At dusk, when the setting sun was like blood, staining the horizon a bleak, lurid dark red, Karl's vanguard finally reached the outskirts of Golden Scale Port.
The sight before them made even the most battle-hardened veteran soldier suck in a sharp breath, a chill shooting from the base of his spine straight to the crown of his head.
Once prosperous, with masts standing like a forest and merchants gathering in droves, Golden Scale Port had now completely become a living hell.
The massive, several-zhang-high city walls still stood, but many of the towers and battlements had collapsed or been wrecked, belching thick black smoke.
The once-magnificent West Gate now stood wide open. Its enormous iron-bound gates had been twisted out of shape and hung crookedly from their hinges, covered in the marks of blades, axes, and fire.
The Broomflower banners that had once flown from the walls were long gone. In their place, several tattered, bloodstained flags—barely recognizable as bearing Luo Yao's insignia—fluttered weakly in the cold wind.
Even more heart-pounding was the scene within the city. Thick smoke rose from every part of the harbor, shooting into the dim sky. Houses, warehouses, even ships, were still burning.
The air was saturated with the pungent stench of ash, blood, and the horrifying smell of scorched human flesh.
Cries, wails, mad laughter, smashing and looting, the scattered clash of weapons, and musket fire still drifted faintly from within the city. Though far weaker than the earth-shaking uproar of dawn, they remained unceasing, showing that the plunder and slaughter were still underway.
In some areas near the walls, flames could even be seen licking at the outlines of buildings, staining the sky a strange orange-red.
All manner of debris floated across the harbor waters—broken planks, overturned skiffs, scattered cargo crates, and...