Chapter 365: The End of the Civil War (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 365: The End of the Civil War (4)
Dawn of D-Day.
Through the pitch-black darkness, a massive crowd approached the walls of Marin. Numbering in the tens of thousands, such a colossal force could not be completely concealed, no matter how deeply they hid within the night's embrace.
Flash.
A magical light illuminated the grounds beyond the wall.
A patrolling guard spotted the suspicious movement.
Yet, the sea of people below did not halt their advance. The guard, despite clearly seeing them, casually averted his gaze. He wasn't the only one. Most of the sentries stationed along the battlements noticed the encroaching army, but not a single one sounded the alarm.
Before long, with a heavy creak and a resounding thud, the massive gates swung open. The very guards sworn to defend Marin had opened the way, welcoming the outside forces into the city.
The mysterious figures—soldiers concealing their identities beneath dark cloaks—poured inside one after another. Such a seamless infiltration would have been impossible without prior coordination. Indeed, everything was unfolding according to a flawless plan. Watching the scene from a distance, a high-ranking man spoke to Marquis Belfir in a hushed voice.
"No issues so far."
"As expected. That is exactly why I placed you in that position."
The man was the newly appointed Guard Captain.
When Roman Dmitry had caused his massive uproar, the previous Guard Captain lost his life, allowing Marquis Belfir to fill the vacancy with his own pawn. Looking at the scene before him, the Marquis smiled. If he hadn't been able to set the board like this, he never would have dreamed of staging a rebellion.
'Emperor of Valhalla. Your overconfidence is your downfall.'
Valhalla's chain of command was entirely one-sided.
While the Emperor’s orders were absolute, they lacked detail. Kill this person. Attack that place. Fill the vacancy with someone new.
The Emperor left the meticulous execution of these whims to Marquis Belfir. Normally, the ruler would have appointed a staunch loyalist as the Guard Captain, but this time was different. The first step of the plan had been executed to perfection. Knowing the forces stationed within Marin wouldn't be enough to pull off a coup, they had secretly smuggled in an outside army.
In truth, this operation would have been impossible if the Emperor had taken even a passing interest in state affairs.
But having served the Emperor of Valhalla for so long, Marquis Belfir knew this absurdly bold strategy would work. Who on earth would expect a rebel army to march right through the front gates?
But the real challenge started now. While they had bought the outer guards by bribing the Guard Captain, there was no corrupting the Emperor's personal forces defending the Inner Castle.
His mouth went dry.
The die was cast. The moment this rebellion failed, he would pay for it with his life.
"Preparations are complete," reported a knight who had just entered from the outside.
Marquis Belfir nodded, his eyes filled with grim determination.
"Remember this well. This operation hinges on subduing the Emperor of Valhalla swiftly and decisively. The success or failure of this rebellion is directly tied to our lives. Succeed, and you will enjoy wealth and glory beyond your wildest dreams. Fail, and you will beg for the mercy of a swift death. Our opponent is the tyrant of Valhalla. Even if it costs your lives, we must succeed."
"Understood," the knight replied with a firm nod.
The stage was set.
With the final orders handed down, the rebel forces dispersed into the dark corners of the city, led by their knights.
And so, the operation that would decide the fate of Valhalla began.
* * *
Marquis Belfir was the brain of Valhalla.
Though he had suffered defeat after defeat at the hands of Roman Dmitry, he was not a man to treat a life-or-death matter like a rebellion lightly.
After winning over the city guards, he had drugged the imperial forces' rations to guarantee success. The poison was designed to induce extreme, debilitating fatigue after a set period. Right on cue for the dawn raid, the imperial soldiers began to nod off one by one, creating a massive gap in their security. Even as the gates of the Inner Castle swung wide open, the exhausted loyalists never imagined a rebellion would dare take place in the heart of Marin.
Thwack!
"Attack!"
"Those who surrender will be spared! Those who resist will be slaughtered!"
The flames of rebellion spread rapidly.
It was a one-sided slaughter.
The dazed imperial soldiers were cut down before they could even scream. Marquis Belfir pushed forward, commanding the forces that had been secretly stationed in Marin. Everything was going smoothly. The operation was unfolding exactly according to his ideal scenario, and soon, the imperial palace of Valhalla loomed into view.
