Chapter Fifty-One: Gunshots

Qin Le paid no attention to the bothersome little sprite beside him, turning instead to the king, whose features were etched with deep concern.

“Your Majesty, the real thing has emerged, but clearly there’s been a complication. The situation may soon spiral beyond our control—you must be prepared for that.”

At first, Qin Le had harbored doubts about Aimoa’s warnings. According to the intelligence gathered by Xuanlu, fiends were exceedingly rare—by the Hunter Guild’s records, incidents rarely exceeded ten in total. Yet now, in Dawn’s capital, more than a dozen ghouls had appeared in an instant, perhaps even more. This was highly abnormal; the number alone exceeded the sum of the past century. To the uninformed, it might seem as if this place was a den of some depraved cult.

The King of Dawn let out a soft sigh, his hand resting on the Sword of Dawn at his waist, a trace of desolation in his expression. “I know. I should have prepared myself long ago, but I kept avoiding it. Perhaps I should never have ascended to this throne.”

Qin Le narrowed his eyes, sensing a veiled meaning in the king’s words. Clearly, the royal selection in years past had been anything but simple.

Indeed, Xuanlu’s team of experts had speculated as much. Given the strict rules and the various factions at play, it was impossible that all the royal candidates would have perished purely through competition.

Beside them, Fishhead, who had remained silent all this time, committed the king’s tone, expression, and even the subtlest of gestures to memory.

“Your Majesty, there’s no need for excessive worry. If we unite every force that can be united, the cultists are hardly worth fearing.”

Xuanlu’s initial plan had been to sow chaos, forcing the hidden cultists into the open—even if only to make them reveal their tails. This would provide ample reason to rally all the factions and launch a large-scale purge.

The King of Dawn, with his unrivaled Royal Knights; the Hunter Guild, home to countless extraordinary individuals; the Holy Light Church, capable of eradicating fiends—as long as these formidable powers stood with Xuanlu, what could the cultists possibly do?

In terms of supernatural might, Xuanlu was as naive as a child, but when it came to strategy, the cultists were no more than ants before the vast machinery of the state. Xuanlu didn’t need to fight them head-on; by turning every other force into an ally, he would be invincible.

For a nation, military action is always the last resort, the final deterrent. The machinery of state—its economy, institutions, diplomacy—these are all powerful, indispensable forces.

Turn every possible acquaintance into a friend, and with the help of friends, reduce every irreconcilable enemy to a corpse.

If a nation’s strength and deterrence rest solely on military means, that nation is impotent, relying only on its last shred of power.

The sharpest blade is always unseen; the battlefield is not only about war.

Aimoa, standing nearby, looked puzzled. “Uniting every force that can be united? You always speak so strangely. Isn’t it simple? Just pay enough, and most people in this world will help you.”

With only money, one is treated as a fat sheep to be slaughtered, but Xuanlu had wealth, power, and, most importantly, generosity. Who wouldn’t want to befriend such a benefactor? At least, the elf herself enjoyed making friends with these people. They were straightforward, never duplicitous like the Church or the Kingdom, nor did they speak of vague ideals; they simply handed over the money.

“Some people cannot be united. Some can only be united for a time,” Qin Le replied, a meaningful smile on his lips.

The Hunter Guild could be an ally, for they represented the mainstream of the extraordinary class. They might not wield the greatest force, but they were the majority.

Nobles, however, could only be used, never truly united, for their existence was fundamentally at odds with Xuanlu’s.

The Church, too, was merely a tool, for they had crossed a line: in a powerful civilization, no organization outside the state was permitted to control the hearts of the people.

Xuanlu, just as in his former world, worshipped centralized authority. Any power that might divide collective will or collective power was not to be tolerated.

Suddenly, Qin Le noticed a line of lavishly decorated carriages approaching the palace gates, escorted by fully armored knights.

One by one, nobles in ornate attire and anxious expressions climbed out—most of them had attended the royal selection ceremony, including the princes and princesses themselves.

A royal knight approached, stopping three paces from the King of Dawn, bowing low. “Your Majesty, the princes, princesses, and lords have all come to ensure your safety.”

The king let out a small, amused laugh, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Let them in. By the way, have Irene and Olina arrived?”

For reasons he could not explain, a sense of foreboding crept over him.

“We haven’t seen the Second Princess, the Ninth Princess, nor the Crown Prince,” the knight’s reply confirming the king’s unease.

At that moment, Qin Le received a call over his wireless. He hung up, brow deeply furrowed. “Your Majesty, there’s been an incident. I’ve just received word—Olina is heading to the slums, and the Second Princess appears to be at the front lines.”

Unexpected, yet inevitable. When everyone else flees, there will always be a few brave enough to stand their ground.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Aimoa, who had been lying bored atop the city wall, vanished in a blur.

“These two foolish children,” the King of Dawn murmured, turning to Mark. “Go to the slums at once and bring the two young ladies back.”

