Chapter 640: The Patrol and the Shock
Ingrid's speech was the last straw, sending the rebel forces hidden within Dragonhead City into despair.
The Empire's Propaganda Department had clearly underestimated the influence the Ammanata Church held in people's hearts.
The public's attitude toward the Ember Empire shifted from initial hostility and resistance to reluctant acceptance and submission—still unwilling, but far better than the state when the Empire had just arrived.
Those rebellious groups who had once regarded Ingrid, the former Ammanata bishop, as a spiritual leader were now in complete disarray, rife with infighting.
Many once-privileged clerics could no longer endure the life of hiding and chose to defect to the Empire, offering up intelligence on their comrades as tokens of loyalty.
At the same time, the Empire began issuing bounty notices based on the gathered intel, posting missions that drew in countless players across the northern Ethel cities—becoming living nightmares for the rebel factions.
In the basement, silence loomed heavy, the air nearly congealing.
After Ingrid's speech, the situation had grown even more dire.
The Dawn Holy Order was shaken by internal unrest, with many defecting. In just a few days, nearly half of its once hundreds-strong members, rooted deeply in Dragonhead City's underground, had been captured or deserted.
Now, they struggled even to protect themselves, let alone overthrow the Empire and rebuild the Ammanata Church—that dream now seemed utterly out of reach.
Yann propped his chin on his hand, looking weary, and spoke in a heavy voice: "Everyone, what are your thoughts?"
"How could Lady Ingrid submit to that damned dragon! She must've been cursed by some evil spell!" someone shouted.
"It's all over. Fael's been captured too."
"Just two days ago, Derwent defected as well. Damn it, they've all been bewitched by that dragon!"
Finally, Yann cut through their argument. "It's not safe here anymore. If this continues, we'll be wiped out by the Ember Empire."
"So what do we do?"
Yann sighed. "We... we have to leave this land. I've contacted the Harpers—they're willing to provide us refuge in the south."
"We're just going to abandon our homeland and become cowardly deserters?" someone protested.
Though he heard the unmistakable sarcasm in the voice, Yann remained calm.
He looked up at the holy symbol of the Sun God on the ceiling and said quietly, "Blind bravery turns to folly. The Dawn Holy Order cannot afford to lose any more of its remaining strength.
As for overthrowing the Ember Empire and restoring Collins City to the glory of Ammanata—that will have to be a long-term plan. They say 'Wings of Dawn' Lord Titus is preparing to gather those willing to resist the Empire's tyranny and form a great alliance. Perhaps we can..."
Just then, Yann noticed the ceiling trembling slightly, with dust falling—his expression changed instantly.
"What's that?"
"Is the Empire attacking us?" Panic broke out as people shouted in fear.
Yann quickly pulled out the priest's staff from his robe, ready to cast a mass teleport spell. "Enemy attack! Get back—I'll get us out of here!"
"FBI open the door!"
"Open up! Water meter inspection!"
Sure enough, loud taunts came from above, followed by the beeping of a timed explosive.
"Boom!"
With a deafening blast, rubble flew and dust choked the air. The ceiling, adorned with the holy symbol, shattered as a dozen players expertly breached the wall and dropped into the spacious basement.
"Everyone on the ground! Justice in action!"
"You're under arrest!"
The players drew their modern firearms and opened fire on the Dawn Holy Order, bullets and net-launchers flying alike to entrap their targets.
"Live captures get more rewards!"
"Use net-guns!"
The Dawn Holy Order resisted with swords, bows, and divine spells, but the players' polished combat skills made the counterattack seem pitiful.
"Woof woof! Bark bark!"
Mechanical hounds leapt into the fray, barking madly and sinking electrified teeth into any foe they found, shocking them into unconsciousness.
"For the Sun!"
Several paladins of the Order roared, raising greatswords aloft as radiant light burst from their bodies.
But the next moment, the players unleashed dispel magic and antimagic rays, dulling the holy warriors' armor and aura.
"Die!"
A draconic bald monk roared, storming into the paladins' ranks and unleashing a flurry of strikes, channeling resonance qi into their bodies.
With resonance qi detonating inside them, the paladins' bodies exploded, scattering armor, blood, and gore—this was the legendary monk player, "Great Mighty Heavenly Dragon."
Now at Level 11, he was an extraordinary power even in Feanso—crushing the Dawn Order was child's play.
"Starfallers..."
Yann looked around, heart sinking. He had only one option left: cut his losses and get as many people out as possible.
But one of the attackers was a half-dragon soldier of the Empire, whose silhouette struck Yann as oddly familiar.
Upon spotting Yann, the half-dragon pointed from afar and said quietly, "That's Yann, leader of the Dawn Holy Order. Skilled in teleportation magic—don't let him escape."
"Trying to run?"
"Kekeke, you think you can? Someone lock this old guy down!"
