Chapter 822: The Fallen West Sail

Chapter 822 The Fall of West Sail

Both the captain and deputy captain of the guard had fallen in battle; Hant never imagined that an old fellow like him, nearly retired, would be thrust into command of the guard at a critical moment.

No choice.

He had to step up.

The entire port district held over ten thousand people, and among them, Verlanders made up three-tenths.

No matter what, these people must not come to harm!

Even if he died, he had to hold back that mob outside!

Gazing at the guards, still pale with shock, Hant clenched his teeth and roared.

“Drag some crates over! Empty ones will do! Sand, stones, even rotten apples—stuff them all in and block every main intersection! Quick! Move!”

Then he turned to the youngest lad in the guard and bellowed at him.

“Newman! Go send a telegram! Call for reinforcements from Eternal Night Port! Tell them something huge has happened here—they need to send at least a thousand-man squad… no, a ten-thousand-man legion!”

He wasn’t sure if Eternal Night Port had that many troops stationed, but the situation was already beyond what his handful of men could handle.

He’d heard the munitions stored in the warehouse could arm an entire ten-thousand-man legion. Once those rioters organized, this chaos might engulf the whole Lion State!

The young man named Newman nodded hastily and dashed off toward the guard station.

Under Hant’s orders, the guards on site sprang into action, forming groups of ten to quickly build defensive lines.

To be fair, in critical moments, the Verlanders were quite united.

Some strapping young men, seeing the guards short-handed, joined in to help haul barricades to the street entrances.

Roads from other districts leading to the port were soon sealed off. Any civilians trying to squeeze into the port for refuge were driven away by warning shots from the Verlander guards.

As for those who tried to force their way through the checkpoints, Hant didn’t hesitate—he ordered them all shot on the spot.

At this point, there was no telling who was a civilian and who was a rioter; anyone might have a grenade or pistol in their pocket.

His men couldn’t even muster a full hundred-man squad—he couldn’t afford any risks.

“Fire!” he shouted, raising his rifle and pulling the trigger first.

Amid the crackling gunfire, a few unlucky souls crumpled to the ground, and in an instant, five more bodies littered the street.

Seeing the Verlanders with bloodshot eyes, the civilians who had fled their homes dared not head for the port anymore; they turned and ran toward the outskirts of the city.

But not everyone was so fortunate. Most didn’t get far before they were stopped.

These men had cloth strips tied around their arms and fierce, menacing looks—clearly not good people.

Gowenda instinctively wanted to turn back and flee in another direction, but it was too late.

One of them locked eyes with him, strode over, and without a word shoved a rifle with a bayonet into his hands.

“The Verlanders kill our people, suck our marrow, and humiliate us—they must pay with blood!”

Staring at the bloodstained rifle in his hands, Gowenda was terrified, stammering.

“But… but I don’t know how…”

The man didn’t listen, just grinned and said.

“Don’t know? No matter—this thing’s simple. The Gray Wolf Army veterans said: load the bullet, flick off the safety, line up the sights, and pull the trigger at those big noses!”

The guards shot too accurately; their bullets seemed to have eyes.

Though they could take down a few, it often cost several times or even ten times the price.

That’s where cannon fodder came in handy.

Even if these guys couldn’t hit anyone, they could drain the port’s ammunition.

Once they managed to drag that 100mm cannon over, all problems would be solved.

Gowenda was on the verge of tears, but seeing the savage expression, he swallowed his pleas.

Seeing him so compliant, the man with the cloth strip on his arm sneered and shoved his shoulder.

“Go on, go—show those Verlanders a thing or two! Let them know even a cornered rat bites!”

“R-right now?” Gowenda asked, flustered.

“What else? You think I gave you a gun to use as a crutch? Stop wasting time!” The man shoved him impatiently, pushing him forward.

Dragging legs heavy as lead, Gowenda trudged despairingly toward the port, the distant crack of gunfire sounding like a death knell in his ears.

Nearby, another man who had fled from the port—seemingly a Lion citizen—was also approached.

