Karl strode out from inside and whispered to Aegon, "Your Highness, the cleanup is complete."
"We cornered Barry in a room on the second floor and captured him. There are also some... irrelevant people. How should we handle them?"
Aegon nodded slightly, then stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the front hall that had already turned into a slaughterhouse.
The corpses of Iron Jaw Gang thugs lay scattered across the floor, their blood staining the ornate carpets and luxurious decorations.
A dozen or so disheveled prostitutes, pale with terror, along with a few unlucky patrons who had clearly only come for pleasure, were pinned into a corner by gleaming blades, trembling so hard they didn't dare breathe loudly.
Barry's arms were pinned behind his back by two tall mercenaries, forcing him to kneel firmly in the center of the hall.
His expensive silk coat was torn, his face was bruised, and blood from an unknown source stained his bald head. His portly body shook violently with fear.
When he saw Aegon walk in, his small eyes widened to their limit, filled with unbelievable horror.
"It's... you?! You dare... you..." He was incoherent. He never imagined in his wildest dreams that the silver-haired boy from earlier that day, who seemed like he might compromise, would lead a group of death gods to storm his lair at night.
"Bang!" A Mercenary nearby unceremoniously smashed a fist into his mouth with ruthless force.
Barry let out a miserable scream as several bloody teeth flew out along with spittle. His remaining threats and curses turned into painful whimpers.
Just then, Luke came down the back stairs, supporting a thin, fragile young girl in tattered clothes.
The girl was about thirteen or fourteen years old, her face pale and her eyes red and swollen from crying. She had some bruises on her body, but she didn't seem to have suffered more serious harm.
She clung tightly to her brother, her body still trembling.
When Luke saw Barry forced to his knees, a bone-deep hatred erupted in his eyes, but he took a deep breath and forcibly suppressed the urge to rush forward and tear him to pieces.
Supporting his sister, he walked quickly to Aegon and knelt on one knee without hesitation. The girl followed suit, kneeling in a daze.
"Your Highness!" Luke's voice was hoarse yet incredibly firm. He looked up, his eyes glistening with tears, but no longer showing weakness—only a flame of absolute resolve. "From this day forward, Luke's life belongs to you! Whether it's a mountain of blades or a sea of fire, just give the word and I won't even flinch! You saved my sister's life as well. Our family owes you two lives!"
The girl also timidly looked up. Her terrified gaze, like that of a startled fawn, passed over her brother's shoulder and landed on Aegon.
The flickering firelight reflected off that ferocious and majestic black armor, the blood-red cloak on his shoulders, and above the cloak, that profile—handsome as a deity amidst the interplay of shadow and fire, yet cold as frost—and those violet eyes that seemed to contain both stars and ice.
The scene at this moment was like a red-hot branding iron, searing itself deeply and permanently into her young soul.
Aegon lowered his eyes, looking at the brother and sister kneeling before him. He remained silent for a moment before speaking, "Rise."
His voice was still steady, devoid of much emotion, yet it carried a reassuring power.
Luke kowtowed heavily before pulling his sister up and stepping aside, though his gaze remained fixed on Barry.
Aegon's gaze finally fell upon Barry, who was pinned down, face smeared with blood, tears and snot flowing from fear and pain.
When Barry met that gaze, he shuddered, the fear of death instantly overwhelming everything else.
He no longer cared about his dignity as a boss or his sister who was a mistress to a Magistrate. He struggled like a mangy dog, wailing for mercy in a muffled, toothless voice: "Spare... spare me! My Lord! Master! I was wrong! I was blind! The money... I'll return it all! Double! No, I'll give you all my money! Let me go! Please let me go! My sister... my sister won't let you get away with this..." His pleas for mercy turned into desperate threats at the end.
Aegon watched his performance expressionlessly and slowly gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist.
Screech—
The longsword was unsheathed once more, its cold luster reflecting Barry's face, which had instantly turned paper-white and was filled with extreme terror.
He twisted his body in vain, trying to retreat, but was held down firmly by the mercenaries behind him.
Aegon raised his wrist, the tip of the sword steady.
There was no redundant talk, no declaration of judgment.
Only a move that was as concise as it was ruthless.
Hand raised.
Sword fell.
A cold flash of light, like a bolt of lightning streaking across the night sky.
Barry only felt a chill at his neck, followed by an indescribable agony and a strange sense of lightness.
His final vision was of the spinning ceiling, the floor, the firelight, and the silver-haired figure who stood there sheathing his sword, as if he had merely brushed away a speck of dust.
Thump.
The portly head rolled onto the floor, the disbelief, terror, and confusion still frozen in its wide-open eyes.
The headless body convulsed as the mercenaries let go. It slumped to the side, blood gushing out and quickly staining a large area of the floor.
Aegon flicked his wrist, shaking the blood droplets from the blade, and returned the sword to its scabbard.