From this point on, the real bloodbath began.
As long as the Emperor's special forces held the line inside, victory would not come cheap.
Just as expected, the Immortal Swordsmen and the Imperial Mages blocked the rebels' path.
"How dare you set foot here!"
"Wind Press!"
Whoosh— Boom!
A fierce battle erupted.
The Aura Swordsmen mobilized by Marquis Belfir unleashed brilliant arcs of light, while the rebel mages violently erupted with mana. Yet, just as they had against Roman Dmitry, the Immortal Swordsmen refused to die. No matter how many times they were cut down, their flesh regenerated. Behind them, the Imperial Mages toyed with the rebel forces using bizarre and devastating spells.
Corpses rapidly piled up.
Just as the creeping dread of failure began to set in, an anomaly occurred.
"Aaargh!"
An Immortal Swordsman screamed.
There was a limit to their regeneration after all. The moment the Immortal Swordsman collapsed to his knees, the tide of battle completely turned. The enemy was not invincible. Reinvigorated, the rebel forces pressed their advantage. The seemingly impregnable imperial palace began to yield, slowly opening a path forward.
Success was within reach.
Yet, as Marquis Belfir walked down the corpse-strewn halls, an inexplicable sense of dread washed over him.
'...There is no way the Emperor of Valhalla would fall this easily. He must have a hidden trump card.'
He was certain of it.
On the day the imperial palace was first stained with blood, the Emperor had displayed power far greater than this.
Knowing this, Marquis Belfir remained highly vigilant. But no matter how much time passed, the Emperor's soldiers failed to turn the tide. The path was completely clear. There were no more guards blocking the way to the Emperor's chambers. Even as he walked that final stretch, his mind was in turmoil. He felt as though an overwhelming disaster awaited him the moment he threw open those doors, but he could not retreat now. Not when everything had gone so perfectly.
Creak.
He pushed open the heavy doors.
And beyond them...
"Have you betrayed me, Marquis Belfir?"
The moment he saw the Emperor of Valhalla sitting there with a serene, almost resigned expression, Marquis Belfir instinctively knew. The rebellion had succeeded.
* * *
Day broke.
The citizens of Marin gathered in droves in the city square.
Before their eyes, the Emperor of Valhalla was dragged out in a wretched, humiliating state.
"Booo!"
"Die, tyrant!"
"You ruined Valhalla!"
The crowd jeered, hurling bitter curses. Some threw rotten food and stones. A jagged rock struck the Emperor's head, causing a trickle of dark blood to run down his face. It was an unbelievable sight. To think that the man who had wielded absolute power just a day ago could be reduced to such a miserable state.
Yet, the scene before them was undeniable reality.
The Emperor of Valhalla walked the long, grueling path and ascended the gallows specially prepared for him.
A rough hemp noose was placed around his neck.
Watching from below, Marquis Belfir wore a complex expression.
'To think the rebellion actually succeeded.'
Even now, he struggled to accept reality. That was why he had conducted such a thorough verification process. Fearing the Emperor might have used a body double, he had meticulously verified the man's identity. The results were absolute. He was confirmed to possess the Valhalla imperial bloodline, there were no magical alterations to his appearance, and above all, Marquis Belfir's own instincts—honed by years of serving the man—confirmed the truth.
It was really him.
Looking up at the gallows, Marquis Belfir spoke.
"Emperor of Valhalla. Do you have any last words before you die?"
It was his final mercy.
The Emperor of Valhalla looked around at the sea of people. Seeing their angry faces and satisfied glares, he suddenly couldn't hold back his laughter.
"Hehehe."
It was bizarre. To laugh with a noose already tight around his neck.
The Emperor raised his chin and projected his voice to the crowd.
"I wonder how many people here actually know anything about me. Back when no one paid me any attention, I didn't care about the throne at all. As the fourteenth son of the previous Emperor, I never imagined I would ascend to this seat. Hehehe... yet I became the Emperor. And I have absolutely no regrets about living my life as a tyrant."
He sneered.
It was a strange speech. The tone and words were entirely different from his usual self.