These madmen tried to force a rifle on him too, but he refused outright, cursing them arrogantly. A rifle butt knocked him flat.

Gowenda didn’t dare look back; he only heard a sharp gunshot behind him, and then the man fell silent.

He closed his eyes in pain.

Rat God above.

He rarely prayed, but now he couldn’t help murmuring a scripture.

Please bless your children…

…

While the streets around the port district blazed with gunfire, the usually bustling docks had descended into utter chaos.

People screamed and shoved, trying to break through the human wall ahead to reach the narrow pier.

The only two ships were packed to overflowing and had to cast off.

Even so, some didn’t give up—they abandoned their luggage and swam after them.

Desperate to flee the chaotic port, people had gone completely mad, trying to board any vessel that could put to sea.

Even the small fishing boats moored at the dock were bought up by fleeing Verlanders and Lion nobles, who forced the fishermen to set sail.

But alas, those little boats had no capacity for crossing the ocean.

One fishing boat, less than eight meters long, was crammed with over forty people. It hadn’t gone far before a wave capsized it!

Watching those swept into the water, a cry of horror rose from the shore.

Some brave young men dove in to rescue them, but fewer than half were pulled back ashore.

Seeing the plight of those in the water, the frantic crowd calmed a little, yet the despair weighing on their hearts only deepened, growing more intense.

Everyone at the port had gone mad.

And even now, most still didn’t know what had happened.

They’d only heard a blast from the warehouse district, followed by black smoke. Everyone rushed frantically to fight the fire, but it only blazed stronger.

A portly Verlander merchant stood on the dock, cursing in shock and fury toward the port district.

“Damn it… these useless, bungling idiots! Can’t even handle this many people! When Governor Huye gets back, I’ll write him a letter and have him fire every last one of them!”

His curses were quickly swallowed by the din, as insignificant as a single grain in a granary.

Gazing at the sea of people on the dock, Margaret, holding her daughter’s hand, turned slightly pale.

There were no more ships.

She had thought something might happen at the port these past days, but she never expected the incident to occur so swiftly, and with such ferocity!

To be honest, she had felt more than once that the local native nobles were exploiting their own countrymen far too harshly.

The Southern Legion controlled many colonies and often hired locals for work, yet she had never heard of anyone there living on just one or two hundred denars a month.

How could anyone survive on that!

Sure enough, endless greed eventually invited its own backlash. A single fire turned the seething resentment into outright rebellion.

The slightly darker-skinned maid stood behind the mother and daughter, her eyes filled with worry.

"Madam... I don't think it's safe on the streets. Let's go home first."

Hearing that advice, Margaret let out a bitter laugh.

Was home any safer?

Though the guards were still fighting, honestly, she didn't have much faith in them.

First, they weren't regular soldiers; second, they were far too few in number, and their equipment was a major problem.

If they couldn't control the situation quickly, they would soon face ten or even dozens of times more rioters.

Seeing the anxiety written on her mother's face, Ruby gently tugged at her hand.

"Mom... aren't we going to find Sister Ansuya?"

Though anxious inside, Margaret forced a gentle smile to keep her daughter from worrying, and reached out to softly stroke her fluffy, soft hair.

"Mom was planning to take you tomorrow... but something unexpected has come up."

Ruby tilted her head, curiosity on her face.

"Unexpected?"

Margaret nodded slightly and said softly.

"Yes, but don't worry... give Mom some time, and there will be a way."

Ruby nodded understandingly, obediently closing her mouth and saying nothing more.

The slightly darker-skinned maid looked at Margaret and tentatively suggested.

"What if... we ask Count Sharma to send someone to fetch us? Given the relationship between the master and him, it should be worth the risk."

Margaret said worriedly.

"That would be at least after midnight... I'm afraid the people here won't hold out that long."

The maid said anxiously.

"But taking a boat is impossible now. I think you should try to get help from the locals."

