Chapter 67: The Conclusion (Part 1)

"Attention!"
The heavily armed vanguard formed into a square, their movements synchronized and unified as if they were one body. Their gazes were cold, their presence radiating a ferocious murderous aura as always.

Behind them were rows of pitch-black armored vehicles—more precisely, infantry fighting vehicles. Six-wheel drive, thick armor capable of stopping most calibers of bullets, and a long, slender gun barrel.

The original small-caliber shells had been replaced by the lunatics of Xuan Lu with early-model anti-aircraft guns, fitted with custom mithril shells. With a twenty-millimeter caliber, the undead would never remain whole.

If not for time constraints, those madmen in the homeland would have modified heavy battle tanks, mounting shipboard close-in weapons.

The enemies of the New World were small in size and lacked heavy armor; tank shells with high penetration were now somewhat redundant. Especially against the undead, whose speed made Xuan Lu’s weapon specialists turn to high-rate-of-fire weapons—heavy machine guns, anti-aircraft guns, close-in weapons—that could form a web of fire impossible to evade.

Faced with a new world and new enemies, Xuan Lu's arsenal had to adapt.

The only thing unchanged? Intensified firepower!

"Salute!"

All the vanguard raised their hands almost simultaneously, standing tall, their palms pressed straight against their temples.

"At ease!" Qin Le looked over the more than two hundred soldiers before him. The force, once nearly two thousand strong, had been halved by civil war, the fall of the empire, and the new era—now fewer than a thousand remained.

Now, only two hundred were fit to carry a gun. The rest, suffering from the aftereffects of experimentation, could no longer bear arms, left only to eke out what little time they had left.

Qin Le swiftly outlined the mission: groups of ten would join forces with the various factions of the Dawn Kingdom, launching a thorough investigation of every suspicious corner of the capital.

Previously, Xuan Lu had used cunning to seize the enemy’s trail, drawing out large numbers of undead and severing the main hands of the cultists. In theory, cultists without undead could be handled by any grand lord’s knight order.

But so long as the core cultists remained alive, no one could rest easy. If they were not eradicated now, the cultists might create more undead in the future.

The largest cultist hideout—the slums—had already been razed. What remained to be searched were the underground black markets, brothels, casinos, arenas, and other places hidden in shadows. These were mainly the domain of the grand lords: the main knight order of the kingdom, the Hunter Guild. Xuan Lu had two targets for assault.

One was the Crown Prince; the other, the Cathedral of the Holy Light.

According to Xuan Lu’s investigation, the captured undead often received relief food from the Holy Light Church during their disguise. This relief food was distributed to every citizen and was not enough to arouse suspicion.

What truly sealed the suspicion was the attack on the Holy Light Church by cultists, resulting in the deaths of most clergy, including the Sixth Prince. On the surface, it seemed unremarkable—after all, even the Hunter Guild nearly suffered heavy losses. Yet, as Xuan Lu’s intelligence officers observed, they heard a single loud explosion, followed by chaos, and then the church was devastated.

The Holy Light Church, second only to the Night Church in its deterrence against cultists, was destroyed with such ease—something was clearly amiss.

"The upcoming mission will be extremely dangerous. Anyone could be an enemy. My order is simple: kill anyone you deem an enemy—even if they are civilians. You are the Republic’s finest soldiers, pioneers of seven hundred million compatriots. I do not wish to see your names on the monument to fallen heroes."

"Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" all the vanguard shouted in unison, loud and orderly.

The armored vehicles roared to life, escorted by kingdom knights on massive horses, and departed the royal palace.

As they left, the capital was already thick with the scent of blood.

...

Capital City, Ginness Street.

This was the domain of the Sixth Princess, encompassing nearly every entertainment venue in this world—from opera houses, casinos, and brothels, down to arenas, beast fighting pits, and certain places catering to the depraved whims of nobles.

Just minutes ago, the street was as lively as ever—music and dance, revelry and intoxication. Now, it was silent as the grave.

Countless knights clad in heavy armor and wielding sharp swords surrounded the area, faces grim and murderous.

A fat man in a red robe, wearing stockings and high heels in a ludicrous fashion, hurried over, his flesh jiggling with every step.

"Honored knights, I am the manager appointed by Princess Ginness, the person in charge here. May I ask what’s happening?" The fat man pointed out his subordinates as he spoke, his tone respectful.

Judging by the medals on their armor, these were the knights of Duke Carter. For Duke Carter’s knights to act so in the capital—did they not fear reprisal from the kingdom’s main knight order?

The lead knight captain replied emotionlessly, "By royal command, from this day forth all casinos, brothels, and arenas are sealed. All personnel involved are to be imprisoned and investigated."

"Ah?" The manager’s fat face turned pale, and before he could react further, his head hit the ground.

The knight captain flicked the blood from his blade to the floor, his voice cold: "No mercy!"

Something had happened; whatever the reason, someone had to pay the price. Those above had kept them fed for so long—it was time to slaughter them.

Heavy armor clanged upon the floors, the sound of metal scraping and swords swinging, blood splattering.

The entire street echoed with wails. The once-privileged nobles and officials, regardless of status, would today become souls beneath the sword.

In this world, people were divided by class—even nobles. Before great nobles wielding supernatural power, officials and commoners were all alike.

Supernatural power is the ultimate truth; mortals are but ants.

Underground arena—dozens of blood-soaked knights entered the gladiator cells.

The leader surveyed the damp, dim cells, his voice icy as he ordered, "Kill them all. Leave no one alive."

The dungeon erupted at once. The gladiators hurled the paltry curses their minds could muster at the knights.

A knight strode to a cell. A gladiator gripped the thick wooden bars, his face twisted as he spat, "You bastard born of a whore, let me out if you dare, I’ll show you—"

Before he finished, the knight stepped forward, swung his left hand, and snapped the thick wooden bars with his right. The gladiator’s head burst upon the bars, blood splattering on the mossy stone.

Silence fell instantly inside the cell. As the knight entered, the desperate gladiators launched a furious counterattack, but it was futile.

Before supernatural power, the knights killed them as easily as crushing ants.

In less than a minute, the five or six gladiators in the cell were all dead, save for a man curled in the corner.

The knight approached, eyeing the emaciated figure. Raising his sword, he remarked with some curiosity, "I wonder how you managed to survive here. Pity I haven’t the time."

He brought down his blade—but this time, it did not cut flesh. The sword stopped midair.

The frail man gripped the blade, slowly raising his head to reveal a face covered in scars and hideous beyond measure.

"Heh heh heh..." The man’s lips twisted into a bizarre smile, a sharp, rasping laugh emerging from his throat.

The knight’s expression shifted, preparing to react—then the frail man suddenly vanished.

A pair of foul-smelling hands pressed upon the knight’s face; the frail man was somehow perched on his shoulders.

Crack!

A crisp sound echoed; the knight’s head was twisted off in an instant.

"Let blood soak the earth, let bones welcome the return of my king."

"Cultist detected!"