Chapter 114: Blood Banquet

In the banquet hall. 

Though the joyful little red dragon had left, everyone could still faintly hear that cheerful melody, circling around the pillars.

The hall’s lighting came entirely from alchemical lamp orbs hanging from the ceiling. 

Sword blades reflected the orange-yellow glow, tinting the originally warm light with the cold hue of weapons. 

The entire hall seemed to dim somewhat.

The military nobles were surging into the hall. 

Some hailed from ancient families, wielding extraordinary power through secretly passed-down arts, firmly holding noble status. 

Others came from the battlefield, proven by enemies’ heads. 

Or from some other wretched places—bloodlines little different from street peasants—but possessing strength, now eager to display it.

They owed obligations to the emperor, but this was the first time they fulfilled them with such utter devotion. 

Believers said they were all hidden slavers of vice, thus fiercely opposing Richard and the trial of justice.

Perhaps some were. 

But more—or rather, all—could not tolerate a group of scripture-chanters daring to challenge their power, even storming a castle and executing an imperial noble by trial.

Swords and blades were being distributed.

They took their own weapons, donned armor or grasped staves. 

More military nobles kept entering, mud on their soles soon turning the red carpet on the floor into a mess.

“Help!”

From the direction of the balcony came a drawn-out female cry, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Soon after, the Red Dragon-Tattooed Chieftain came down from upstairs, shouting loudly: “That stinking woman has already fallen off the building.”

Barbarian.

That word flashed in every military noble’s mind, accompanied by contemptuous glances toward the Red Dragon-Tattooed Chieftain.

The Emperor of the Yanting Empire nodded. 

He adored the Red Dragon-Tattooed Chieftain—utterly loyal, capable in battle, and most importantly, he never schemed or took sides politically.

One’s enemies should die.

Thinking thus, the Emperor of the Yanting Empire stood and cursed the Red Dragon-Tattooed Chieftain a few times, then regretfully stated that barbarians lacked etiquette, knew no pity for the fairer sex, and failed to catch the red-gowned lady in time.

“Since the hostess here has unfortunately perished.” 

The Emperor of the Yanting Empire said: “I shall temporarily requisition this place as a military camp. Someone, send for the dragon-slaying warrior Richard. Tell him the lady of the house has met with misfortune and requires thorough investigation—ask him to return and cooperate.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor of the Yanting Empire said: “If he does not return, there is no doubt he is the murderer.”

The hall grew much quieter. 

The half-armed military nobles gazed at the emperor. 

Her death did not feel particularly surprising. 

After all, she had stood on Richard’s side, expending much effort to ease the conflict between emperor and Richard.

Now, with the Emperor of the Yanting Empire killing her, he was making a statement: he would not accept opposition. 

He was also declaring that faces were torn off. 

In the brief moment of sorrow for the fox at the rabbit’s death, the air seemed to carry the hostess’s bloody scent, exciting them.

They gripped their weapons tightly. 

It was time to seize power in the way they knew best. 

To teach those scripture-chanters what it meant for swords to triumph over scriptures.

In the air, Aurina’s melody circling the pillars vanished. 

The last person humming her tune closed his mouth and donned his steel helmet.

The banquet hall had seemed veiled in a tender, affectionate gauze—but now it was gone. 

The hall no longer brightly lit. 

People suddenly remembered this banquet hall had originally been a fortress. 

The windows narrow, the exits only one—if counting the balcony route, then two.

It looked quite oppressive. 

Strange—when the banquet began, it hadn’t felt so oppressive.

The Emperor of the Yanting Empire stood and said: “Are you prepared to fight for your birthright power?”

They shouted in unison: “We are prepared!”

“Very good.” 

The Emperor of the Yanting Empire said: “I will await your good news in the Violet Chamber. I hope to see all of you at the victory banquet. The dragon-slaying warrior is indeed powerful, but before a valiant army, he will become minced meat underfoot. Whoever takes the dragon-slaying warrior’s head will achieve a feat greater than dragon-slaying. And I will not treat him poorly.”

Almost simultaneously, flocks of birds appeared in the sky.

The entire city was under curfew. 

No one, for any reason, could leave their homes. 

Anyone on the streets must unconditionally return indoors.

The synchronized footsteps of troops echoed on the empty streets. 

Street lamps were all lit, bundled with blazing alchemical torches, illuminating most of the city as if in daylight.

They were not locals—the local city guards had long been transferred away. 

This too was planned, to avoid ties between troops and locals leading to issues. 

Yet even so, some soldiers privately abandoned posts to warn at the Grand Cathedral of Light.

When the troops reached the temple district, all priests, holy warriors, guards, and temple armies gripped weapons, ready for battle.

But all this, the Hand of Tyr Knight Order members riding in a group, knew nothing of.

Though the good gods’ alliance had dispatched many messengers on fast horses to find them, flocks of birds rushed at them. 

In the blink of an eye, they were covered in wounds, collapsing by the roadside or into rivers.

Sophia carried her great shield on her back but wore no armor. 

Riding her horse, she said: “It feels so quiet. 

Not a soul on the streets—such a difference from the banquet.”

Richard said: “I keep feeling they’ve mobilized soldiers for some military operation.”

“Can’t you relax a bit?”

“Brother Richard is right.” 

The Haisha Port commander said: “Even returning to the temple district, we must keep weapons at hand. People’s desire for peace and comfort always clouds judgment.”

Hoofbeats approached urgently from behind.

Richard, carrying Aurina, was about to turn when a brother from the order said: “Just one person.”

Bird cries filled the sky—truly unsettling.

The person wore servant garb, looking somewhat familiar but unrecognizable. 

Such dressed servants had been plentiful at the banquet.