The movement was smooth and natural, as if he hadn't just severed a head, but merely cut through a withered branch.
A dead silence filled the hall.
There was only the crackling of the burning torches and the stifled sobs of the captives in the corner.
Karl glanced at Barry's corpse, then at the dozens of terrified prostitutes and patrons in the corner. He hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to ask in a low voice, "Your Highness, those people... how should they be handled?" He was referring to the captives who had nothing to do with the Iron Jaw Gang.
Aegon turned around, his indifferent violet eyes sweeping over the corner crowded with terrified men and women.
When his gaze swept over them, it was like being brushed by ice. They trembled even more violently; someone even wet their pants, the stench of urine mixing with the smell of blood.
There was no scrutiny, no screening.
Aegon's lips moved slightly, and his words, cold and devoid of any emotion, were spoken clearly, echoing through the blood-soaked hall:
"Leave none alive."
Karl looked up in shock at Aegon.
He was not a soft-hearted man, but to slaughter these people who were clearly just ordinary prostitutes and patrons... However, when he saw the deep, pool-like calm and resolve in Aegon's eyes, he understood instantly.
No witnesses could be left.
Not a single one.
Barry was dead, and the core members of the Iron Jaw Gang were almost entirely slaughtered.
But the news must not leak out so quickly or in such detail.
Especially, it must not be known that it was done by a well-equipped foreign Mercenary group of dozens of elites.
They still had to stay in Volantis for supplies and might even face a possible investigation from the Elephant Party.
The Tiger Party's tacit approval was based on the ambiguity of a 'gang war.'
If they left these 'tongues' who had witnessed everything, there would be endless trouble.
Furthermore, who could guarantee that among these seemingly innocent captives, there weren't one or two remnants of the Iron Jaw Gang disguised as patrons, or associates of Barry's other businesses?
Screen them one by one? Torture them to identify each other?
Aegon didn't have the time or the patience for that.
In the Valyrian Ruins, on the edge of life and death, the most profound lesson he had learned was: either don't do it at all, or do it thoroughly.
Mercy was for the victors and one's own people.
For enemies and potential threats, there was only total destruction.
Luke was the first to react.
There was not a hint of hesitation in his eyes, only absolute obedience to Aegon's command and a nearly twisted intent to kill, to completely purge all the filth associated with hurting his sister.
He abruptly drew the longsword he had just recently sheathed and strode toward the group of captives, his face as cold as iron.
The other mercenaries, seeing this, only wavered for a split second before a ruthless glint also flashed in their eyes.
They were all men who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood; they understood the stakes.
To His Highness's orders, they simply executed.
"No! Don't kill me!"
"I'm innocent! I just came for a drink!"
"Please! I won't say anything!"
"I'm not with them! Ah—!"
Brief, desperate wails, cries, and pleas for mercy rang out again, more shrill than before, yet more short-lived.
The glint of blades flashed in the corner, accompanied by the dull thuds of steel entering flesh and the crisp snaps of breaking bones.
Aegon stood with his back to the slaughter, his red cloak hanging quietly behind him.
He listened to the sounds behind him, the expression on his face unchanging, as if it were merely the whimpering of a night wind blowing through ruins.
Soon, the last whimper vanished.
A bloody stench so thick it was nauseating filled almost every inch of air in the hall.
"Pile them up," Aegon's voice rang out again, breaking the silence.
The mercenaries silently began to move the bodies, stacking the mangled corpses of the Iron Jaw Gang thugs, Barry, and the prostitutes and patrons in the center of the hall, forming a small mountain of flesh.
Ale and wine from overturned barrels mixed with the blood on the floor, soaking the carpets and wooden floorboards.
A burning torch was thrown onto the pile.
Whoosh—!
Flames instantly surged upward, greedily licking at everything flammable—wood, fabric, hair, flesh... Amidst the crackling pops, the intense firelight turned the entire hall of 'Pink Dream' bright red and illuminated the night outside the door.
The raging firelight reflected off Aegon's Valyrian Steel armor, casting a strange glow where heat and cold intertwined. It reflected deep within his violet pupils, yet it failed to ignite even a hint of warmth.
"Let's go."
He took one last look at the all-consuming flames, turned, and led the way into the deep night outside.
The red cloak traced a resolute path behind him, like a drop of blood.
The mercenaries followed quickly, withdrawing silently and swiftly. Just as they had come, they soon blended into the maze-like dark alleys of the Volantis harbor district.
Leaving behind only the brothel being rapidly swallowed by flames, which began to make louder sounds of collapsing, and the lingering stench of burning and blood in the air.
This long and bloody night was far from over.
But this den of filth, along with all the sins and witnesses within, would turn to ash and become a negligible wisp of smoke in the countless dark legends of Volantis along with this great fire.
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