July 17th, morning, Lower City, Muddy Lane.
“Bah!”
Black Wolf spat out a wad of thick phlegm mixed with blood onto the ground, surveying the bustling street scene at the mouth of the alley with the look of a country bumpkin appraising a wealthy landlord.
He and his brothers were a notorious bandit gang from around the Capital.
Robbing homes, murdering and burning, ransacking towns, abducting women—there was no evil they wouldn’t commit.
Before the Absolute Monarchy was established in the Kingdom of Lorraine, people like them had a more impressive title—”Free Companies.”
Mercenaries who fought for the King in wartime, “flayers” who turned bandit in peacetime—that was their way of survival.
In the past, joining a Free Company as a bandit was an extremely quick path to wealth, and frequent wars were the soil they depended on to survive.
At their peak, these desperados were so brazen as to convene a bandit assembly, openly dividing their spheres of influence across the Kingdom, which finally enraged the King of that time.
The King had intended to use them as cannon fodder to exhaust the Engraved Emblem Power of the Crestbearers.
But this pack of mad dogs slipped out of control, turning on even the Sword-Bearing Nobles who hired them, thoroughly provoking public outrage.
And so… it didn’t take long before the “Free Companies” were effortlessly slaughtered by the Crestbearers, becoming a single line in the pages of history.
Black Wolf fancied himself the heir to the “Free Companies” legacy, a mercenary chief.
In this era of peace, they were cunning as wolves, never overstaying a fight, always able to vanish without a trace before the guards arrived.
Perhaps repeated victories had made them forget the lessons of their forebears.
A few days ago, they made a blind blunder—they robbed a noble’s carriage.
As it turned out, a Sword-Bearing Noble was sitting inside.
The entire gang was nearly wiped out by that enraged Crestbearer.
Black Wolf thought he was dead for sure, but the noble lord changed his mind at the last moment.
He gave them a chance to live—attack a civilian organization called the “Mutual Aid Association” and make the commotion as big as possible.
Do it well, and past crimes would be forgiven.
This thrilled Black Wolf and his remaining underlings.
They had infiltrated Lucien yesterday and scouted ahead of time.
The prosperity of the Capital dazzled this pack of rural bandits and fanned the flames of greed in their hearts ever hotter.
“After this job, we loot this place clean, and we’ll put down roots right here in the Capital!” Black Wolf growled low to his men.
In his view, the gangs of the Capital had long been corroded by this “civilized” decadent atmosphere, each one soft as a woman—no match for desperate men like them who lived by the blade.
The noble lords had already “cleared the field” in advance. Today, in Muddy Lane, no guards would come to disturb their “work.”
They planned to ransack the entire area after completing their objective, then set a fire to blow things completely out of proportion.
By then, they could fish in troubled waters and flee far away.
As for the noble lord’s promise?
Black Wolf sneered inwardly. How could men like them believe such nonsense?
If even blood-soaked villains like them could be easily forgiven, then this Kingdom was truly beyond saving.
Things went surprisingly smoothly.
In broad daylight, with a thunderous bang, the front door of the Muddy Lane Mutual Aid Society Service Hall was kicked to splinters by Black Wolf.
Amid flying wood chips, he and his desperados poured in with savage grins, ready to enjoy a feast of slaughter and plunder.
But everyone froze.
The hall was empty—not even a ghost in sight.
No, it wasn’t empty.
In the center of the hall, a mountain of supplies nearly blinded their dog eyes.
Sacks of snow-white flour stacked higher than a man, rolls of thick cloth, and polished bronze vessels gleaming bright.
Most fatally, in an open wooden crate, golden bars shimmered with soul-snatching light.
An ax clattered to the ground from a bandit’s hand, his voice cracking.
“Brother Wolf… we’re rich…”
The grand promises Black Wolf had painted were literally smashed right onto their faces.
“Loot!”
Someone roared, and everyone’s rationality was instantly devoured by greed. They charged madly at the mountain of wealth.
“This sack is mine!”
“Get lost! I saw this crate first!”
Soon, two bandits were brawling over a single gold bar.
One grabbed a nearby bronze candelabrum and smashed it hard on the other’s head, blood splattering everywhere.
“Everyone fucking stop!”
Black Wolf kicked over the one who’d dealt the killing blow, his cold gaze sweeping the room.
“Move the goods first! Once we’re out of the city, we split by headcount! Anyone who starts infighting again, I’ll chop him up myself!”
The boss’s authority temporarily suppressed the chaos.
The bandits hauled their bundles, faces glowing with the ecstasy of survival and the madness of overnight riches.
When Black Wolf, satisfied, hefted a bag of gold bars and was about to set the place ablaze, the smile on his face froze solid.
At some point, outside the door, in the alley, at every visible exit—the space was packed with people.
Dense and impenetrable, not a drop of water could squeeze through.
