The morning mist was soaked in blood.
The battlements of Lys's outer wall could no longer be seen in their original color; layers of dark red, brownish-black, and fresh crimson were smeared over the stone bricks, so viscous they could stick to the soles of boots.
The air was thick with the stench of rust, excrement, and charred flesh.
Karl knelt on one knee behind a broken battlement. The bandage on his left arm had long since been soaked in blood into a stiff black shell, and every pulse brought a dull, bone-hammering pain.
"Left!" Henry's hoarse roar exploded in his ear.
Karl instinctively rolled to the right as a long blade grazed his scalp and struck the stone bricks, sparks flying.
Before the enemy Soldier could hit the ground, he thrust his nicked blade into the side of the man's neck. Hot blood sprayed across his face—warm and metallic.
Henry had just used a battered oak shield to knock another tyroshi Soldier climbing the wall flying. The Soldier screamed as he fell from twenty meters up, crashing onto the shields of his comrades below with a dull thud like a smashed pumpkin.
Henry's own shield was also completely shattered. He staggered back to Karl's side, his face smeared with blood and sweat.
"The outer wall..." Karl's voice was shattered. He didn't need to look to know that less than thirty percent of the standing defenders remained. The corpses of civilian conscripts filled the wall-walk, piled so high in some places they could be used as steps.
Below the city, the tyroshi's second wave of siege towers was already approaching.
"We have to hold even if we can't!" Henry roared, but his voice trembled with the last bit of bluster before exhaustion. "The Prince entrusted the city to us..."
*Boom—!!!*
A massive crashing sound came from the direction of the city gate.
Rubble and dust fell in showers as the iron-clad battering ram repeatedly struck the main gate.
The bracing timbers behind the door groaned under the strain, like the wail of a dying behemoth.
"They're coming up again!!" someone screamed in the distance, their voice distorted by fear.
More scaling ladders hooked onto the battlements. The screeching of iron hooks biting into stone crevices rose and fell as more tyroshi Soldiers swarmed up like ants.
The defenders were like a sand dike battered by the tide; section after section fell, and the cries of battle and screams of the dying spread rapidly.
Karl and Henry looked at each other.
Both saw the same things in each other's eyes: bloodshot veins, exhaustion, and a deep-seated, unextinguished resolve.
"Retreat!"
Karl screamed with the last breath in his chest, his voice tearing like a ragged cloth.
"Fall back to the inner city! The second line of defense! Those who can move, take the wounded! Move!"
This was the worst-case scenario in their plan.
Giving up the outer wall meant handing over half of Lys—including most of the civilian districts, markets, and workshops—to the enemy.
The street fighting to follow would be even bloodier. Every house could become a grave.
But there was no choice.
The defenders who could still move supported or even dragged the wounded, stumbling down the narrow stone stairs of the wall.
Behind them were the excited howls of the tyroshi and the sound of blades cutting through the air in pursuit.
Karl and Henry led the remnants back to the inner city defense line.
Just as they rushed through the inner gate, they heard a thunderous roar like a mountain collapsing behind them.
The main gate of the outer city had been breached.
Henry looked at the Soldiers around him who, despite their fear, were still mechanically carrying out orders.
Moving debris to block the gate and climbing onto crude watchtowers, he whispered to Karl:
"Luke's move... it was ruthless, but it actually worked."
Karl didn't look back. He was pulling up a young Soldier whose legs had gone soft and wanted to sit down, pushing him toward a position by the wall.
"The Prince said that fear is a rope that can bind people in a desperate situation. Luke just... tightened the rope."
He remembered at the West Gate this morning, how cleanly Luke had dealt with the first batch of deserters.
Heads rolled, and the rest returned to the battlements with bloodshot eyes.
Sometimes, the blade at your back is more sobering than the one in front of you.
"Where is he?" Henry looked around, not seeing the familiar black figure.
"At a time like this, he should be here."
Karl's movements paused for a moment, and he lowered his voice so only Henry could hear:
"He was called away by Lady Luciana. Those people in the city... they're getting a bit restless. Someone has to look after them."
"Those nobles?" Henry's brow furrowed, and he spat. "At a time like this, they still dare..."
"A cornered dog will jump over a wall. When people panic, what won't they consider?" Karl interrupted him, his tone cold.
"Luke can handle it. We just focus on what's in front of us."
"Say no more," Karl said finally, his voice raspy.
"If we can't hold this, we'll end up just like those deserters. The difference is, at least we'll die facing the enemy."
A tide of enemy troops flooded the city streets. Iron hooves crushed stone slabs, torches ignited houses, and the roar of a carnival-like frenzy instantly exploded within Lys.
The sounds of burning and killing, cries and pleas for mercy, the mad laughter of looters, the crisp sound of shattering porcelain, and the piercing screams of women... all merged into a hellish din that poured into the ears of everyone in the inner city with the wind.
Karl shut his eyes tight, his teeth grinding audibly.
He took a deep breath. The air, thick with blood and char, rushed into his lungs, triggering a violent fit of coughing.
After he finished coughing, he turned to the pale, terrified faces smeared with blood and soot on the inner city defense line and roared with all his remaining strength:
"Block the gates! Archers to the walls!"
"This is the final stand!"
He raised his nicked longsword. His sword tip trembled, but his voice was resolute:
"To retreat is to die!"
"For the Prince—!!"
