Imperial Military Department.
The pungent Bloody of blood was so strong that it seemed as if the air itself had turned into thick, sticky plasma; the night breeze carried its lingering, rich odor.
The Imperial Military Department had become a terrifying slaughterhouse. At least half of the Military Department leaders had fallen victim to the blades of ordinary soldiers. In addition, some ordinary clerks, nobles, and warriors in the Military Department had also been slaughtered. The steel blades of the Iron-Blooded Camp soldiers who carried out the executions had been chipped.
In the center of the Military Department headquarters' council hall, a mound of dark, human heads was piled up.
The gushing blood, like a stream after a downpour, formed a red river, then slowly flowed out along the cracks in the moss-covered steps, exposed to the cold night air, emitting a faint warmth, seemingly telling of life's last lingering attachment to this cruel world.
The Iron-Blooded Camp soldiers, their swords and spears drawn, stood solemnly and ramrod straight.
Crown Prince Arshavin seemed somewhat distracted, as if he were pondering a crucial decision. He rested his chin on one hand, looking down at the ground, remaining silent for a long time like a statue.
This silence made the entire Military Department headquarters council hall feel increasingly oppressive and deathly still.
Those nobles and Military Department leaders who survived the massacre felt as if they had just woken from a nightmare, and this nightmare showed no signs of ending. The air was so oppressive that everyone felt they were having difficulty breathing. They were terrified that the man sitting on the high throne, deep in thought, would wave his hand and issue another order to massacre.
call out!
A sharp, signaling flame burst forth in the sky, its piercing shriek shattering the silence.
The eldest prince finally awoke from his long silence. He looked up at the towering hill of human heads before him, a hint of regret flashing in his eyes. He waved his hand impatiently, and the soldiers of the Iron-Blooded Camp bowed. Amidst the horrified gazes of the surviving nobles, they sprang into action, beginning to clean up the bloodstains on the ground, and the heads were carried away one by one.
"Gentlemen, you may now return." Arshavin stood up and spoke to the nobles in a low voice.
"Ah?" someone exclaimed, crying hysterically, "No, Your Highness, don't kill me! I know everything! I'm loyal to the royal family..."
A huge crowd knelt down, everyone begging for mercy.
"Gentlemen, you are all loyal subjects of the Empire. In the Empire's most perilous time, you stood with the Royal Family and the people, and withstood the test. I am delighted, I am proud of you. Blood for blood, Glory for Glory, let the stars witness the oath of the Zenit Imperial Family: loyalty to the Empire, and you will receive flowers and cheese!" The Crown Prince proclaimed loudly, "The matter is over, everyone, please return!"
After some explanation, everyone, still shaken, got up, thanked them profusely, and walked out cautiously.
Walking into the streets, one finds fully armed soldiers everywhere, clearly having just finished a fierce battle. Their armor is stained with blood, and their swords and spears gleam with a bloody light. Some normally prestigious noble residences are now engulfed in flames, filled with shouts of battle. The entire capital seems to be soaked in blood, making it suffocating.
The nobles were then shocked to realize that the events of the night had far exceeded their wildest expectations.
They exchanged glances, both seeing the shock and relief in each other's eyes.
As the night wind blew, no one dared to speak. They staggered toward their respective residences. No one could have imagined that a counterattack against King of Chambord Alexander, which was almost settled, would take such an unexpected turn at the last moment. Without even King of Chambord taking action, the powerful anti -King of Chambord front in the empire collapsed in an instant.
The name King of Chambord Alexander is becoming a taboo subject; it is forbidden to touch it, to offend it, or to plot against it, lest one meet a gruesome end.
On this Night of Bloodshed, the only relatively peaceful place, besides the slums, was the city's guesthouse district.
The envoys from the twenty-two empires of the Northern Region, like rats sensing a dragon passing through, huddled fearfully in their rooms, too afraid to come out. Just the night before, two burly men claiming to be lowly soldiers under the command of the King of Chambord had stormed into the post station area, broken the legs of the arrogant envoys from the Anzhi Empire, killed any foreign envoys who dared to insult the King of Chambord, and slapped every envoy's face until it was swollen like a pig's head. It was as if they were slaughtering pigs and dogs, completely crushing the entire post station area.
These envoys, who had been clamoring to kill the King of Chambord, were completely terrified. The two burly men, like tigers breaking into a flock of sheep, killed people like weeds, without any scruples, and slapped everyone's faces until they were swollen.
Since yesterday, these incredibly arrogant envoys have been swallowing their anger and resentment, waiting in the post station area for D'Alessandro and his party to arrive. They want to thoroughly humiliate the Zenit people and brutally torture and kill the King of Chambord, especially those two damned strongmen with white and black hair. They want to see them skinned alive and reduced to skeletons!
"Heh heh, chaos, the more chaos the better! The Zenit people have gone mad and collapsed. When the Sun rises tomorrow, it will be the end of this evil country. We will kill every Zenit man taller than a car wheel and enslave all the Zenit women!"
The messengers hid in their rooms and uttered vicious curses.
The Night of Bloodshed slowly came to an end.
The ancient and magnificent city of Saint Petersburg seemed to have fallen silent once again.
Time is like a rushing river, never to return, flowing swiftly by. The night grows darker and darker, then gradually thins out. The stars in the sky, once numerous and dazzling, become sparse and scattered. The eastern horizon begins to lighten, and the sky gradually brightens.
One order after another was urgently issued.
The walls of Saint Petersburg were now densely packed with fully armed soldiers, their weapons gripped tightly, their faces resolute and fearless. Rare and precious magical weapons, rarely seen in ordinary times, were carried atop the walls, baring their terrifying Teeth like ferocious beasts. The hundreds of towering magic towers within the city were also constantly gathering magical elements, flickering with faint flames, preparing for a powerful attack, ready to erupt at any moment.
Beneath the watchtower atop the south gate, the nobles donned their most precious magical armor, their faces tense as they gazed at the distant sky.
The light on the horizon is becoming increasingly clear.
The moment that will decide the fate of the empire is about to arrive.
This is the third update, and I still want to express my gratitude to all my brothers and sisters.
Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival. I wish everyone a happy Mid-Autumn Festival, a joyful family reunion, and that lovers will be united in marriage. May we all live long and share the beauty of the moon, even from afar.
Thank you.