"True..." Margaret took a deep breath to calm herself. "Let's go home first and send a telegram to Count Sharma to arrange a meeting point. If the West Sail Port district hasn't fallen, we'll meet at the exit of Nightingale Street nearby. If... if it has already fallen..."

"We can go to the Silver Moon Church," the maid said immediately. "Pastor Melchior is a very kind man. I go there to pray sometimes, and he will surely help us."

Margaret paused, still worried, but in the end she could only nod.

The Vlandians had a bad reputation in Silver Moon Bay, after all, the Eastern Legion had once brought the flames of war to the edge of Petra Fortress in the Hump Kingdom.

But...

For now, they had no choice but to turn to them.

West Sail Port had a telephone system, but could only communicate with other settlements outside the city via telegram.

To avoid wasting time, the group hurried back home and rushed to the telegraph machine.

As Margaret expected, Count Sharma, upon learning of their situation, immediately sent his servant to West Sail Port, expected to arrive by midnight.

The port district could no longer be entered freely, so they agreed in the telegram on a signal for meeting: raising a white flag and waving it left and right.

Then Margaret would ask an acquaintance in the guard to let the person coming for them through the entrance of Nightingale Street...

Seeing the reply from the telegraph machine, Margaret breathed a slight sigh of relief and collapsed into a chair.

Unbeknownst to her, her back was already soaked with sweat.

The maid standing beside her handed her a towel and said with heartfelt emotion.

"Finally, we're saved..."

Margaret gave a bitter laugh.

"...Let's hope so."

It was still too early to say they were saved...

...

Night had only just fallen over the port.

On the streets bordering the port district and other areas, the battle had escalated from initial skirmishes to a fever pitch.

Currently, there were tens of thousands besieging the port district.

Among them were dockworkers, laborers from steel and cement plants, and workers from cotton mills and sugar refineries.

In addition, there were slaves caught up in it, disabled veterans of the Gray Wolf Army, and even Lion tribe citizens forced to join.

Some had no choice—other rioters pointed guns at them, saying if they didn't offer their allegiance, didn't attack the Vlandians, didn't join the "uprising," they would be seen as Vlandian accomplices, lackeys of the nobles, and thus legitimate targets for robbery, plunder, and violence.

Others were opportunists—the ones pointing guns at the former.

They quickly raised a banner, gathered a group as ruthless as themselves, intimidated those still hesitating, and shouted about establishing a Lion Kingdom or something similar in Lion Province, like in Lasi.

But the difference was, they hadn't thought out any platform, let alone what to do after success; they just wanted to ride the wave and get started.

As for the rest, most joined this chaotic "uprising" willingly.

Some had their wages docked, some were fed up with Vlandian humiliation, and others envied Vlandian authority and wealth.

Who started the fire didn't matter; the boiling flames had long been burning in their hearts.

The explosion in the port district was the spark, but wasn't Nagi's whip just as much?

In word of mouth, they wrapped cotton cloth looted from the port around their arms as a sign to distinguish friend from foe, and agreed that whoever's brothers took the governor's mansion and tore down the flag flying there would be the king of the Lion Kingdom!

As for the rest, they would be the king's ten-thousand-man commanders!

After sacrificing nearly a hundred cannon fodder, the "rebels" gradually noticed the shortage of guards and launched fiercer attacks.

Meanwhile, the 100mm cannon that had performed so well in the earlier warehouse battle was pushed onto the street.

But Hant didn't let the rioters succeed. Seizing the opportunity, he decisively ordered the police armored car hidden in the alley to charge forward.

Before the cannon could be fully deployed, the 10mm heavy machine gun on the roof clicked as it loaded, and then "rat-a-tat-tat" sprayed wildly at the rioters.

Storm-like shrapnel ravaged the street, leaving rows of fist-sized craters, even collapsing a mud wall!

The mob behind the cannon died instantly, leaving only a mess of shredded corpses.

The bloody scene shocked many.

Especially those who had been about to charge with assault rifles—they were so terrified by the gruesome sight that they shrank back into cover.