Those people—street vendors pushing empty carts, craftsmen just off work, aunties carrying vegetable baskets…
They wore the most ordinary clothes, their faces weathered, but now they all stared at them with eyes of extreme coldness.
Those eyes looked like they were watching a herd of already-dead livestock.
Black Wolf’s heart sank hard, an ominous premonition crawling up his spine.
“B-Boss…” a literate underling pointed at a wooden sign by the door that hadn’t been kicked apart, face pale as paper, teeth chattering, “Look… up there…”
Black Wolf followed the direction of his finger.
“Mutual Aid Association Member Benefit Day! Free flour and cloth with membership proof! Surprise raffle—grand prize, one gold bar!”
Free… to claim?
Raffle?
Gold bars?
Black Wolf’s mind went “buzz” and went completely blank.
He finally understood why no one was guarding the goods in the hall.
He also finally understood why those people outside were looking at them like that.
What they had robbed was no gang’s warehouse.
What they had robbed was the rations that hundreds upon hundreds of poor citizens were queuing to take home to survive! The entirety of their hopes for a better life!
Cutting off someone’s livelihood is like killing their parents.
Especially when you do it right in front of so many “parents,” robbing them of their very lifeline.
Done for.
Damn it, those noble lords really had no good intentions!
These gold bars… were probably fake too!
By robbing them, hadn’t they just helped the nobles cement the “raffle gives away gold bars” charity, and then they’d take the blame for the robbery?
Curse it! So the lords had called them here to be scapegoats!
A white-haired old woman tremblingly pointed at a flour sack on a bandit’s shoulder, her voice hoarse.
“That… that’s our family’s lifesaving grain for this month…”
That single cry was like a match thrown into a powder keg.
From the crowd, someone let out a well-timed roar, and the whole keg exploded.
“You smashed our homes! Robbed our things! And you still want to burn it down!”
“You sons of bitches! Give it back!”
“Kill them!”
In the crowd, a Workers’ Inspection Team member disguised as a porter exchanged a glance with a “Lily Guard” beside him carrying a vegetable basket.
He said nothing, simply raising the carrying pole in his hands, then slamming it down hard.
“Thud!”
A muffled thud, like the first war drumbeat of the coming Judgement.
This was the Signal to attack.
The deathly silence of the alley was instantly torn apart, and the anger accumulated to its peak transformed into a bursting flood, sweeping toward the bandits still lost in their madness inside the hall.
These desperados under Black Wolf had killed, burned, faced the gleaming blades of guards, and evaded Crestbearer pursuit.
But had they ever seen a scene like this?
Before them were hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of eyes that wanted to devour them alive.
Not the cold indifference of soldiers, not the ferocity of rivals, but a pure Hatred that wanted to tear you to shreds.
This pressure, gathered from the will of the people, chilled the bones more than any blade.
They completely panicked.
“Don’t come closer!” a bandit brandished his ax, bluffing.
His answer was a burly blacksmith.
He ignored the flashing ax blade entirely, swinging the hammer that had been with him half his life with a palm as wide as a fan, and without even looking, brought it down on the bandit’s knee.
“Crack!”
The bandit let out an inhuman scream, dropping straight to his knees, instantly submerged by countless feet, not even a second cry escaping.
A few quick-witted bandits managed to break through the first layer of encirclement but, unwilling to part with the heavy “spoils” in their arms, ran no faster than turtles.
One fellow, hauling a sack of flour, didn’t get more than a few steps before a scrawny youth rushed out from a side alley and smashed a wooden club into the back of his head.
“Bang!”
The flour sack burst open on impact, white powder mixed with blood plastering his face, making him look like a badly made glutinous rice ball fresh from the oven.
Then countless feet stomped down.
“Don’t step on the flour! That’s food!”
Someone in the crowd roared, adding a touch of absurd comedy to the bloody scene.
This pack of villains who’d lorded over others daily were thoroughly drowned in the vast ocean of people’s war.
One bandit, eyes bloodshot, swung his saber wildly.
A strongman in the crowd didn’t dodge or flinch—he closed in like lightning, his palm locking onto the bandit’s wrist, twisting hard.
“Crack!”
The wrist snapped clean, and the bandit howled, releasing his blade.
The strongman’s other hand, shaped like a knife-hand, delivered a clean, crisp chop right to his throat.
“Guh…”
The bandit’s neck bent at an unnatural angle, the saber clattering to the ground.
Mathieu expressionlessly released his grip, letting the corpse crumple, his gaze already locked onto the next target darting through the crowd.
He was like an efficient butcher, precisely executing targets on the chaotic battlefield, ensuring no civilian would be hurt by these trash’s death throes.
Black Wolf, seeing the tide had turned, flung away the heavy bag of gold bars. It struck the stone pavement and burst open.
The gold bars tumbled out, knocked against the ground a few times, the gold paint peeling off to reveal the ashen color beneath.
Lead blocks?!
Damn it! They were fake after all!
