Vol 2 Chapter 145: The Filthy Swallowtail Flag

Takimura Town.

In the usually tranquil small town, terrified screams could be heard.

“Lord Fletcher! Lord Fletcher has been killed!” A maidservant opened the bedroom door and was horrified to discover the town’s lord, Baron Fletcher, who had been enfeoffed by the Kingdom of Ante, dead on the bed, his head severed from his body. Blood had soaked the bedding red.

At this moment, the town guards were also in chaos, as they found their captain drowned in a well, leaving them leaderless.

The town was not large, and the unrest quickly spread to the streets. Seeing the Anty soldiers thrown into disarray, someone in the crowd suddenly shouted, “Jabers! Prince Jabers’s Restoration Army is here!”

On one side of Takimura Town, a group of people wearing simple armor and carrying weapons marched while shouting.

“People of Regas!”

“Are you still going to endure like cowards?”

“Those Anty wild dogs have stolen our grain, defiled our wives and daughters, and insulted everything we hold dear.”

“Will you kneel forever at their feet, begging for mercy?”

“To be as lowly as a mouse, or as mighty as a lion!” These were the words once spoken by the ‘Knight King’, Raygard.

Soon, responses came from the streets.

A bald man with a rotund figure and broad shoulders charged out from his home. A cooking pot hung on his chest, and he held an axe in one hand, joining the ranks.

“Of course, ‘as mighty as a lion’!”

Infected and encouraged by the fervor, people continuously joined along the way. Those men of Regas who did not take action were subjected to mocking gazes from those around them, unable to bear this feeling, and they too followed the procession.

Thus, the group gradually expanded. By this time, the chaotic Anty soldiers in the town finally realized something was amiss. Several squad leaders gathered, began to reorganize their ranks, and summoned soldiers to prepare for battle.

“These Regas people still dare to resist?” A captain clad in full plate armor, holding a shield and longsword, looked into the distance at the approaching Regas armed personnel.

“Do they really think shouting a few slogans makes them Knight Lords, capable of defeating a hundred with one? Utterly laughable.”

The two sides soon clashed. Some Anty soldiers occupied high ground, firing crossbows, while some hunters hid in corners, continuously shooting arrows in retaliation, preventing these crossbowmen from fully concentrating their fire.

On the streets and alleyways below, Anty soldiers formed shield walls to hold back the numerically superior Regas armed force.

A ‘First Tier · Bloodline’ Regas warrior wielding a great axe charged out from the crowd, cleaving a shield apart with one swing, tearing an opening for the advancing ranks.

However, among the Anty garrison soldiers, there were also warriors possessing Aspect tiers. They quickly took position, their sword blades gleaming with a cold light, swiftly cutting down the Regas men ahead, plugging the gap, and then pushing the line back.

Seeing the Regas armed personnel’s formation thrown into disarray, members of the Hundred-Eyes Sect hidden in the shadows made their move. From a distance, they used ocular techniques to disrupt the opposing soldiers, causing their minds to momentarily waver and their reactions to stall, allowing them to be killed by the Regas men.

The tide of battle shifted once more, the line step by step pressing towards the Anty side.

“Be careful, enemies in the shadows!” An Anty captain finally realized something was wrong. With his roar, the entire formation adjusted again.

A faint silvery light shimmered over their armor and around their bodies. Several ‘Second Tier · Castle’ captains formed a small-scale Veil, preventing interference from the hidden cultists.

The battle once again reached a stalemate.

…

Sylutia led this group from the Hundred-Eyes Sect, advancing eastward until evening, arriving outside Takimura Town.

In the distance, thick smoke billowed from the small town, cries and wails were everywhere, and the streets were littered with corpses, both of Regas people and Anty soldiers.

“What happened here?” The few at the head of the group were puzzled, and then several of them charged into the town.

The Regas armed personnel who had earlier attacked the stronghold within the town had long since been killed or wounded to the last man, their bodies piled on the streets. But the Anty side had not fared well either. Many soldiers had also been beheaded or impaled, hung in the town square. The few surviving Anty soldiers were covered in blood and gore, their faces contorted as if mad, searching house by house, killing every adult Regas man they found.

At this moment, the two sides in the town had reached a point of no return, with no room for compromise left.

“Make them stop.” Sylutia rode into the town on horseback, frowning deeply at the sight of blood staining the ground everywhere.

