Chapter Seventy-six: Gradual End

With a resounding crash, the city gates swung open from within. Bazel saw the gates open in an instant and, without the slightest hesitation, led his men straight through.

Inside, he observed the knights sprawled across the ground and the priests standing resolute. He nodded in understanding. Though he worried about the priests’ influence, he harbored no doubts about their power or their unwavering support for Adis.

“My lord!” At that moment, Kekus emerged, his body bathed in blood, exuding a steely resolve that startled Bazel.

“My lord, our priests have already sown chaos within the city. Please, follow me!”

“Lead the way,” Bazel replied, watching Kekus and sensing the divine power within him.

The city had descended into utter chaos. The Crown Prince’s knights, the priests of the God of Nature, the private soldiers of the nobles, and various scoundrels taking advantage of the turmoil had thrown everything into disorder. Observing this, the army encamped below the inner city walls began to stir restlessly.

Kezel, who had lost all hope, now saw the scene and his expression flickered uncertainly. Though he was prepared for death, and had steeled himself for it, the prospect of survival still held its allure. Upon seeing the chaos below, even if the newcomers were not necessarily allies, he could not help but feel a surge of joy.

“Your Highness, should we seize this chance to break through?” Luriel asked eagerly at his side.

“No!” Kezel refused resolutely. “At this moment, the city gates are the fiercest battleground. With our few men, we may not break through!”

“Luriel, you go down and take advantage of the confusion to rescue Gedil. Leave the rest!”

Luriel nodded and departed to rally the troops.

Below, Coris was momentarily stunned by the uproar behind him.

“My lord, the Second Prince has sent men out!” his adjutant reported.

He turned to look ahead. Within the inner city, a group of knights suddenly charged out, heading straight for Gedil, who was desperately holding out under siege. It was clear they intended a rescue.

He sneered, “Let them try! Unless they escape the city, the outcome is the same!”

“Order our men to pull back. We’ll go to the prince’s aid first!” He was decisive.

Meanwhile, the clash at the front had begun in earnest.

“Brooke Royal Guard, forward!”

The Crown Prince’s face was grim as he watched the enemy’s rampage. At his command, armored warriors stepped forth, each emanating a solemn, blood-steeped aura. Their battle energy rippled palpably—not as disciplined as the opposing army, yet fiercer and more unyielding.

This was Brooke’s Royal Guard. Each was, strictly speaking, a scion of the royal household, bearing the bloodline of the Ancestral God. Though only eight hundred strong, they held a formidable advantage.

At the order, the drumming of hooves sounded—each had a horse, even within the city. Now they charged, unleashing a terrifying pressure.

In truth, mounted knights seldom had room to maneuver within city walls, but here the terrain was flat and wide, offering the Crown Prince a rare opportunity.

When the two forces met, Bazel’s guard was thrown into disarray, maintaining formation only through Bazel’s command.

“Such impressive soldiers,” the Crown Prince muttered, frowning. In his seasoned view, few troops could withstand a direct cavalry charge without breaking; these were indeed elite.

He was about to order another attack when suddenly, from outside, a commotion erupted. Warriors clad in rattan armor entered—it was Nadil’s arrival.

Bazel rejoiced, launching a fierce counterattack. The Crown Prince’s forces were pressed hard, while the priests unleashed divine arts and warriors surged forward, encircling the prince’s men.

“Your Highness, there are too many enemies. We must retreat!” Coris, who had arrived belatedly, knelt on one knee, urging him.

“We cannot retreat! To withdraw now is to accept defeat!” the Crown Prince replied coldly, unmoved by the adverse turn.

“Coris, gather our remaining men. I will lead the charge myself!” His eyes gleamed with a ruthless determination.

“Perhaps Your Highness should be more concerned for your own safety,” a voice called from behind.

Startled, the Crown Prince demanded, “Who’s there?”

From the edge of the battlefield, a slender figure walked forth, his face strikingly handsome.

“Kekus! It’s you!” The Crown Prince’s expression darkened as he recognized the man approaching. In this instant, many past doubts were resolved. He stared at the charismatic Kekus. “You opened the city gates, didn’t you?”

But Kekus only smiled, the divine power of nature gently rippling about him, offering no explanation.

***

Elsewhere, within the now-quiet inner city, beneath a temple, an old priest made his way through the halls.

It was Brenda, once the king’s healer, now transformed. He wore the azure-gold robes of a high priest, his hair neatly groomed, his bearing spirited. Despite his aged frame, a powerful vitality radiated from him, with visible streams of natural energy swirling about—impossible to ignore.

He walked quietly through the grand temple. To his senses, the once pristine sanctuary was thick with the stench of blood, as if countless aggrieved spirits cursed and resented the living.

It was the curse and malice of the dying—though the lives themselves had faded, their resentment lingered in this sinister place, inspiring dread.

He sighed softly, feeling the weight of so many restless souls, then looked ahead.

There, a figure emerged, robed in black—the High Priest of the Duchy of Brooke, Gechar.

Gechar’s face was livid as he confronted Brenda. “I should have known. So it’s been you all along.”

Now, at last, he understood: the king’s sudden death, the uncontrollable events that followed.

Yet, in this moment, he grew calm, sensing within Brenda a power beyond the mortal realm.

“Which Ancestral God do you serve?” he demanded gravely.

“Ancestral God?” Brenda gave a mocking smile. “A mere false god—how could I serve such evil?”

Gechar sneered in response to this disdain. “Enough. Why waste words with a dead man?”

“Let me show you how this ‘false god’ will send you to your death!” He laughed madly, slashing his palm with a dagger. Blood dripped onto the altar.

At once, the altar flared red, as if a wild, powerful will was awakening, unleashing its boundless might. The rising blood vapor coalesced above into the form of a warrior clad in armor.

This armored figure stood ten meters tall, radiating a terrifying energy, madness in his eyes.

The high priest howled with laughter, wild and deranged, while Brenda regarded him with pity.

In the priest’s eyes, the false god exuded a chaotic, evil power. Upon manifesting, it instantly seized control of Gechar.

Sure enough, a moment later, Gechar let out a wretched scream, terror and disbelief in his gaze, his cries echoing.

At the same time, the form of the ancestral god began to shrink.

Suddenly, Gechar’s eyes snapped open, now blood-red and ferocious, brimming with a brutal authority and immense power.

Assailed by this force, Brenda grunted, warily eyeing the transformed high priest.

The new high priest regarded Brenda with interest. “Mortal, you are impressive.”

“To endure my presence so, you are far superior to this wretch.”

He eyed Brenda with a hint of amusement. “Would you like to become my priest? In my duchy, you may have anything—wealth, power, authority, beauty—whatever you desire. What say you?”

But Brenda only sighed softly, offering no reply.

Drawn by a mysterious thread, a verdant branch at his breast began to glow, radiating gentle light and vibrant life.

At the sight, the high priest, possessed by the ancestral god, was taken aback—then the change began.

Before his eyes, a mighty authority descended, the overwhelming aura of a god crashing down, a beam of light imbued with killing intent and supreme essence seeking to subdue him utterly.

“No!” he roared, his power shuddering in wild frenzy as he sensed the overwhelming threat.

In the next instant, a field of blood-red chaos erupted, clashing violently with the descending domain of pure nature, the resulting brilliance enveloping all.

It seemed in a moment—or an eternity—everything vanished. All that remained was a single green branch, lush and vibrant, swaying gently as it suppressed and absorbed the last traces of bloody power.