"Hook the tow rope to the artillery piece and drag it back! Hurry!" Hunter roared into his walkie-talkie from his command post in the distance, barking out the order.

A guard swiftly leaped down from the vehicle, frantically latching the hook to the tail of the artillery piece, while his teammate scooped up the ammunition box filled with shells and scrambled back inside.

As the doors slammed shut, the armored car restarted its engine and tore toward the harbor district, dragging the 100mm gun behind it as if running for its life.

A Panzerfaust rocket soared in from afar, thankfully missing its mark and instead reducing a nearby residential building to rubble.

When the armored car finally screeched to a halt back at their positions, the guards who clambered out bore expressions of sheer terror.

One of them didn't even realize he had been shot in the calf until he stepped out, blood pouring relentlessly from the wound.

Hunter instructed the nurses reassigned from the harbor district to dress their wounds, and then he spotted the secretary from the Governor’s office walking toward him.

"How is the battle going?"

Looking into that anxious face, Hunter spoke in a low, grim voice.

"It’s bad. How long we can hold out depends entirely on when they manage to organize themselves."

The secretary caught his breath, his voice trembling as he asked.

"Then... how many men do we have left..."

Hunter curled his lip in a grimace.

"Counting the local guards summoned from the other districts, we can probably scrape together about two hundred, give or take."

"How can it be so few?!"

"It's a miracle we even have that many; just a moment ago we couldn't even muster fifty men here..."

At this point, Hunter could not help but break into a torrent of curses.

"There are too few men here! I don't understand why Perpetual Night Port, with only over a hundred thousand people, can station a legion of ten thousand, while West Sail Port, with over a million people, only has a meager company of a hundred! And a non-regular guard detachment at that!"

Is there any point in talking about this now?

A bitter smile crossed the secretary’s face, but he offered an explanation anyway.

"We have our own difficulties... Triumph City's directly controlled forces were never large to begin with, consisting only of His Majesty the Marshal’s Praetorian Guard and the City Defense Force. We are, after all, different from the Southern Army."

To put it plainly, the civilian bureaucrat faction had no military forces of their own, and whenever trouble arose, they could only find someone else to clean up their mess.

Fortunately, they maintained a decent relationship with the Southern Army, and there were even veterans who had previously served in the Southern Army within the guard detachment.

Hunter cursed under his breath.

"You'd better figure something out... There are more than three thousand Wilants here, and many of them are prominent figures with status in Triumph City. If so much as a hair on their fingers is harmed, prepare yourself to face the wrath of Triumph City!"

"I'm trying to find a way..." The governor's secretary wiped the hot sweat from his brow, then suddenly asked, "Right, where is Naji? Have that fellow come and persuade—"

"Forget about that idiot! Half of these people—no, at least two-thirds of them are here precisely because of that fool!" Hunter swore loudly. "If I catch him, I'll skin him alive!"

To go back on the agreed wages in less than a month was a reckless move he had never anticipated.

He could not for the life of him understand why it was necessary to scrape those two dinars from the hands of a bunch of short-lived wretches; even the feudal lords of the Eastern Army wouldn't commit such a short-sighted, driving-them-to-the-wall stupidity.

Was the profit they allocated to those guys not enough?

Why could they never learn their lesson!

Just then, a clerk from the Guard Bureau rushed over in a panic, skidding to a halt in front of Hunter, panting breathlessly.

"Reply from Perpetual Night Port! Their troops have already departed, they want us to hold on!"

Hunter demanded immediately.

"How long until they arrive!"

The clerk swallowed hard.

"They are in the Southern Hemisphere... at the earliest, I'm afraid it will take three days."

Three days...

Hearing that number, Hunter’s heart plunged into an abyss of despair in an instant.

The lives of the people here were measured in hours; they could not possibly hold out that long!

Right at that moment, a deafening explosion suddenly erupted from the street not far away.

A scorching shockwave obliterated several houses, sweeping across a distance of a hundred meters like a hurricane.

