Is he King of Chambord Alexander's men?
The garrison soldiers let out a low cheer, as if they had seen a glimmer of hope.
The nobles and guards around Soroyev immediately changed their expressions, looking extremely embarrassed. The nobles lowered their heads one by one. Just now they were angrily cursing the two strong men, but now they didn't dare to utter a single word.
They already knew about the news that the city lord's special envoy had been turned into a meat pie during the day and that the young nobles had been mercilessly killed at the camp gate. This was because the city lord had deliberately instigated this to test the new commander's bottom line. So now, they dared not say anything more and secretly prayed that the devil King of Chambord would not target them.
Soroyev's expression also changed.
The summons from the King of Chambord filled him with trepidation, and the mocking looks in the eyes of the two burly men before him infuriated him, yet he was helpless. If it were anyone else who dared to call him a fat pig, he would have chopped them into mincemeat long ago, but now... he really didn't dare to do anything to the King of Chambord's men.
"Since it is Lord Alexander who has summoned me, I, the city lord, will go immediately." Soroyev's neck flushed red as he suppressed his anger, turning and beckoning, "This is a perfect opportunity; everyone, come with me to pay our respects to the First Commander of the war zone!"
"Lord City Lord, what about those three people..." the guard holding the long axe asked in a low voice.
"Take those three under custody first, and we'll talk when I get back." Soroyev glared at the guard, who immediately understood and called to his companion to drag the three unfortunate men away.
"Huh? Wait a minute." Drogba glanced at them, frowned, and asked in confusion, "These three soldiers are wearing the uniforms of the city garrison? Hmm, and they have battle scars on their bodies? Are they Ajax? Why would they be subjected to such torture?"
"This... the three of them openly incited the soldiers of the city to rebel, affecting morale and shaking the army's spirit. Therefore, the city lord has ordered them to be punished." The city lord's guard's eyes darted around as he offered a reason.
"Oh? Incite the soldiers' judgment? Shake the morale of the army? Hmm, that's certainly deserving of death." Drogba nodded solemnly.
Soroyev breathed a sigh of relief, and the captain of the guard secretly wiped away a bead of sweat. Luckily, these two burly men didn't seem to be very bright, otherwise they wouldn't have been so easily fooled.
"No, we didn't incite our comrades to rebel! We're innocent, sir! Please, save us..." The young soldier who had gotten into trouble earlier while protecting his brother's body shouted desperately.
"Shut up!" the captain of the guard shouted at the young soldier.
"Shut up!" Drogba yelled at the young soldier, then paused, glaring fiercely at the poor soldier, and added, "What right do you, a mere soldier, have to speak here?"
The young soldier was stunned.
Despair filled his eyes. He had thought these two burly men, sent by the legendary King of Chambord, were his saviors, but who knew that all nobles in the world were the same? These two strong men didn't seem to dare to offend the city lord's mansion. He gave a bitter smile of utter despair.
"Haha, hahahaha..."
In the distance, witnessing this heartbreaking scene, the tall, thin soldier whose right hand had been severed was still bleeding from the stump. His face was ashen with pain, yet he threw his head back and laughed, tears streaming down his face. His laughter was full of mockery and Taunt, and everyone could hear the despair and resentment in it, which far outweighed his actual pain.
The wounded soldiers guarding the city, seeing their comrade's miserable end, also had tears welling up in their eyes.
They hadn't expected that the two burly men sent by the King of Chambord were not the lifeline they had envisioned.
However, the city lord Soroyev, who was as fat as a pig, changed his expression at this moment. His eyes, which were almost submerged in fat, narrowed slightly, and a shrewd light flashed. He seemed to have discovered something interesting. Perhaps King of Chambord was not as terrible as he had imagined. At least these two strong men were not on the same side as those lowly commoners.
"Hey, you, yes, you... I'm talking to you. Come here and tell me in detail how these three soldiers instigated the garrison to mutini and undermine morale." Drogba still had a grinning expression on his face as he beckoned to the captain of the guard.
"Yes, yes, sir, the truth is this: just now... these three lowly cowards, afraid of death, secretly hid and did not contribute during the battle. After the Ajax troops withdrew, they spread rumors among the soldiers, saying that Twin Flag City would not be able to be defended sooner or later, and incited the soldiers to abandon the city and flee..." The captain of the guard walked over with bows and spittle flying as he began to recount the crimes of the three poor soldiers.