"You foolish bastards. It is because you are the way you are that Valhalla is falling. I did not ruin this empire; the responsibility lies with you as well! Do not think that my death will lead to Valhalla's glory! Valhalla is already falling, and—Urgh!"
Clack—Thud!
Unable to listen any longer, Marquis Belfir gave the signal.
The trapdoor beneath the Emperor's feet dropped, leaving him dangling in the air, struggling wildly.
His face turned a dark, bruised purple, contorted in sheer agony. Unlike his composed demeanor just moments ago, his desperate thrashing in the face of death was pathetic and weak. Tears and snot poured down his face.
And finally... his body went limp.
His breath stopped.
The Emperor of Valhalla was dead. For a giant who had dominated an era, it was a remarkably hollow end.
* * *
The rebellion was an absolute success.
After spending a few days stabilizing the capital, Marquis Belfir entered the still blood-stained imperial palace and gazed up at the vacant throne.
"Who is worthy of sitting in that seat?"
A vacant throne. The alternatives were severely limited.
Since the bloodline of the Valhalla imperial family had been completely wiped out, only two men were left with the standing to take the throne: Duke Vieto, who had officially led the rebel forces, and himself.
It was an intoxicating prospect. At first, he had thought himself lucky just to survive the rebellion, but now that they had succeeded while preserving their core forces, a dark ambition began to bloom in his heart.
'The justification lies with me.'
Although Duke Vieto had initiated this rebellion, it was Belfir who had actually made it a success. His claim was solid. On the day the Emperor of Valhalla was executed, the citizens of Marin had chanted Marquis Belfir's name, praising him to the heavens. The hero who saved Valhalla from the tyrant. Just thinking back to that moment gave him goosebumps.
Furthermore, Roman Dmitry's blackmail no longer held any power over him.
Since the Emperor—the leverage of that blackmail—was dead, Roman could no longer hold Belfir accountable for plotting treason.
It was perfect. This was his golden opportunity.
"Oh, Heavens. Are you truly opening a path for me?"
Gossips often said that Marquis Belfir was a man born in the right era. Perhaps it was true. After enduring years of living like a dog under the Emperor's heel, he might actually ascend to the highest seat in the empire.
Right on cue, a subordinate entered.
"Duke Vieto has entered the city," he reported.
At those words, Marquis Belfir stood up, masking his ambition beneath a solemn expression.
* * *
The gates of Marin.
A massive crowd had already gathered.
Desperate to catch a glimpse of Duke Vieto, the figurehead of the rebellion, the citizens of Valhalla had dropped everything and poured into the streets.
They cheered wildly.
Duke Vieto. He was the hero of Valhalla. No matter how great Marquis Belfir's behind-the-scenes achievements were, they could not compare to the man who had first raised the banner of rebellion.
Marquis Belfir went out to greet him. Accompanied by his personal guard, he wore a warm smile as he looked at the Duke.
"Duke Vieto. You have fought well."
His eyes darted around quickly. There were too many eyes watching right now. He planned to move the Duke to a secure location before beginning the cutthroat negotiations over the throne.
"You must be exhausted, so let us move to another—Gasp!"
Suddenly, Marquis Belfir's face turned as pale as a sheet.
Right next to Duke Vieto, a man wearing a low-pulled hood slowly pulled back his robe.
It was none other than Roman Dmitry.
He was the one person who absolutely should not be in Valhalla. Setting aside his secret collusion with Duke Vieto, the citizens of Valhalla harbored a deep, burning resentment toward Roman Dmitry for his previous attack on Marin. After all, the soldiers he had slaughtered that day were the sons and fathers of these very citizens. Marquis Belfir thought he would never have to see this demon's face again, yet here he was, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Duke Vieto.
Before Belfir could process the shock, Duke Vieto's voice boomed across the square.
"Soldiers, heed my command! Arrest the traitor, Marquis Belfir!"
"W-What is the meaning of this?!"
It happened in the blink of an eye.
At Duke Vieto's shout, his elite troops surged forward, ruthlessly cutting down Belfir's guards and subduing the Marquis.
Thud!
Marquis Belfir was slammed hard into the ground.
With his face pressed against the cold dirt and his arms violently bound behind his back, a chilling realization finally washed over him.
Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.