The three of them instinctively ducked to seek cover, the searing gravel flying past, almost shaving their scalps.

"Damn it! What's happening?"

Struggling up from the ground in a wretched state, the secretary looked utterly petrified as he gazed toward the source of the blast, only to see a landscape of mangled corpses.

The rioters had somehow procured a cargo truck, packed the bed with explosives and artillery shells, and then slammed the accelerator all the way down, ramming it directly into their barricade.

The police armored vehicle was flipped right over.

Even the 100mm artillery piece they had just salvaged was blown upside down by the side of the road.

The dozen or so guards stationed behind the street barricade were almost entirely wiped out! Those who weren't dead lay twitching on the ground...

As for the civilians who had been helping transport supplies, they were also torn apart, either dead or severely wounded.

Staring at the defense line that had collapsed in an instant, a look of absolute despair etched itself onto Hunter's face.

"Damn it..."

Those maniacs!

The armed mob seemed to have underestimated the power of the explosion as well, left dazed and disoriented by the shockwave.

However, they possessed the advantage of numbers after all; even if some were caught in the aftermath of the blast, it remained inconsequential to the overall tide of the battle.

When they saw that a breach had finally been blown into the harbor district's defenses, their crumbling morale instantly surged again, and even the cannon fodder pushed to the front lines began to clamor with excitement.

A man clutching a scythe assault rifle stepped to the front of the crowd, unleashing a wild volley of gunfire forward, before hollering at the top of his lungs to his comrades behind him.

"Brothers! Charge! The Wilants put all their valuable treasures in the harbor!"

"Before, they thought we were too dirty just for looking at them, now it's our turn to slap them hard across the face!"

"Whoever grabs it, keeps it!"

The roar triggered echoes from countless others, the rising and falling shouts filling the entire street, as pairs of bloodshot eyes flashed with a more vicious, crimson light, like starving wolves spotting fat meat.

"Charge, brothers!"

"Punder the money! Seize the people!"

"Oh oh oh!"

The surging mass of heads flooded toward the breach like a torrent, making the remaining hundred or so guards look as insignificantly small as ants trying to shake a tree.

Even if they had one last police armored vehicle at their disposal, it was entirely futile.

The rioters had already unearthed Panzerfaust rocket launchers from the warehouses. In the face of shaped-charge warheads, the iron plating of the police armored car was as flimsy as papier-mâché.

Flames from explosions erupted one after another amidst the screams of the crowd, and the eyes of the people crammed along the docks were filled with nothing but despair.

On the path of escorting the governor's secretary in retreat, Hunter was finally shot through the throat after gunning down three rioters, collapsing to the ground with his eyes wide open.

Just like his captain and vice-captain before him...

The Valiants were a race born for battle, but they were not the utter monsters that mutants were, after all.

At most, their bodily functions were slightly stronger than ordinary people, they matured a bit earlier, and their will to fight was a touch higher.

Also, they had no "pension" and consumed none of the War Construction Committee's resources.

Set that aside, and they were just like the players—hit in a vital spot by a bullet, and they would die.

"I surrender!"

Facing the tide of rioters surging forward, the Governor's Secretary chose to surrender without hesitation.

This was not only for his own sake but also for the three thousand Valiant residents of the harbor district, and even the ten thousand or so people living there.

Watching those men who nearly shoved their gun muzzles up to his nostrils, he cleared his throat and spoke in a solemn tone.

"You win. This port is yours now. But before you celebrate your victory, let me see your representative. I need to talk to him."

He kept his posture low, though he held no regard for these men before him.

They were merely a mob with neither a platform nor clear demands, no better than the raiders of the wasteland.

Once reinforcements from Eternal Night Port arrived, they could grind these men against the wall in no time.

He had no doubt in his mind.

After a brief wait, a man carrying a legion banner stepped out from the crowd.

There was a scar on his jaw, like a bullet wound—surviving it was sheer luck.

His eyes were flippant, yet they hid a faint, unyielding ferocity, like a wolf lurking in the snow.

