The Raiding Squad and the Tremor

Ingrid's speech proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back, plunging the rebel forces hiding within Dragonhead City into despair. The Imperial Propaganda Department had still somewhat underestimated the influence the Church of Amaunator held in people's hearts. The public's attitude toward the Cinder Empire gradually shifted from initial hostility and resistance to acceptance and compliance. Reluctant though it remained, this was already far better than the situation when the Empire had first moved in. Meanwhile, the rebel factions that had looked up to Ingrid—the bishop of Amaunator—as their spiritual leader fell into complete disarray, torn apart by endless internal strife. Quite a few formerly pampered clergy could no longer endure a life spent hiding in fear, choosing instead to submit to the Empire and offering intelligence on their comrades as proof of allegiance. At the same time, imperial authorities drew up wanted posters and issued bounties based on this intelligence. Countless players flooded into the cities of North Aethel, becoming a living nightmare in the eyes of the rebel organizations. *** Inside a basement, silence hung thick, and the air felt nearly frozen. Following Ingrid's speech, the situation had grown increasingly dire. The Dawn Crusaders were gripped by turmoil, and many had deserted. In just a few days, half the members of the crusaders—an organization once hundreds strong and deeply entrenched in Dragonhead City's underground—had either been captured or defected. Now, even self-preservation was a struggle, to say nothing of overthrowing imperial rule and restoring the Church of Amaunator, which had become a pipe dream. Arn rested his chin on his hand, his eyes weary and his voice heavy. "Speak your minds, everyone..." "How could Lady Ingrid bow to that evil dragon! She must be under some foul spell!" someone shouted. "It's all over. Even Phil has been captured..." "Just two days ago, Derwent defected as well. Damn it, they've all been bewitched by that evil dragon!" Arn finally cut through their arguments, saying, "This place is no longer safe. If we stay, the Cinder Empire will wipe us all out." "Then what should we do?" Arn sighed. "We... must leave this land. I've contacted the Harpers. They're willing to offer us shelter in the south." "Are we just going to abandon our homeland and become cowardly deserters?" someone asked in bewilderment. Though he could hear the undisguised sarcasm in the speaker's tone, Arn did not lose his temper. He looked up at the holy symbol of the Sun God painted on the ceiling and said softly, "Blind courage only turns into folly. The Dawn Crusaders cannot afford to lose any more fighting strength. As for overthrowing the Cinder Empire and restoring Corinth to the glory of Amaunator, that can only be a long-term goal. I hear that Lord Titus, the 'Wings of the Dawn,' plans to rally all who wish to resist the Cinder Empire's tyranny and forge a grand alliance. Perhaps we could..." Right then, Arn noticed the ceiling trembling faintly, scattering flakes of plaster and dust. Sensing impending disaster, his expression shifted abruptly. "What's that?" "Have the imperials tracked us down?" Panic rippled through the room, cries of alarm breaking out. Arn hastily produced the cleric's scepter from within his robes, preparing to cast a mass teleportation spell as he shouted, "Enemy attack! Take cover, I'll get you out of here!" "FBI, open the door!" "Open up, water meter check!" Sure enough, arrogant shouts echoed from above, accompanied by the piercing beep of timed explosives. *Boom!* With a tremendous blast, stone fragments flew, dust filled the room, and the ceiling adorned with the holy symbol blew wide open. Over a dozen players breached the wall with practiced ease, dropping into the spacious basement. "Hands on your heads, get down! Justice is being served!" "You're all under arrest!" The players whipped out new firearms and opened fire on the Dawn Crusaders. Their muzzles spat not only bullets, but also expanding nets that ensnared their targets. "Taking them alive pays better!" "Use the net guns!" The Dawn Crusaders fought back with blades, spears, bows, and divine spells, but under the players' practiced coordination, their resistance amounted to very little. *Woof! Woof!