A player in a Mechanist Church uniform, glasses glinting, pulled out two metal spheres and tossed them.
The spheres exploded into chains that anchored the surrounding space, emitting undetectable pulses.
Space froze like solid ice—teleportation became impossible, and Yann's staff dimmed. He was furious.
"You, you—"
Not just because his spell was blocked, but because that voice was unmistakably familiar—rougher now, but still recognizable.
Yann turned, eyes wide with disbelief, pointing a trembling finger: "You... Fael? This can't be! You hated the Empire more than anyone! You had a blood feud with them—how could you join that damned dragon!"
The half-dragon nodded. "Long time no see, Bishop Yann. But... I must arrest you now. Please don't resist." His voice was devoid of emotion—an empty shell.
"More melodrama?"
"Let's grab some popcorn!"
The players nearby looked on with amusement.
Yann glared at Fael in disgust, raising his staff. "That damned dragon turned you into this! I'll grant you release!
Dragon's minions! The light of Ammanata is eternal! You will never enslave a follower of the Sun God!"
Blinding light surged from the staff, firing a radiant beam toward the half-dragon and players.
"The boss popped his ult—it's Sunburst!"
"Shields up!"
"Lonely as Snow" raised a massive silver shield and easily blocked Yann's divine spell.
He even casually lit a cigarette. That's the kind of unshakable power a paladin had.
"Hyah!" With a roar, the five-meter-tall bald monk leapt at terrifying speed to Yann's side.
Yann raised his staff in a panic. "You cursed dragon slave—!"
But he was far too slow.
"Boom!"
One punch from Great Mighty Heavenly Dragon and Yann vomited blood, flying backward into the wall.
Scratching his bald head, the monk muttered, "Oops, went a bit hard. Might not get a live capture."
Yann lay barely breathing, staff dropped, bones shattered, organs ruined.
He glanced around—the Dawn Order was crushed. Blood soaked the floor, survivors shackled by the Empire.
Fael approached and whispered, "I'm sorry, Bishop Yann. I had no choice."
Yann gave a bitter smile, gazing at the man Fael had become—unfamiliar, terrifying.
"You turned into this and feel no shame? What about Nico? The warriors who died for faith?"
Yann's tone grew frenzied, blood gushing until he collapsed—his fate unknown.
"I wasn't wrong...
This... this was all for Lady Ingrid. To keep following her..." Fael murmured blankly.
South of the Glorious Mountains, in the Sunrise City of August, the golden palace echoed with the king's furious curses.
"Useless traitor!
North Ethel, all of it, gone in one damn month thanks to that fool Walter!" Wilhelm sat on the golden throne, face twisted, smashing a crystal vase.
With his power fading, cracks covered Wilhelm's face, now hidden beneath thick golden powder.
The ministers stayed silent, fearing to anger him further.
White feathers scattered, shards littered the floor.
Finally, someone trembled: "Your Majesty, no need to worry. That dragon dares not oppose you—you are the true emperor of Fadlan."
"Dares not?"
Wilhelm sneered. "He's at our doorstep. What wouldn't he dare? Do you think I'm stupid?"
"M-My lord, I didn't mean—" The minister fell to his knees.
"That cursed dragon dared kill the Lord of Heaven!"
Enraged, Wilhelm walked over and kicked the man.
Even weakened, his divine strength as a celestian prince was overwhelming—the poor minister flew into a column, vomiting blood.
No one dared speak. The air grew tense and heavy with blood.
This was normal now. Wilhelm had become erratic, far from the once-holy prince of Fadlan.
Seeing their cowed faces only deepened Wilhelm's rage. "Get out! All of you!"
Relieved, the ministers fled. Guards dragged the injured one away, quickly scrubbing the blood.
Alone in the palace, Wilhelm sat on the throne, his face shadowed, staring at an illusion of the red dragon clashing with Barachiel.
"Cassius... That damned red dragon has grown powerful. At this point..."
He looked at his cracked hands. "I can't beat him alone."
After a long silence, he rose and walked deep into the palace, entering a hidden chamber with a bloody demonic sigil on the wall.
"If you'll help me slay that dragon, I'll accept your terms—even if they're greedy."
A mysterious woman's voice echoed from the sigil.
"Regret now, Wilhelm? Isn't it too late? That red dragon beat Barachiel.
Even I wouldn't bet on winning in the Material Realm. And I've noticed he has a strange tie to Baal..."
Hellfire surged, forming a woman's twisted, mocking face.
Wilhelm finally asked, "What would it take for you to kill him here? What do you want?"
"Ahahaha! The once-proud prince of Fadlan, begging me like this? Hilarious."
The hellfire danced wildly, and the face grinned wickedly. "What do I want? That depends... on what you still have to offer, dear Wilhelm."
"..."
In the flickering firelight, Wilhelm's cracked face flickered between light and shadow.