Mark did not immediately obey, worry in his voice. “But Your Majesty, your health—”

Before he could finish, a glint of vitality flashed in the king’s clouded eyes. He stood tall, like an unyielding sword, his voice calm and assured. “I’m still capable of swinging a sword twice, at least.”

Sensing the king’s resolve, Mark bowed and, in a flash, leapt away at breakneck speed.

The King of Dawn watched as his children hurried into the palace, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “They’re not fit for this after all. Just like I was in my youth.”

Qin Le remained silent, simply watching.

Rationally, from the perspective of self-interest, the royal candidates had done nothing wrong; in fact, they were wise and prudent. Those with a chance at the throne should ensure their own safety, leaving the fighting to others.

But this was a world of the extraordinary, where a single individual could rival a nation. The burdens of the crown were immense.

In the distance, a bolt of lightning struck, illuminating the entire capital in a blinding flash.

…

In the eastern quarters, the commoners’ district was now a scorched wasteland beneath the thunder’s fury.

Irene stood at the center, gasping for breath, her massive cleaver planted in the earth. A wild grin split her face as she eyed the encroaching ghouls.

“Come, then!”

She swung the blade, cleaving two ghouls in half. The last of her energy became razor-sharp earthen spikes, skewering another ghoul attacking from the side.

A chorus of shrill, repulsive screeches rose from behind—no need to look, another ghoul was attempting a sneak attack.

Without hesitation, Irene gripped her blade and spun to strike, but her body suddenly faltered; her weapon flew from her grasp.

Damn!

She turned to see a pair of eyes—mad, chaotic, filled with an indescribable emotion.

In that instant, the world seemed to slow. Her body was at its limit, her energy depleted; she could only draw upon her very life. She needed time—her legs could not be sacrificed, so she would surrender her left arm.

In a heartbeat, she made her decision, lifting her left hand to let the ghoul tear it away, buying an instant to channel her life force and retreat.

She had gained enough time—surely the knights were near by now.

She was not covering the retreat out of a death wish, but from duty.

A fierce light flashed in her eyes, her heart pounded, blood surged anew, and her exhausted body found strength once more.

“Get back!”

A clear voice rang out from above, shattering the slow-motion world.

A figure descended from the sky, stomping the nearest ghoul deep into the ground.

She was a girl in battered armor, festooned with curious trinkets, golden hair gleaming, her features almost childlike.

“Olina?” Irene froze, stunned that her rescuer at this critical moment was her little-known ninth sister.

Olina paid her no heed—there was no time, with ghouls closing from every side.

More than a dozen ghouls charged in, intent on tearing them to pieces.

Their appearance only whetted the ghouls’ appetites; this new two-legged sheep exuded an enticing aura.

Olina’s eyes were cold as ice. She raised her light machine gun and squeezed the trigger. With a roar of flame and gunfire, a hail of bullets poured forth.

The bullets formed a fiery tongue, licking the ghouls. Most bounced off their preternaturally tough flesh, but a few found their mark in their eyes, freezing the monsters in their tracks.

On the other side, ghouls closed within a hundred paces. Without hesitation, Olina discarded her gun and drew the rocket launcher from her back.

She fired.

With a thunderous explosion, flames leapt skyward, blasting several ghouls away.

Yet through the smoke, a ghoul charged out, its jaw split wide, half its skull gone, black worms writhing within.

“Do you know what sacred anti-demon flame is?” Olina had already replaced her weapon with a shotgun. With a click, she leveled it at the ghoul.

Bang!

Its face was instantly riddled with holes—its body was indeed tough; even a point-blank blast to the head didn’t blow it apart.

But this wouldn’t kill them—at best, it slowed them down. In a minute, they’d be up again.

One after another, the ghouls collapsed under Olina’s barrage.

“These things are much handier than swords,” Olina exclaimed, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with excitement.

Firework was right—bigger is better, and explosions are art.

Had Firework, far away in the palace, seen this, she would have watched with envy. What Xuanlu soldier didn’t dream of being bristling with heavy firepower?

Kneeling, Irene was astounded. These strange, energy-less devices wielded such power! Perhaps not quite as mighty as high magic, but they required no energy at all, which was terrifying in itself.

“Olina, let’s get out of here,” Irene urged.

“Why leave?” Olina asked, puzzled. “Now’s the perfect time to deal with these monsters.”

Irene gave a bitter smile. “These things can’t be killed—not by us, at least. Let the Royal Knights and those dogs from the Church handle them. The two of us alone can’t manage it.”

As they spoke, the ghouls around them slowly rose, their wounds closing visibly, some growing black crystalline layers on their skin.

Olina slung her last rocket launcher from her back. “I’m not alone.”

Irene blinked in surprise, then noticed the figures that had silently surrounded them.

Vanguard troops, each astride a burly warrior, faces impassive as ever, raised their rifles at the ghouls.

Bang!

A shot rang out. A ghoul, just risen, fell dead, a large hole smoking in its skull.

Once so arrogant, now they were so frail.