Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 729 - 407: Breaking the City (Part 2)

The blade's gleam sliced through the overseer's back, a spray of crimson misting the armor.

"Fifth Legion, receive the command! Full retreat! Safeguard the Second Prince!!"

Yet, their path of withdrawal wasn't towards aiding the Second Prince, but a direct charge into the district of nobles, intent on plunder and treasure acquisition, capitalizing fully on the pervasive instability.

The frontline forces of the Eighth Legion found themselves suddenly isolated and utterly bereft of support.

Ahead lay Kaelin's army of retribution and the youth possessing dragonblood; to the left, the traitorous Eleventh Legion had defected; and to the right, the Fifth Legion was creating havoc, masquerading as a tactical retreat.

The commander of the Eighth Legion slowly swiveled his head, his gaze fixing upon the palace tower, his eyes reflecting utter despair.

"Your Highness... please bestow upon us a miracle..."

But the tower stood vacant. Not even a solitary silhouette was present.

Duke Raymond, astride his steed, navigated through the downpour, his polished armor reflecting the lightning in a cold, silvery sheen.

His pronouncements were devoid of mercy, akin to divine judgment: "Annihilate them all. Let every soul witness the grim destiny awaiting those who uphold Rhine's allegiance."

The brutal massacre commenced.

The youth graced with dragonblood tore through the thick plating of the Eighteenth Legion's armor as if it were mere parchment.

The Eleventh Legion's pikes plunged into the hearts of those who, moments before, were their comrades on the flanks.

The Second Prince charged forward, severing the warhorse of the Eighteenth Legion commander's front legs with a single, decisive sword stroke. The steed whinnied and buckled, and the prince followed, driving his heel into the commander's chest cavity.

Blood cascaded across the grand square, carving out streams within the fissures of the stone pavers.

Less than an hour.

A deafening roar erupted, prompting a unified response from the defected Eleventh Legion, the border Knight Order, and even the formidable dragonblood monsters. Their collective murderous intent and frenzied aggression culminated in a dark tide that blotted out the sky.

The sound reverberated through the entire Imperial City, shaking it to its very foundations.

Rhine’s eyes became unfocused, his gaze distant.

Gone were the gleaming gold coins, the illusory powers, the promises, contracts, and leverage he had painstakingly cultivated.

Before him stood only a prince, possessing true military talent, imperial blood, and genuine prestige.

These were qualities Rhine himself had never possessed.

He had never commanded such unwavering trust from any legion, nor had any knight ever pledged their life to him.

A sudden, harsh laugh escaped his throat.

The sound, forced out with immense effort, was more akin to a harrowing cry than real laughter.

The Avenue of Triumph, once a symbol of the Empire’s prosperity and glory, was now consumed by the encroaching night and the ravenous flames of battle.

The cleansing rain could not wash away the pervasive stench of blood, nor could the flickering firelight dispel the overwhelming despair.

Without walls to impede them, the order Rhine had meticulously established dissolved like brittle paper under the onslaught of raw violence.

The loyalty he had secured through contracts, bounties, and diplomatic rhetoric proved utterly insufficient against the brutal force of steel and bloodlust.

The heart of the Imperial Capital was instantaneously transformed into a scene of utter devastation, a veritable Purgatory.

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

Instead, like a pack of ravenous wolves unleashed upon a field of plump sheep, they surged directly into the opulent districts and bustling commercial streets flanking the Avenue of Triumph.

"Smash it open!"

The sturdy iron door of a gold shop buckled and dented under repeated, ferocious blows before finally collapsing inward.

Knights, their armor scarred and their bodies drenched in blood, stormed the establishment like maddened beasts, their sole focus the frantic act of looting.

Priceless oil paintings were ruthlessly torn apart, merely for the purpose of scraping the decorative gilding from their ornate frames.

A noblewoman, attempting to flee through a narrow side alley, stumbled and fell, her desperate pleas for mercy echoing in the darkness as diamonds and gems glinted faintly on her person.

A knight stooped, his eyes fixated on her hand: "Pretty."

A swift glint of his blade, and four fingers were severed, tumbling to the ground.

The rain quickly diluted the pooling blood. The knight casually nudged the severed digits with his boot, ripped the ruby ring from the mangled hand, and unceremoniously pocketed his prize.

"Keep looting!" he bellowed to his comrades, "The Duke declared that tonight, the Imperial City is our hunting ground!!"

Tormented relentlessly by potent potions, the dragonblood youths found themselves incapable of distinguishing friend from foe, unable to comprehend orders or grasp their purpose.

All that remained was their most primal, instinctual drive to hunt.

In the center of the Avenue of Triumph, three dragonblood youths converged on a wounded warhorse.

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

The second youth seized the horse’s tail, yanking away a large, bloody section of its hide.

The third youth knelt within a pool of the horse’s blood, his hands clawing at its entrails like a feral beast, crimson dripping from his chin.

Nearby civilians, witnessing the gruesome scene, were struck with paralyzing fear, dropping to their knees, some vomiting, others convulsing. The instinct to flee was utterly suppressed by sheer terror.

In the following instant, the dragonblood youths’ predatory gaze shifted towards them.

Their vertical pupils contracted, a malevolent red light flickering deep within.

They had found new prey.

Amidst the pervasive chaos, only two organized forces remained with a discernible objective: the fiercely loyal personal guard of the Second Prince, and Raymond’s formidable grayrock cavalry.

In their hands, they held meticulously prepared scrolls, densely packed with names.

Each name inscribed represented a family that had once stood in support of Rhine during his ascension.

"Next, the Castor Mansion."

The grayrock cavalry, with a resounding crash, shattered the mansion gates using a colossal warhammer. The sturdy door panel splintered and flew inward.

The nobles within, caught completely by surprise and with no opportunity to escape, were dragged outside and bound to the stone pillars at the main entrance.

"Mercy! My... my family was compelled to attend the ceremony; we did not support it wholeheartedly!"

No response was offered to their desperate pleas.

A knight, wielding a cruel hook-ended spike, drove it deep through a noble’s shoulder blade.

Blood cascaded down the stone pillar, mingling with rainwater on the steps, forming dark, viscous streams.

There were no trials. No additional charges laid, nor explanations provided.

This was pure, unadulterated revenge, a brutal facet of war laid bare.

Kaelin’s directive was stark and simple: "Round up all collaborators."

Thus, the lives of the nobles, once perceived as costly and dignified, were utterly shattered that night. Blood flowed freely down the steps, staining the imposing doors.

The most affluent streets of the Imperial Capital were now adorned with death, resembling a grim, sacrificial passage.