Chapter 128: Siege
Outside Northwind Keep.
The air was thick with a cacophony of clamor and chaos, echoing across the wilderness.
"For Ashen Hollow!"
"Seize Northwind Keep!"
A dense swarm of Two-Headed Dragons loomed like a stormcloud over the sky, while hordes of Goblinoid and Goblin forces surged forward like a filthy tide, swallowing the earth beneath them. The skies and fields beyond Northwind Keep had been seized by the followers—this overwhelming spectacle, seen from within the city walls, felt to its people like the very end of days.
"Good heavens..."
A city guard stood atop the City Wall, staring upward, whispering in awe.
Dragon Riders from Ashen Hollow soared above the city, scattering pamphlets like snowflakes. Each leaflet promised generous terms upon surrender, a replicated copy of the Pact sworn by Brad Lakanman, Duke, and even footage of Northwind Keep’s Blood Slaves. At the bottom, one phrase cut deeper than any blade:
"Are you truly willing to die loyal to a vampire?"
Then, from nowhere, came a new kind of voice—Chronicle Armor Class Academy Bards, figures previously unseen, appeared within the city. With their innate talents, these minstrels wove spells of enchantment through song, lulling listeners into a trance. When the applause faded, many found themselves questioning everything they once held sacred—faith in their local Clergy, loyalty to the Monarch.
Their songs told of the Lakanman Family’s darkest past—secrets long buried, now dragged into the light.
Before they could finish their tales, the guards seized them—some dragged away, others hacked down on the spot. The executions were brutal, deliberate: Punish one, warn many, to crush dissent before it could spread.
Yet the bards showed no fear. As they fell, they cried out:
"One life for a thousand Contribution Points—worth every second!"
"For Ashen Hollow!"
Take the moment now—MinstrelPlayer “Lonely as Snow,” dragged through the streets by guards, still screaming defiantly:
"I face the sky with sword drawn, whether I stay or go—my soul remains bold across the Kunlun!"
Though the crowd didn’t grasp the meaning, they felt the fire in the voice—the raw courage, the unyielding spirit.
Then, the blade fell.
A sharp crack.
A head rolled.
Blood sprayed.
A wave of terror swept through the onlookers—some screamed, others trembled in silent dread.
Soon, whispers began to stir. Whether planted by design or born of instinct, a new sound emerged from the city’s soul: a growing, chilling suspicion.
What if those taken… were truly turned into Blood Slaves?
What if they were sacrificed to Brad Lakanman’s dark rites?
What if the Devil’s Covenant Case wasn’t just a rumor after all?
It all fit. Too perfectly.
But no one dared speak it aloud. To voice such thoughts was to invite death.
So they buried the fear. Locked it deep inside. But they knew—when the moment came, the fire would erupt.
At the Council Hall, in Eagle Square, the terrified citizens were gathered.
Learning from Dawson Vileur Earl’s fate—cut down by artillery fire—they had wisely chosen a location away from the City Wall.
Baron Brenden, Supreme Military Commander of Northwind Keep, stood atop the dais, scanning the crowd below.
There, in the square, stood the city’s full spectrum: nobles in fine silks, armored soldiers, ragged beggars, farmers stitched together with patches of cloth. All eyes were wide with fear. All hearts heavy with dread.
"Lord Duke said—we must delay at all costs," Brenden began, his voice calm but resonant.
"As long as the ritual is completed, all will be resolved."
"We must extract the final utility from every soul here."
He paused. Then, slowly, he spoke again.
"Citizens... I understand your fear.
You are facing a legend—the so-called Purgatory Cataclysm.
A dragon of evil, once said to have annihilated thirty thousand Allied Forces.
The most terrifying, powerful, and vile monster to appear in Anzeta in nearly a century.
Our entire army combined? We’d be crushed in a single blow."
A ripple of panic spread through the crowd.
Even with Ashen Hollow’s forces already encircling the city, even with rumors flying like sparks in a storm, many still refused to believe the truth. Some had dismissed the Purgatory Cataclysm as a lie—just another excuse from generals too afraid to fight.
But now, there was no denying it.
"Yes," Brenden continued, voice sharpening. "I won’t lie. I can’t. The Red Dragon and his evil followers have arrived. They’ve surrounded our city. But tell me—should we surrender? Should we kneel? Should we become slaves to monsters, bowing to the brutal rule of a demon dragon?"
Silence.
Then, Brenden’s gaze fell upon a middle-aged soldier in the crowd.
"Soldier," he said. "Yes, you. Answer truthfully—do you have children?"
The man stiffened, nervous under the baron’s stare. "Y-yes... a daughter."
Brenden nodded slowly. "A daughter. Good."
"But I’ve heard," he continued, voice dropping to a whisper, "that this Red Dragon is a Dragon of Lust, a Dragon of Wrath. Once, he took the form of a towering, four-meter beast—horrific, monstrous—and ravaged a beautiful young woman. Then, with no mercy, he devoured her alive. A true tale—witnessed by a hidden justice-seeker."
He paused. Let the words sink in. Then, locked eyes with the soldier.
"Think about it. If this monster rules Northwind Keep… what would he do to your daughter? Could you stand by, watching her suffer? Could you bear to return home and find her limbs torn apart, her body scattered in blood?"
"No!" The soldier roared, his face crimson, veins bulging.
Brenden nodded, satisfied. Then turned to a merchant.
"Sir, do you have a wife?"
"Yes."
Same question. Same outcome.
But with Brenden’s masterful words, the emotional weight grew heavier, the tension deeper.
The right moment is near, Brenden thought.
When the mood was ripe, he raised his sword high, his voice thundering across the square.
"Everyone here—no matter your rank, your title, your station. Noble, soldier, farmer, trader—today, there is no Duke. Only one truth: we are all fathers, husbands, children. We are all people who want to protect those we love."
He paused. Let the silence hang.
"Tell me—can you accept the thought of your beloved family being torn apart, devoured by evil? Can you allow your children to fall into the hands of a monster?"
"No!"
"No!"
"NO!"
The crowd erupted. A storm of voices, raw and furious, rising like a tide.
Among the three thousand souls of Northwind Keep, many were moved by Brenden’s words.
But others—some sneered, some scoffed.
Yet, swept up by the momentum, they too cried out—caught in the wave of the crowd.
(End of Chapter)
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