* Mechanical hounds released by the players barked fiercely as they prowled the basement, lunging to bite at any enemy in sight. The electrical discharge from their jaws was more than enough to stun an adult. "For the Sun!" Several paladins among the crusaders roared, raising greatswords and gathering together, their bodies radiating brilliant light. In the next instant, however, the players bombarded them with Dispel Magic and Antimagic Rays, one after another, dimming the glow on their armor. "Die!" A bald monk with a dragon bloodline barked a battle cry, barreling straight into the paladins' formation and driving resonant ki into their bodies with a hail of punches. The monk detonated the resonant ki, and the paladins burst apart violently. Armor shards, blood, and flesh splattered in all directions. He was none other than the renowned monk player "Dawei Tianlong." Having reached Level 11, he was an extraordinary powerhouse even by the standards of the Feanso Continent. Dealing with these crusaders was child's play for him. "Starfallen..." Looking around, Arn's heart sank to rock bottom. All he could do now was cut his losses and evacuate as many people as possible. Yet alongside the players was a half-dragon who was clearly also a soldier of the Cinder Empire, though his silhouette looked oddly familiar to Arn. Spotting Arn in the distance, the half-dragon pointed toward him and cautioned in a low voice, "That's Arn, leader of the Dawn Crusaders. He's skilled in teleportation magic. Don't let him get away." "Thinking of running?" "Hehehe, think you can escape? Someone lock this guy down!" A player in Machine Cult robes and glasses pulled out two metal spheres and hurled them forward. The spheres burst open, unleashing over a dozen iron chains that radiated invisible ripples, completely anchoring the surrounding space. The space around them seemed frozen in solid ice, rendering teleportation spells utterly useless. The light on Arn's scepter faded, leaving him gripped by shock and fury. "Y-You..." It was not just the disruption of his spell—he had recognized the voice. Though it had grown considerably rougher, Arn could still identify who it belonged to. Arn turned his head, staring at the half-dragon in disbelief, his pointing finger trembling. "You... Phil? "That's impossible! You were the one among the Dawn Crusaders who hated the Empire most! You bore a bitter blood feud against them, so how could you become a thrall of that evil dragon!" The half-dragon nodded. "Long time no see, Bishop Arn. However... I must place you under arrest now. Please stop this futile struggle." His voice lacked any trace of emotion, sounding like an empty husk. "Wait, we getting melodrama here?" "Pass the popcorn, pass the popcorn!" The surrounding players looked like an audience eager for drama. Arn glared at the half-dragon that had once been Phil, raising his scepter high. "That wretched dragon actually turned you into this thing! I shall grant you release! "Thralls of the dragon, the glory of Amaunator is eternal! You will never take a follower of the Sun God alive!" Blinding light erupted from the scepter, shooting forth a radiant beam of power that crashed toward the half-dragon and the players. "The boss is using his ult! Looks like Sunburst!" "Pop shields! Pop shields!" Lonely as Snow raised a massive silver shield, stepping in front of the group and effortlessly deflecting Arn's divine spell. He even had the leisure to free a hand, draw a cigarette, and pop it into his mouth—such was the simple, unvarnished power of a paladin. "Hah!" With a furious roar, the bald monk—now nearly five meters tall and built like a monstrous brute—leapt into the air, closing in on Arn at terrifying speed. Arn hastily raised his scepter to block. "Vile dragon thrall—" Yet compared to the monk, he was far too slow. *Boom!* A single punch from Dawei Tianlong sent Arn coughing up a mouthful of blood. He flew backward several meters, slamming heavily into the wall behind him. Looking over at Arn in the distance, Dawei Tianlong scratched his bald head and said sheepishly, "Oops, hit him a bit too hard. Might not keep him alive." Arn lay on the ground, drawing ragged breaths. His scepter had fallen from his grip, his bones were shattered, and his internal organs were torn to pieces. He forced himself to look around. Not a single member of the Dawn Crusaders in the basement had escaped; they had either died where they stood or been taken captive by the imperials. Phil strode over from the distance, coming to a halt before Arn, and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Bishop Arn. I had no other choice." Arn let out a miserable chuckle, straining to lift his head and look at this man who had become a stranger—even