Clearly, he had been on the battlefield.

He might even have been trained by McCullen...

"What do you want to talk to me about?"

Staring at the man before him, the Governor's Secretary swallowed and said.

"...All the wealth here is yours. Let us go."

The man chuckled, glanced left and right, then looked back at him.

"And then we call today even?"

The Governor's Secretary paused for a moment, then spoke evasively.

"...That can be negotiated."

Negotiate my ass!

If he didn't put this man on the gallows, his name would be written backward from now on!

The civilian faction indeed had no direct troops under their command, but that didn't mean they were pushovers.

They had money—they could buy mercenaries from the colonies to fight for them.

Not only that, they could even call in friends from the Southern Legion for help.

The man curled his lip, clearly not believing him, and said lightly.

"We've talked to you time and again, and every time we got either a brush-off or mockery... Is it fun? That trick of turning eight dinars into six."

The Governor's Secretary swallowed, cursing that fool named Nagi in his heart once more.

"We only just found out about this... It's not fair to pin it on us."

The man sneered.

"Doesn't matter. You're all in the same boat. Even if you knew, what could you do? Stand up for us?"

The Governor's Secretary stared into his eyes.

"So... was it you who set the fire?"

"I wish it were me, but someone beat me to it," the man said, shaking his head slightly with a look of regret. "That fire wasn't lit by anyone—it was the fury of West Sail Port's residents, the fury of everyone except you."

"...Then are you ready to face the legion's fury?" The Governor's Secretary's voice carried a hint of threat, trying to force the man to yield.

But the man remained unmoved, merely taking a torch from a comrade beside him and lighting the banner he carried on his shoulder.

It had been torn down from the Governor's Mansion.

He had already used that banner to prove his identity as the "Lion King"; keeping it was pointless.

Though he was a wolf tribesman, a wolf leading the lion pride was not out of the question.

Watching the legion banner burn in the flames, the Governor's Secretary's face was etched with rage.

The man tossed the burning banner aside, then grinned and pressed his pistol against the Secretary's head.

"I was thrown by you to fight the Alliance, to fight Lasi, and then left to rot here. Trust me, I've heard ten times more lies than anyone here, so I know your kind better than they do... Not a single word from your mouths is trustworthy."

Negotiation was a dead end, especially now.

His only way out was to drag the entire Lion Province into this, to spread the fire that started in the warehouse district far and wide.

To Heaven's Capital, for instance.

Only by taking Heaven's Capital and becoming master of the Bolo Province could he truly gain leverage to negotiate with the legion.

And if that failed, he could always defect to the Alliance.

Watching this madman, the Governor's Secretary felt sweat trickle down his forehead, his eyes darting to the gun pressed against his brow.

"So you're not going to negotiate..."

The man laughed.

"My name is Yanush. Like most here, I was a nobody before tonight... But I swear, from now on, my name will shake the entire continent."

He didn't fire, didn't even release the safety, just waved to his comrades.

"Bury this big-nose in the red earth."

He paused, then added,

"Remember, bury him alive."

"Let him be reborn here in his next life, to taste the bitterness we've endured."

As two thugs grabbed his arms and dragged him away, the Governor's Secretary stared wide-eyed at him and roared in fury.

"You madman... Do you know what you're doing? You're courting death!"

Yanush paid no heed to the man facing his doom. Instead, he looked at his comrades behind him, then at the brightly lit, crowded pier.

A savage grin twisted his lips as he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"Enjoy your victory! Do whatever you want—it's the reward you deserve!"

"And those who have humiliated us all along—let them pay some interest for their folly."

"This is what they deserve! Settle accounts with them, and settle them hard!"

"Ooh-ooh-ooh!!"

Excited cheers erupted around him, and a pair of eyes gleamed with a green light.

Thanks to General Arayan's scorched-earth tactics, he has tasted some despair on the border of Mammoth State; his only regret is that he has yet to taste that of the Valiants.

A race born for battle must surely be as hard to tame as a wild stallion.

May he not be disappointed.