Chapter Fifty-Six: The Fall of the City

A terrace, once the site of lavish banquets, now lay in ruins, shattered by repeated violent collisions. Above, Artis examined the roughly-constructed throne before turning his gaze downward.

Below, the gathered nobles had yet to fully recover from the succession of shocking events. Numbed, they stared blankly at Artis, who stood on the dais with the bearing of a god descended to earth, silent and unmoving.

Of course, what schemes they calculated in their hearts remained their own secret.

From Artis’s perspective, a dozen threads of fate interwove beneath him, shifting with the emotional turmoil of each lord. Yet, no matter how they changed, all bowed before the fortune above his head, not daring to act rashly.

Such was the awe he had just instilled. No matter the plots they nursed, before overwhelming strength, they could only submit to the greater tide, lest they be crushed like insects.

Outside, two figures drenched in blood approached—it was Carter and Nadir. Upon seeing Artis, they knelt without hesitation. “My lord, the rebellion outside has been suppressed.”

At these words, an uproar rippled through the crowd. All present knew the situation was now firmly under Artis’s control.

Some looked at Artis with uncertain expressions, hesitating to speak, but seeing the priests standing at his side, they swallowed their words, fearful of courting death.

Some nobles, friendly with the Narbe family, quietly breathed sighs of relief and glanced toward Ariel and Barger, hoping they would speak on their behalf.

Yet, unmoved by these glances, Ariel and Barger showed no intention of interceding. Of all those present, they were the most at ease; as blood relatives of Artis, they had nothing to fear.

Some silently cursed them as old foxes and, after a moment’s hesitation, remained still.

At the forefront, Artis surveyed them. “With things in such disarray, I alone cannot resolve this matter.”

“So, may I ask for your assistance?”

Hearing him speak, the tension in the crowd instantly eased.

“What sort of assistance do you require?” someone asked, their voice tinged with nervousness.

Artis’s gaze was playful. “Will you join me in attacking the city of Cecil?”

“What!”

The words exploded like thunder. All heads snapped up to look at Artis, eyes filled with disbelief.

Seeing their reaction, Artis sneered. “Did you imagine you still had another path to choose?”

“The king is dead, the royal guard annihilated. Whatever your reasons, you cannot escape blame. Do you think the royal house will spare you?”

Silence fell as the nobles digested this, cold sweat breaking out across their bodies.

The conflict between the royal family and the nobility was long-standing. In this affair, though they had not intended treason—the king had struck first—the royal family would never heed such explanations. They would seize the opportunity to wipe them out, leaving no room for negotiation.

Moreover, with priests and barbarian warriors eyeing them hungrily, the nobles realized they had no choice.

That same day, Artis ordered all corpses collected and burned. Then, holding the nobles hostage, he marched them toward the city-states.

Most of the wounded had already died in the repeated clashes, and with priestly magic at hand, their pace was swift. By the fourth day, the silhouette of Cecil loomed in the distance.

As they gazed upon the city, the nobles’ faces turned ashen. Seeing their own armies camped below the walls, a sense of foreboding rose in their hearts.

Sure enough, upon reaching the city, Artis addressed them with a smile. “Since you’ve agreed to fight alongside me, why not send your troops forward first?”

He was blatantly using their forces as cannon fodder.

The nobles cursed inwardly, but with the priests watching like hawks, they could only bow their heads in assent. “Yes.”

These armies had been gathered in the previous days. With the nobles’ crests and seals as proof, and under the pretense of a monster outbreak, no one questioned their mobilization. Even the royal family was deceived, assisting with supplies.

Given the world’s constant wars, city-states were vigilant and would not easily open their gates to the enemy. However, they were caught off guard by the collective betrayal of their own lords.

Once the gates opened, the lords’ armies poured in. The royal family finally realized too late and ordered a counterattack. The vast city became a slaughterhouse, with thousands of soldiers battling through the streets, plunging the city into chaos.

From Artis’s vantage, above Cecil, countless threads of fate clashed and intertwined—the invading nobles, the city’s resident lords, the royal family’s forces—creating a maelstrom of confusion. Wisps of black miasma rose, heavy with resentment, seeking victims to consume.

“Artis, are you sure it’s wise to let them act on their own?” Barger asked, gazing at the chaos.

“They are all clever men,” Ariel replied, also looking ahead. “They already bear the guilt of slaying their king. If they falter now, they offend us as well. They know what choice to make.”

“I see.” Barger nodded. “But with their paltry strength, can they really seize Cecil?”

“My estimate is that Cecil still holds at least three thousand soldiers and five hundred knights. With their strength, it’s almost impossible.”

Street fighting is not like open battle—superior numbers are useless, and losses will be heavy. That’s why our own men must not go in first,” Ariel sighed.

“When the defenders’ edge is blunted by these troops, that will be our moment.”

Beside them, Artis watched the city, golden eyes flashing.

Through his vision, he saw countless resentments above Cecil, erupting in a surge of faith’s radiance.

Elsewhere, in the slums, the common folk rose up under the guidance of priests, charging toward the inner city.

To the defenders’ shock, divine magic glimmered on the bodies of these peasants, granting them unexpected power as they followed the priests into battle.

“Charge!”

“Kill these scum!”

“For the god of nature!”

Shouts rang out amidst the chaos. Hatred and exultation shone in their eyes as they faced the guards, their bodies armored in wood, pressing forward fearlessly.

This was the rage of countless years, now given strength through faith and unleashed at Artis’s call.

Above, threads of fate rose, merging with the resentments and battering the royal fortune, leaving it flickering like a candle in a storm.

Artis raised his head. “Carter!”

“Lead your men inside. Ignore the surroundings—make for the inner city!”

“Yes, my lord!” Carter bowed. Above his head, a green life-mark vibrated fiercely.

Artis nodded, then turned to a priest robed in yellow. “Bill, set our people in motion.”

Soon, savage warriors blessed with divine magic surged forward. The defenders, already pinned by peasant mobs and the lords’ armies, could not stop them. Carter quickly led his clansmen to a city gate.

There, beneath the inner city’s walls, the ground was slick with blood and flesh. Warriors armored in wood threw themselves forward, driving the defending officers to sweat in terror.

As Carter’s company arrived, the situation shifted once more.

“Captain, look there!” a deputy beside the chief guard exclaimed, face ashen as he pointed at Carter.

The chief guard turned instinctively, but a sudden sense of danger overwhelmed him.

With a sickening sound, a sword pierced his body from behind. Eyes wide, he stared at his deputy in disbelief.

All around, the guards were stunned by the treachery.

But the deputy only laughed, his murderous intent laid bare. “Kill!”

It was as if a signal had been given. More guards betrayed their fellows. With defectors flinging open the gates, a flood of attackers surged in with wild eyes.

“It’s over,” a knight within the inner city murmured in despair as he gazed at the scene before him.