“Richard!” She called: “Dragon-slaying warrior Richard! Something terrible!”

“What happened?”

“The lady is dead.” 

She nearly cried: “I saw with my own eyes a flock of crows push her from the balcony—headfirst…”

“Who?”

“The emperor—it must be the emperor. The lady told me—if she died, it was because the emperor wanted her dead. Please avenge her.” 

The servant on her panting horse feared Richard might refuse and added: “As she fell from the balcony, she even cried ‘Richard, save me!'”

Everyone’s hearts sank. 

Though long prepared for the emperor to tear off the mask, the hostess—who had just hosted the banquet, trying to resolve conflicts—dying like this was too unexpected.

The Haisha Port commander exclaimed in shock: “True or false?”

“May the Lord bless her soul.”

Sophia put aside her earlier jealousy, recalling how the lady had hosted the banquet to mend rifts, even pulling Richard to toast the emperor. 

Yet ending like this—dying in her own home—she felt sorrow for her.

Aurina, riding on Richard’s head, suddenly opened her eyes wide and grinned: “Fight time! Finally fight time! Yay!”

“Something’s off—very off.” Richard said: “Look at the sky—so many birds, and it seems fog is rising. Sophia, can you contact anyone at the Grand Cathedral of Light now?”

Sophia closed her eyes. 

Soon she opened them and shook her head: “I can’t reach them, but I envision swords and blood.”

“Wait.” Sophia said: “Hoofbeats approaching us.”

The newcomer was a light cavalryman on a brown horse, fully armed, shouting in a rough accent:

“By the emperor’s order—the noble lady is dead. You are to return for investigation.”

The Grand Master said: “A trap.”

“Fine, you won’t return.” 

The light cavalryman smirked: “Farewell then, white tin cans.”

With that, he yanked the reins, and his horse turned and galloped away.

“Footsteps.” Sophia said: “I hear many footsteps—and bird cries, and cat meows.”

Somehow, an orange dragon had appeared on Aurina’s head. 

Cat riding dragon, dragon riding human, human riding horse.

Aurina nudged its pink little nose with her own: “Bad news.”

“What?”

“Lots of people shooting arrows at kitty.” 

Aurina said: “Too many birds in the sky.”

The Grand Master decided instantly: “We must break through to the temple district, link up with allies, then plan the next step!”

“Understood!”

The knights of the Hand of Tyr immediately formed battle array—column to line—as they charged forward. 

Sophia hefted her shield; wielding it on horseback was highly unwieldy.

Almost simultaneously, the footsteps halted.

Aurina felt a prickling on her back. 

She quickly tossed the orange dragon aside, opened her mouth, and spun around, breathing bright yet harmless flames.

Arrowheads gleaming with magical chill pointed at them from rooftops on both sides. 

Somehow, the rooftops had been converted to battle platforms. 

Seasoned archers loosed at the tin cans on the road.

Poorly aimed arrows passed through the flames, striking Aurina’s dragon horns—actually scratching shallow grooves.

She vaguely heard the ambushing little insects shouting: “Shoot the horses! Shoot the horses!”

The warhorses neighed in pain. 

The holy warriors’ mounts wore no barding—only caparisons. 

Arrows struck cunningly, piercing horse flesh into lungs. 

Even maddened, a horse couldn’t run far. 

Right before them, one warhorse reared high, ran a few steps, then vomited blood and collapsed.

“Rooftops—rooftops full of men!”

“Forward! Forward! Don’t stop! On your feet—march!”

Richard on horseback bent low, reaching for a dismounted holy warrior: “Brother, grab my hand!”

He grasped it.

Richard’s warhorse carried two men and one dragon forward, abandoning the bleeding mount—”Forward!”

They barely crossed the street, turning the corner out of line of fire. 

But then they saw ahead—on the street leading to the bridge—rooftops on both sides with men continually climbing up, bows in hand.

For the Hand of Tyr Knight Order—lacking mobility and ranged attacks—they had to bid farewell to their remaining horses.

“Aurina, turn dragon—charge the rooftops, burn them so they can’t shoot in peace.”

“No!” 

Aurina’s battle instinct told her it wasn’t safe: “This king does what this king wants. Carry this king properly and fight.”

“I’ll do it!” The Grand Master whistled. 

A griffon’s roar came from the sky.

Aurina looked up. 

A majestic griffon roared, piercing the night fog like a moving black cloud rushing toward them.

Black cloud?

Aurina’s golden slitted pupils contracted. 

Countless strange birds—sharp-toothed and clawed—swarmed and bit around the griffon.

At that moment, the holy warrior beside the Grand Master raised the Hand of Tyr Knight Order’s banner.

“Forward! Forward! Follow the banner! Richard, watch our rear!”

They ran, hoping to meet the griffon. 

But the griffon struggled in the black cloud—feathers falling continually, like drowning prey surrounded by piranhas. 

It roared, it thrashed, it tore and clawed—but for every ten birds killed, twenty more swarmed.

The Grand Master shouted from his galloping horse: “What monsters!”

They could only watch helplessly as the griffon was overwhelmed.

Aurina inhaled deeply and breathed flame—a swelling fireball struck the griffon and birds dead center.

The Grand Master cried: “No!”

The griffon burst from the flames unharmed. 

The birds behind screeched, burning as they plummeted.

Richard said: “Well done, Aurina.”

No sooner spoken—a shadow grazed the griffon’s neck. 

It suddenly twisted its neck. 

Looking closely, a “crossbow bolt” nearly as thick as a child’s forearm pierced its neck.

The Grand Master’s shout cracked: “No!!!”

The griffon crashed to the ground, barely twenty meters from him.