed to shudder beneath the night’s embrace, while the reflection of the newly appointed Regent King, Rhine, appeared gaunt and sinister against the alchemical copper wall.

In his grasp, a finely crafted alchemy telescope was directed outward, its lens revealing a scene upon the city walls that sent a chill through his very soul...

A dark gold dragon banner, drenched in blood and rain, was deliberately hoisted atop the primary castle tower.

It whipped and billowed violently in the fierce wind.

This symbol represented the vanguard spirit of the Imperial Army... and now, it signified the triumphant return of the Second Prince.

Rhine’s breathing grew ragged and unsteady.

He watched, aghast, as his heavily armored elite knights were forced back like a receding tide.

He observed the dragon-blood-clad youths carving through the enemy like a bloody mist, dismantling the defenses piece by agonizing piece.

With a sharp 'crack,' the teacup in his hand disintegrated into fragments.

Jagged shards embedded themselves into his palm, and crimson blood began to ooze slowly through the spaces between his fingers.

Yet, he felt no discernible pain, only an overwhelming, uncontrolled fury and disbelief at the unfolding reality.

"Lunatics..." Rhine spat through clenched teeth. "Every last one of them is mad... Kaelin has lost his mind... To dare bring the border army into the heart of the Imperial Capital... He shows no regard for the Empire whatsoever... Traitor! Rebel! Scoundrel!!"

The torrent of curses erupted, mirroring the tempest of emotions within him. The attending guards, paralyzed by fear, fell to their knees: "Your Highness... What are our orders now? The Second Prince has already breached the city walls..."

Rhine drew a deep, steadying breath.

When he finally looked up again, the rage that had contorted his features had transformed into a cold, venomous gaze, sharp as a serpent’s.

"What to do?" he echoed, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"Since my brother has chosen to become a beast..." His fingers traced the cold, smooth metal of the telescope, "...then he cannot fault me for abandoning all brotherly sentiment."

He surged to his feet abruptly, his voice booming with command: "Dispatch all Knight Teams within the inner city to advance immediately! The Fifth Legion, the Eleventh Legion, the Eighteenth Legion—mobilize all available troops!"

"Inform the Legion Commanders," he declared, his eyes blazing, "that if they can hold their ground tonight! I shall bestow upon them the title of Count! Nay, the title of Duke!! Each one shall receive it! Open the imperial treasury, transfer the gold reserves directly to the front lines..."

He raised his blood-stained finger, pointing menacingly towards the chaotic, darkened battlefield stretching beyond the city gates.

"Strike now, and secure victory tonight!!"

The guards drew in sharp breaths, stunned by the decree.

Rhine, utterly consumed by his strategic conviction, remained steadfast in his belief: that lavish rewards would undoubtedly forge valiant warriors.

With three Imperial Official Knight Orders charging forward, he envisioned a superior force of men and materiel overwhelming the Second Prince.

He was convinced that sheer numerical superiority, if maintained, would allow them to await reinforcements from the outer city legions. Merely enduring for another fortnight, he believed, would be sufficient to turn the tide.

Alarm bells began their mournful wail across the city, yet the three defensive lines already flickered precariously, like embers of a dying fire, casting a weak, fleeting illumination before being swiftly extinguished.

In the central square, three formations clad in heavy armor were hastily assembled: the Eighth Legion, the Eleventh Legion, and the Fifth Legion.

Their armor gleamed, their formations were precise, yet a stark difference in their disposition was palpable...

The Eighth Legion, known for its unyielding discipline and superior equipment, had been unwavering in its loyalty to the Fourth Prince from the outset.

The Eleventh Legion, an ancient and storied military unit, boasted numerous officers who had fought alongside the Second Prince in the brutal campaigns of the Southern Territory.

The Fifth Legion, fresh from recent valor on the city walls, had its ranks visibly swollen with the gold coins recently awarded by Rhine, their pockets undoubtedly heavy.

These three armies coalesced, forming an imposing Iron Wall, intended to seal the breach in the defenses.

But in the very next instant, the earth began to tremble violently.

The Second Prince, Kaelin, astride a warhorse, emerged from the swirling dust and bloody mist, advancing directly into the square.

His armor was rent and torn, his cloak saturated with blood, appearing almost black, and his face was a tapestry of fresh scars.

Rainwater streamed down the rivulets of dried blood, transforming him into a terrifying visage, resembling a slaughter god newly emerged from a brutal massacre.

Following closely behind him were the fearsome dragon-blood youths and the formidable Border Army Knight Order.

The sight they presented was akin to a moving wall of hellfire, causing an almost unbearable tightness in the chests of any who dared to gaze upon them.

A Knight Commander from the Eleventh Legion, mustering his courage against the overwhelming fear, raised his longsword high: "By decree of the Regent King, we shall eradicate this rebel host! All troops... charge!"

However, his command was only half-uttered before it was cut short, as the other two formations remained conspicuously immobile.

Kaelin raised the dragon flag aloft, its deep red hue now streaked with crimson blood that dripped slowly down the flagpole, the banner sweeping steadily towards the ranks of the Eleventh Legion.

Raising his arm, his voice resonated, piercing through the downpour:

"Eleventh Legion!! Your legion's proud banner, the Broken Sword and Red Heart, was personally unfurled by me twenty years ago in the Southern Territory!! Does your blade now point against this very banner you once swore loyalty to?"

A slight tremor ran through the grip of the sword as the commander of the Eleventh Legion felt it.

His eyes met Kaelin’s face, a visage contorted by the madness of blood and flames, yet another vision superimposed itself upon his mind.

He recalled the battlefields of the Southern Territory from years past, how he had marched alongside this very man, carving a brutal path through mountains of fallen foes and seas of spilled blood.

And now… his gaze shifted, drawn towards the direction of the palace.

Rhine, ensconced deep within the tower, confined to directing operations from behind a telescope, only managing to distribute wealth and issue rallying cries.

The supervising officer, perceiving the troops' hesitation, bellowed with might, "Eleventh Legion! Do you contemplate defiance of orders?! How much gold has His Highness Rhine lavished upon you?!"

"Gold?" The Eleventh Legion Commander’s lips twisted into a mocking smirk, as if subjected to an utterly ridiculous jest.

In the ensuing moment, he drew his blade, not to confront the Second Prince…

But with a powerful, decisive arc, he plunged the sword deep into the overseer’s shoulder and neck!

A spray of crimson erupted as the overseer crumpled to the ground, limbs spasming uncontrolliously.

The commander wheeled his steed around, hoisting his longsword high, his voice booming and shattering the tense atmosphere of the inner square:

"Eleventh Legion!! Welcome the Marshal back to the palace!! Any soul who dares to obstruct—they shall be put to the sword without mercy!!"

Thousands of knights shifted their attention towards Kaelin, uniformly raising their lances, their allegiance instantly aligning with the Second Prince.

This abrupt turn of events sent a wave of pallor across the face of the Eighth Legion’s Knight Commander.

His gaze snapped towards the Fifth Legion.

The Fifth Legion Commander lowered his head, his eyes fixated on the distinct bulge of gold coins within his pockets.

He closed his eyes… the riches were abundant, yet life was a singular, precious gift.

Rhine… was likely already as good as dead.

Slowly, he inclined his head upward, a smile of profound relief gracing his features. "Apologies, old friend."