“Yes.” The Hundred-Eyes cultists in the group obeyed, dispersing into the streets to control the remaining Anty soldiers.

Just then, the surviving Hundred-Eyes Sect members in the town ran out joyfully, kneeling before the Demon Contractor.

“Lord, you’ve finally arrived.” After hearing his explanation, Sylutia and the people in this group understood the reason for everything that had happened.

“Carkis has already discovered the Sect’s garrison. We must return quickly to support,” a senior cultist suggested.

“For the Sect Leader to issue such a command, the situation must be dire indeed.”

At this moment, Sylutia dismounted, standing before the street filled with bloodstains and corpses, her heart heavy.

Reading descriptions of horrific scenes in history books was completely different from personally experiencing and witnessing them. An indescribable sorrow and desolation piled up in her heart.

She instructed the group’s members to properly settle the town’s residents and left behind some personnel to temporarily take charge of the chaotic town.

As Sylutia prepared to leave, someone brought over a special box. Opening it revealed a small scepter, an enfeoffment document, and the seal of the Mayor of Takimura Town.

“What is this?” Sylutia was somewhat confused.

“This is something Prince Jabers prepared, a symbol of the counterattack and independence, a clarion call,” a cultist explained to Sylutia.

Looking at these items, Sylutia shook her head. She could understand the Regas people’s yearning to restore their kingdom, but she also understood that this sentiment and desire were being exploited.

The time for restoration was far from ripe, and what they were doing was merely buying time for the Sect Leader in the valley.

If they truly wanted Jabers, or the Regas royal family’s wishes to come true, what needed to be done was not merely inciting and urging these commoners to step forward, but truly leading thousands of troops to crush the Anty army. Only then would everything fall into place naturally, not like today, where so many innocent people bled and sacrificed.

Putting these things back, Sylutia prepared to turn and mount her horse to leave.

“Lord, this lord.” A staggering figure, his face covered in blood and grime, ran out from the town’s streets, waving a tattered Regas flag.

The swallowtail flag, filthy with bloodstains, was embroidered with a crude, simple green fir tree, its stitches somewhat crooked, looking somewhat comical and laughable.

Yet, it was precisely this object that the man held aloft as if it were a treasure, dragged by bloodstains, fluttering bit by bit in the wind.

“Lord.”

He gasped for breath, arriving before Sylutia, kneeling on the ground. His black eyes looked up at the young girl surrounded by the crowd, seated on her horse.

“You must be here to save us.”

“This is the pride of our Takimura Town. We, we defeated those Anty people. We are all iron-willed, mighty as lions, people of Regas.” As he said these words, warm liquid streamed down his face, wetting and staining the blood and dust.

Clarity and filth mingled. Those eyes were full of entreaty, as if after enduring countless hardships, finally fulfilling a parent’s demand, longing for just a little praise and approval.

“I…” I am not of the Regas royal family, nor am I a noble who can represent them. Such words, Sylutia could not bring herself to say.

She knew that the people here had shed too much blood and sacrificed too much for that elusive goal. This was almost the sole remaining wish for the survivors to keep living—hoping this effort, this pride, could be acknowledged, could be seen.

But could this plea truly be answered?

Leaving aside whether Jabers had the potential to become a Wise Ruler, these members of the Hundred-Eyes Sect were certainly not sincerely helping the Regas people restore their kingdom. They were merely using these innocent people to achieve their own desires and goals, completely disregarding the probability of success after launching attacks and rebellions, or how many would die in the conflict.

No one cared about their lives or deaths. The Anty people didn’t care, the Regas royal family didn’t care, the Hundred-Eyes Sect cared even less. Only they took those rallying cries seriously, and for those empty, illusory slogans, they shed their last drop of blood, sacrificing countless lives.

Such foolish people, so easily incited, plundered, and deceived, marching towards spears and swords.

Yet, looking at the figure kneeling on the ground, at his eyes still waiting for praise, Sylutia could not utter words of exposure or blame.

The young girl slightly closed her eyes, her voice slightly distorted as she slowly replied.

“I have seen. You have all done very well. You are the pride of Regas, the mighty lions of the mountains, as enduring and evergreen as the fir trees.”

Upon hearing these words, the staggering figure smiled. Satisfied, he slowly collapsed, the swallowtail flag he held also falling into the dirt, covered by filth.

A long time later.

A pale, flawless hand reached into the dirt and picked up the swallowtail flag, stained with blood and filth. She blew the dust from it once more.

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