a monster. "Do you feel no shame, turning into this? Can you face Nico, who died for you? Can you face the fighters who gave their lives for our faith?" By the end, Arn grew so agitated that crimson blood welled continuously from his mouth. At last, he collapsed onto the floor, his life hanging by a thread. "I didn't do anything wrong... "This... this was all for Lady Ingrid. All so I could keep following her..." Phil stood frozen in place, muttering to himself. *** South of the Radiant Mountains, in Auguste, the "City of Sunrise," infuriated shouts echoed through a resplendent palace. "Incompetent fool! Traitor! "That vast North Aethel—handed over in just a month by that useless Walter!" Wilhelm sat upon a golden throne, his face twisted into a hideous scowl as he smashed a crystal vase to pieces. Now, with his power waning, the cracks across Wilhelm's face could hardly be concealed, leaving him no choice but to mask them beneath thick layers of gold powder. Seeing His Majesty fly into another rage and smash everything in sight, the ministers in the hall stood in dead silence, not daring to make a sound. Feathers that had lost their pure white sheen drifted in the air, and the floor was littered with porcelain shards. After a long time, someone finally ventured in a trembling voice, "Your Majesty, there is no need to worry. That evil dragon would not dare make an enemy of us. You are the true Emperor of Fadlan..." "Would not dare?" Wilhelm sneered. "He's already marched to our doorstep, and he wouldn't dare? Do you take me for a fool?" "Your Majesty, I... that wasn't what I meant..." The minister dropped to his knees in terror, scrambling to explain. "That damned dragon even dared to slay a Lord of Heaven!" At that thought, Wilhelm's fury boiled over. He walked straight up to the minister and kicked him violently. Though he had lost much of his former divine power, this angelic scion still possessed strength far beyond mortal limits. The unfortunate minister was sent flying, crashing hard against an intricately carved pillar. He vomited blood and collapsed, his fate uncertain. Faced with this scene, the remaining ministers merely lowered their heads, not daring to utter another word. The air in the hall grew heavier, tinged with the sharp stench of blood. In recent months, such incidents had become routine. His Majesty Wilhelm had grown increasingly temperamental, a far cry from the sacred, radiant Prince of Fadlan he once was. Seeing their timid, subservient demeanor only fueled Wilhelm's irritation. He roared, "Get out! All of you, get out!" As if granted a reprieve, the ministers carefully hurried out of the palace. The unfortunate minister was dragged away by guards, and even the pool of blood left behind was promptly scrubbed clean. Alone in the cavernous hall, Wilhelm sat upon his golden throne, his face veiled in gloom as an image of the red dragon battling Barachiel floated before his eyes. "Cassius... "To think that damned red dragon has grown to such heights. As I am now..." He lowered his head, staring at his crack-covered arms, and murmured to himself, "Alone, I fear I cannot defeat him." After a long silence, Wilhelm rose from the throne and walked into the palace's depths, eventually entering the most secret chamber of all. He fixed his gaze upon the blood-red, sinister array painted on the wall. In a low voice, he said, "As long as you help me deal with that red dragon, I will agree to your previous terms—excessively greedy though they may be." Suddenly, a mysterious female voice resonated from within the array. "Your Majesty Wilhelm, isn't it a bit late for regrets? That red dragon is an entity capable of besting Barachiel. "Tsk. Even I cannot be certain of defeating him in the Material Plane. Not to mention, I recently discovered he shares some rather murky ties with Bel..." Hellfire surged forth, coalescing into the face of a woman radiating madness and malice, her expression dripping with naked mockery. Wilhelm was silent for a long moment before looking up. "What will it take for you to defeat that red dragon in the Material Plane? Or rather... what is it you truly want?" "Hahahahaha! To think the once-glorious Prince of Fadlan would stoop to begging me like this. How delightful." Hellfire danced through the air, tongues of flame raging as a wicked grin spread across the face. "What do I want? "That depends on... what you still have left to offer, my dear King Wilhelm." "..." In the flickering firelight, Wilhelm's cracked visage shifted between shadow and flame.