"Roar!!" The remaining defenders let out a cry like trapped beasts.
At the same moment the outer city fell and the feast of slaughter began...
In the main hall of a noble manor in the inner city of Lys.
A dozen people were gathered here, all prominent nobles of Lys.
Sitting in the seat of honor was a prestigious old noble, said to be a distant relative of Governor Dorian.
"The outer wall is breached! Did you hear that? Those screams!" a noble who ran a Pleasure Garden said in a shrill voice.
"The tyroshi barbarians will be rushing in any moment! Then our whole families will die!"
"Surrender..." a fat noble wiped his sweat. "When the tyroshi army enters, we surrender. Raise the white flag, maybe we can still..."
"Surrender?"
"You think the tyroshi will negotiate with you?" the old noble interrupted coldly.
"They will loot everything and then hang us from the city gates!"
"Then what do you suggest?!" a noble said irritably.
A ruthless glint flashed in the old noble's eyes.
"Seize that woman in the Governor's Mansion, and those officers."
"Hand them over alive to the Archon of Tyrosh. This is our only way out and the best token of our loyalty."
The room fell into a dead silence.
"But... but Prince Aegon..." a young noble stammered, fear lingering in his eyes. "He... he has dragons..."
"Dragons? He hasn't appeared for so long; he probably fled on his dragon long ago, leaving us here to die!"
These words struck the deepest fear and resentment in everyone. A suppressed commotion filled the hall.
The old noble looked around at everyone and lowered his voice. "Now that all those Eunuch Warriors have been sent to the walls to fight for their lives, the Governor's Mansion is empty. This is our only chance."
"But our heirs... are still being held in the Governor's Mansion..." someone hesitated.
"If the heirs are gone, we can have more!"
The old noble slammed the table, his murky eyes scanning every face.
"If the family is gone, everything is gone! Think of your warehouses, merchant ships, Pleasure Gardens, and workshops! Think of the wealth you've accumulated over generations!"
He stood up and said raspily, "Give me command of all the guards in your manors who can still move."
"I will lead them to the Governor's Mansion. Once it's done, I will claim credit for all of you before the Archon of Tyrosh!"
Everyone looked at each other.
From the distance came another wave of battle cries and screams that chilled them to the bone.
Ultimately, greed for wealth and fear of death overrode their lingering awe of the Dragonlord.
"Let's do it!" someone gritted their teeth.
"Count me in!" another's eyes gleamed with malice.
"I... I'm in too."
Half an hour later, the old noble arrived at the Governor's Mansion with over a hundred guards cobbled together.
Luciana stood on the front steps, her dark blue skirt swaying slightly in the wind, playing with the amethyst dagger in her hand.
There were only four guards by her side.
"Lord Varian," she said calmly, "to what do I owe the honor of your visit with so many men?"
The old noble, Varian, stepped forward, putting on a compassionate expression.
"Lady Luciana, the outer city has fallen, and the inner city is about to fall.
"For the sake of all the people in the city, please persuade those who are resisting to open the gates and surrender. It is the only way to avoid more bloodshed."
Luciana looked at him, her pale violet eyes terrifyingly clear. "The Prince's command is to hold the city."
"I have no authority to surrender, nor will I."
Varian's face soured, and his hypocritical mercy instantly vanished, replaced by a hideous expression. "Then don't blame us! For the future of Lys, seize her!"
The guards gave a shout and swarmed forward.
At the moment they rushed up the steps...
The side hall doors on both sides of the Governor's Mansion burst open!
Luke, holding an unsheathed longsword, led a hundred Skull Squad elites in full black armor—showing only their eye slits—as they poured out like a black tide!
They didn't shout; their movements were efficient and cold.
Blades flashed, and the dozen or so guards in the lead fell like wheat before a scythe.
"It's an ambush!" a noble screamed, turning to flee, only to be run through from behind by a Skeleton Regiment Soldier.
Varian's eyes widened as he watched the fierce Skull Squad Soldiers slaughter the rabble he had brought like they were cutting vegetables, and saw Luke walking toward him expressionlessly.
"No... impossible... you should be at the walls..." he rasped.
Luke didn't answer. His longsword flashed like lightning, piercing through the man's heart.
The battle ended in a very short time.
Over a hundred rebels—wiped out.
Blood stained the grounds of the Governor's Mansion red.
Luke sheathed his sword and stepped a few paces away from Luciana, blood dripping from the edges of his iron armor plates.
"It's done. One hundred and twenty-three people, all eliminated."
Luciana nodded, her gaze sweeping over the bloody courtyard:
"Hang the heads at the mansion gate. Let those still alive in the city with other thoughts see clearly the fate of those who betray the Prince."
Luke looked at her silently, then turned and signaled to the Skull Squad Soldiers behind him.
The Soldiers immediately began dragging the corpses away, skillfully clearing the battlefield.
Luciana watched in silence, no joy of victory on her beautiful face.
She turned and walked back into the mansion. Her pace remained steady, but her clenched hands tightened slightly.
She knew this was only the beginning.
The fear and despair in the city had fermented to a breaking point.
One wave was killed, but there would be another.
As long as the walls were being battered, as long as Aegon did not appear.
She walked to the window, looking toward the bay shrouded in smoke, and whispered to herself, her voice so soft it was scattered by the wind as soon as it left her lips:
"Your Highness..."
"If you don't return soon..."
"It will really..."
"...be too late."
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