Chapter 821: The Burning Sail (4/4)

Chapter 821: The Burning Sails (4/4)

The looters around were stunned, never expecting the Velantians to open fire and kill.

One by one, they stood frozen in the warehouse district, unable to flee, unable to stay.

"Drop the stolen goods!"

The guard captain bellowed, raising his rifle while signaling his teammates behind to chamber rounds.

"Everyone stay where you are, hands up! I dare anyone to—"

Before his words could finish, a sharp "crack" of gunfire rang out from afar.

It was the same sound of a Ripper rifle, the bullet drilling unerringly into his chest.

The guard captain froze, feeling a sharp pain in his chest, then blood gushed from both the wound and his mouth.

Time seemed to slow; his eyes wide, he collapsed heavily into the arms of his comrades behind him.

Where did these bastards get guns?!

Could it be—

Blood clogged his throat; he couldn't utter a word, but still made the gesture to open fire.

No matter what, those weapons must be retaken!

At any cost!

Seeing their unconscious captain, the guards behind erupted in fury.

These scum!

They dared to kill their captain!

Hatred blazed in their furious eyes; in that moment, there was no distinction between civilians and rioters.

Those standing here—

Were all enemies!

"Enemy attack!"

"Prepare for battle!"

Amid the roars, they first swiftly dragged the fallen captain behind cover.

Then, under the deputy captain's orders, they assumed combat stances and opened fire indiscriminately toward the direction of the shots.

Bullets whizzed wildly through the warehouse district, and in an instant, countless lay dead or wounded.

The young man clutching a scavenged rifle hid behind a warehouse, his face pale as ash.

This thing—he’d grabbed it with a group of laborers from a warehouse stocked with arms.

Those reckless bastards had knocked out the guards at the door and tied them up.

These rifles were far more valuable than the sugar; word was they could fetch a good price on the black market.

He’d only meant to scare the big-nosed bullies who lorded over them, to show them the rat-folk’s might—never thought he’d actually kill someone with a single shot.

Things had clearly spiraled; corpses lay strewn across the warehouse district…

Seeing the guards closing in, he instinctively tried to slip away, but then heard a rattling burst from nearby.

Bullets zipped past, the ferocious fire pinning a squad of guards behind cover, unable even to raise their heads.

The young man tremblingly looked toward the sound, spotting a tall, thin man reloading a magazine.

In his hands was a "Blade" assault rifle!

This thing was far more savage than a Ripper—squeeze the trigger and you could empty a whole clip!

Likely someone among the fallen was his kin; the man, eyes bloodshot, spat on the ground.

"Damn it, why run? We've got more firepower than these big noses!"

The shout instantly rallied others.

Those about to flee glanced at the guns in their hands and changed their minds.

Where could they run?

This was the Province of Boro; even to the ends of the earth, the Velantians would catch them.

Better to follow Laxi’s lead—use these rifles to carve out their own sky!

The demons they’d scorned days ago now became their comfort.

Faces once anxious twisted into grimaces under the gunfire’s sting.

They weren’t truly cowards; only discipline had caged their beastly nature.

But now, that cage was open, and the beast within had been unleashed.

"Those damned Velantians!"

"Fuck their ancestors!"

"Kill them all!!!"

"Ahhh!!!"

The exchange grew fiercer, neither side gaining the upper hand.

Though the Velantian guards had plenty of experience in suppression, they’d never faced such a mess.

Too many rioters crowded near the armory, and more kept joining.

Some came to avenge family, others were swept up by the rioters’ slogans, but most were opportunists diving in for spoils.

Anyone who went could grab a gun!

Even children could get a pistol.

After leaving three bodies behind, the Velantian guards still hadn’t reached the warehouse entrance.

Crouched behind cover, the deputy captain shouted into his radio.

"The warehouse district needs backup! Repeat, the warehouse district needs backup!"

No sooner had he spoken than he saw a towed artillery piece being wheeled out of the warehouse.

West Sailport, the largest leased port on the west coast, drew all sorts.

The freemen here weren’t just self-bought slaves; some were veterans discharged for wounds.

Most had served in the Gray Wolf Army, retreating here after defeat at Golden Harbor.

Trained by the Legion, they knew exactly how to handle such hardware.

Why they’d side with these rioters, he couldn’t fathom.

But the moment he saw them loading the cannon, the deputy captain’s face went pale.

"Damn it—"

He’d barely cursed when an orange-red tracer shot over, slamming into the ground ten meters ahead of him.

The blast wave hurled him and the bunker into the air, and the guards crouching around were instantly killed or wounded.

At the same time, the thugs guarding the warehouse entrance let out an excited yell.

“Beautiful!”

“Blow those sons of bitches to hell!”

“Reload! Hurry up and reload! Send one to the port too!”

“Damn it! Don’t waste time, take out the guards in front first!”

A group of them fumbled to eject the shell casings and shoved another high-explosive round into the cannon breech.

In the distance, the Wilanters’ police armored car, gathering dust in the warehouse, finally rolled out, but seeing the leveled 100mm cannon aimed their way, it retreated in fright.

Seeming to realize that the trouble here was beyond what their small force could handle, the Wilanter guards began to withdraw from the warehouse district, apparently planning to fall back to the port area.

A shell chased after their retreat, not only knocking down a few unlucky guards but also collapsing a nearby building, sending many scrambling out in disarray.

Screams and wails rose and fell; these people were utterly bloodthirsty.

They quickly picked out the “alpha wolf,” then gathered in a huddle, shouting and summoning the armed brothers to prepare for an assault on the port.

Those swept up in it, though reluctant, instinctively clustered around them.

The sky had changed.

No matter what it became, they had no choice but to stay a little closer to those big men.

At least they wouldn’t immediately become fish on the chopping block.

No one had expected a small fire to escalate like this.

Whether Wilanters, Lion Clan nobles, or the freemen of West Sailport, all were stunned.

Perhaps too many coincidences had piled up, turning this powder keg packed with fuses into something that ignited at the slightest spark.

In short, this chaos had spiraled completely out of control…

Crouching near the warehouse district with a group of followers, Isher swallowed hard, and his once-brave eyes now betrayed a trace of trembling.

He still hadn’t come to terms with the series of changes before him, but one thing was crystal clear.

Without a doubt, these people had screwed things up.

Though it wasn’t entirely their fault—the troublemaker who first set the warehouse ablaze, Nagi who forced onlookers to rush in and put out the fire, and the Wilanter who fired the first shot all bore responsibility—saying that now was meaningless.

Isher’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“This is trouble…”