These noble lords—even their deceptions were this cheap!
The last shred of hope shattered. Black Wolf, like a headless fly, desperately burrowed into the deepest, narrowest alley.
If he could just escape! He still had a way out!
The light at the alley’s exit was right before his eyes. A trace of wild joy at survival had just appeared on his face when a figure blocked his path.
It was the Squad Leader of the Inspection Team, the newly promoted Dawn’s Child “Spark,” Thomas Petit.
“Run, why aren’t you running?” Thomas wore a cold smile, rolling his wrists.
“Courting death!”
Black Wolf, a cornered beast fighting on, his eyes gleaming with murderous light, flicked his wrist, and a poison-coated dart shot straight at Thomas’s face.
Thomas instinctively tilted his head, the dart grazing his cheek and leaving a line of blood.
But he failed to guard against another needle, thin as an ox hair, shooting from the man’s sleeve, striking his shoulder.
A sharp pain and numbness spread. Thomas grunted.
“Haha! Little bastard, die!”
Black Wolf, overjoyed at the sight, pounced with a savage grin, his short blade thrusting straight at Thomas’s heart.
“Clang!”
A metallic ring.
The short blade might as well have stabbed into an iron plate.
The massive recoil numbed Black Wolf’s tiger’s mouth, nearly knocking the blade from his hand.
To his horror, he saw beneath Thomas’s uniform—a layer of fine chainmail!
Black Wolf’s mind went blank. Before he could make another move, an icy chill struck from behind.
Mathieu appeared behind him like a ghost, his military bayonet piercing precisely and silently through his back.
Black Wolf’s body stiffened. He looked down at the bloodied tip protruding from his chest, the ferocity in his eyes rapidly replaced by bewilderment and terror.
Then he toppled straight forward, ending his life of crime.
“Can you still move?” Mathieu steadied the swaying Thomas, asking in a low voice.
“I’m fine, Brigade Captain!” Thomas yanked the poison needle from his shoulder, spat out bloody saliva, his fighting spirit only rising.
“Damn, these bastards are tricky! But beating up this trash is way more satisfying than the old gang rumbles!”
The two exchanged a smile and plunged back into hunting down the remnants.
The entire “battle” was less a battle and more a cathartic, full-scale public venting of rage.
Under the Inspection Team’s deliberate guidance and protection, the citizens were unharmed.
The only “casualties” were mostly people who tripped from running too fast or got accidentally stepped on by an equally excited brother beside them.
When the last bandit was beaten to death by the furious citizens, people gradually calmed down.
They looked at the burning Service Hall before them, at the street painted in grotesque colors by blood, garbage, and white flour. Many faces showed bewilderment.
This place had only just become part of their lives, a vessel for their hopes of a better future, and now it was destroyed.
At that moment, the political cadres of “Dawn’s Children” seized the perfect opportunity when the people’s hearts were ripe for the taking.
A young girl who had once suffered torment in the Thieves’ Guild’s “Land of Tenderness” before being rescued stood on a raised platform, her clear, powerful voice shouting to everyone:
“Citizens! Comrades!”
“See this? This is the ‘gift’ those lofty lords sent us!”
“We only wanted to eat, wear warm clothes, live like human beings! And they sent these animals to burn, loot, and kill even our pitiful hopes!”
“They don’t want us to live! What should we do?!”
The girl’s voice rose to a passionate pitch, pointing at the burning ruins, every word dripping blood.
“Today, they robbed what belongs to us! Tomorrow, we will make the masterminds behind this pay!”
“They destroyed our homes, and it will only make us more united!”
“Were we born to be trampled under their feet? Do we not have the right to pursue Happiness and dignity?!”
The girl spread her arms, delivering a thunderous demand.
“Those ‘friends’ hiding in the shadows, so self-righteous—they must answer for their despicable Plan!”
After a brief silence, the crowd erupted in a tsunami of roars.
“Fuck them up!”
“Blood for blood!”
Across every Mutual Aid Association outpost in the Capital, similar scenes played out.
The enemy’s first wave of attacks was not only effortlessly crushed—it became the best fuel to ignite the people’s fury.
The Sword-Bearing Nobles, thinking themselves clever by pulling the guards away, had instead handed “Dawn’s Children” a grand gift.
After this battle, the Workers’ Patrol completely replaced the perpetually absent guards, becoming the sole Guardian in the hearts of the Lower City people.
And the people, for the first time, truly realized—what could protect them was never some lord’s charity, but the weapons gripped in their own hands and the brothers standing beside them.
When people began to sincerely believe that without the lords, they could still be masters of their own destiny, the foundation of the old order was thoroughly shaken.
Meanwhile, those eyes hiding in the shadows silently witnessed it all.
Squads of armored figures, realizing the enemy had been prepared, decisively abandoned their original plan and began converging toward their commander, awaiting new orders.
The true bitter battle had only just begun.
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