"Is that really so?" A cold smile inexplicably crept onto Drogba's lips.
"Of course it's true, absolutely true. I swear on my warrior's Glory that every word I just said is true." The captain of the guards swore solemnly, pointing to the sky.
Drogba approached the captain of the guard and Earth Inquiry, bewildered, "Hey, take a good look at me. Do I look like an idiot?"
"Ah? Fool? Oh, no, not at all! How could that be, sir? You are so majestic and extraordinary..." The captain of the guard quickly replied, a fawning smile on his face, as if he wanted to say something more flattering.
Snap!
Just then, Drogba, who had been all smiles, suddenly turned cold.
Before anyone could react, the burly man revealed his Big Hand, as big as a pot lid, and slapped the unsuspecting captain of the guard so hard that he spun around like a top, his silver helmet flying off and landing at the foot of the city wall with a clatter.
"Pah! Since you know I'm not stupid, you still dare to tell me such a bunch of lies?" Drogba said, and slapped the city lord's guard captain so hard that he fell to the ground, stunned.
Drogba wasn't finished. He kicked the young man away again, then rushed forward and snatched the desperate young warrior from the city lord's guards. Pointing to the still-bleeding wounds on the warrior's body, he glared at the nobles and their guards, demanding, "Open your dog eyes and look carefully! What are these? These are wounds! Wounds left by the Ajax scimitars! This is our warrior! The brave warrior who defended Twin Flag City! Do you think I'm blind? Stupid? Can't you see that? Warriors like this would hide during battle and encourage their comrades to flee after the battle is over?"
The despair in the young soldier's eyes turned into bewilderment and confusion.
The soldiers who had been keeping their heads down, daring not to speak out, looked up in surprise, their eyes filled with incredible joy, as they looked at the powerful and imposing man before them, seemingly finally understanding something.
Drogba's gaze swept over the wounded soldiers, and he shouted, "Tell me, tell me, did this young man incite you to abandon the city and flee?"
A brief silence.
"No," someone answered in a low voice, followed by a few other soldiers who answered in a scattered manner.
Drogba was furious. He grabbed the young soldier's hand and demanded, "Put your hands on your consciences and tell me loudly, this young man, the young man who entrusted his back to you in battle, the young man who shielded you from enemy swords in battle, the young man who fought alongside you no matter how many ferocious Ajax soldiers you faced... did he encourage you to run away?"
This series of questions, like thunderclaps, resounded in the ears of every soldier, igniting the suppressed anger within them.
"No! Sir, he didn't! No! No! No!" All the garrison soldiers raised their heads and answered in an almost roaring manner.
The sound was like the eruption of volcanic magma that had been dormant underground for thousands of years, uniform and soaring straight into the sky. The iron-blooded aura contained within it caused the heavens and earth to change color, and it was as if it would shatter everyone's eardrums and soul.
Lord Soroyev and his nobles and guards immediately paled.
"You should have told me sooner whether he should be executed or not!" Drogba roared again.
"No! No! No! No! No! No!" The only response he received was the unified roar of the soldiers, this time without the slightest hesitation.
Drogba gently patted the young soldier who was trembling with excitement and gratitude, and said softly, "Soldiers, why were you punished? What happened? Do you dare to tell me everything?"
"Sir, I dare, I dare!" the young soldier said loudly without the slightest hesitation.
Everyone present, except Drogba and Pierce, had witnessed and remembered everything that had just happened. They knew it better than anyone else. But when the young soldier, covered in wounds and blood, roared and recounted the events in a hoarse voice and with broken sentences, every soldier in the garrison was deeply moved. They felt ashamed of their previous silence, and a fire burned in each of their hearts, a fire of anger that seemed capable of incinerating everything.
"Enough! Shut up!" Soroyev shouted, interrupting the young soldier's words.
The fat city lord sensed an extremely ominous atmosphere spreading. He could not tolerate this scene; he felt that his dignity and Glory as a second-class nobleman of the empire had been challenged, which was simply intolerable.
Second update.
The book I recommended in the previous chapter was indeed well-written, but the narrative seemed a bit tedious, so I'm clarifying that here.
For those of you who like writing but lack the skills, you can check this out.
With only a few days left before the outbreak, please support me.
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