God of War!
As this identity was revealed, all the previous grumblings vanished. No one dared or could voice any complaints. This person held all the power in Kisia!
“It’s really you!” A trace of fear flitted across Hue Harding’s face. How could it be him? According to the information he had received earlier, Kisia’s God of War was supposed to be in the East, still at war, so he hadn’t been too afraid from the beginning. But now he was scared. The man standing in front of him was this ‘Butcher’.
“Surprised?” Robin looked at Hue Harding, smiled, and then his gaze turned sharp. “And that’s not all. Where is my Wolf Ghost Cavalry?”
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The ground seemed to vibrate as if tens of thousands of people were marching.
“Kill!”
“Kill!”
“Kill!”
The word ‘kill’ echoed again and again, shaking the venue of the auction. The Ghost Wolf Cavalry, Kisia’s foremost cavalry, had arrived?
“Ladies and Gentlemen, St. Sunday is now surrounded by my men. I’ll give you one more chance to choose between war and peace.” Robin again addressed the crowd.
“I am willing to follow the God of War and fight for Kisia.” One of them knelt halfway.
“I am willing to follow the God of War and fight for Kisia.”
“I am willing to follow the God of War and fight for Kisia.”
“I am willing to follow the God of War and fight for Kisia.”
Everyone knelt halfway. They had no choice but to kneel, as they were surrounded by the Ghost Wolf Cavalry. They knew what was coming next – a bloodbath of the stubborn lords and factions.
Tonight was definitely going to be a night of slaughter.
Yet, two people hadn’t knelt.
One was Hue Harding. He was, after all, a member of the Harding clan, and he still had some backbone.
And the other was not Ben Roach. Even Ben Roach had been scared to the point of collapsing. The God of War of Kisia, a man known as the ‘God of Slaughter’ and ‘Butcher’, was actually here.
It was Rolf Haynes.
He was so frightened that he just stared at Robin, his mouth agape. “It’s… it’s really you!”
He recognized Robin, the man who had saved his son’s life. Later, because Robin had always spoken to him as an equal, he had become upset. After all, he was a jewelry tycoon of St. Sunday. But now, it seemed he was not qualified to talk to Robin.
Oh my god. What a foolish thing I have done.
“Wolfman Guards, seize Hue Harding and prevent him from sending out any information.” At Robin’s command, two Wolfman Guards appeared and immediately restrained Hue Harding.
But Hue Harding laughed madly. “Ha ha, you’re too late! No matter if you’re Mr. X or the God of War of Kisia, I’ve already sent the message.”
“You fool. You didn’t control me from the start. I tell you, the army of 100, 000 led by Maclean Lyons is already on its way here. You won’t be able to control St. Sunday immediately, you need time. But we won’t give you that time.”
“St. Sunday will always belong to South Land, and this South Province will always belong to our Harding clan.” He laughed crazily.
However, a dagger slid across his neck. His laughter froze as a splash of blood flew out, then he heard Robin’s voice in his ear.
“Thank you very much.”
What does that mean?
As Hue Harding fell, this was the thought that emerged in his mind. What does that mean? Thanks for what?
Could it be…
There was no chance for him to think any further.
The Harding clan had dispatched Hue Harding to St. Sunday, where he had been planted for five or six years. A once proud and fighting-ready St. Sunday had been turned into a den of decadence under his influence. Hue Harding was indeed capable, but today, he died. He died at the hands of Robin.
“All personnel stay in this auction house. I am going to take over all of St. Sunday,” Robin commanded.
“Yes.”
No one in the crowd dared to defy him. Everyone obediently stayed where they were. But their minds were filled with different thoughts. They hadn’t heard Robin’s ‘Thank you’, only the words of Hue Harding about Maclean Lyons’ army of 100, 000 marching towards them. It would take at least one night to take over St. Sunday. Could they hold the city when the army arrives before they have managed to secure St. Sunday? These questions were in everyone’s minds.
Meanwhile, 40 miles outside the city, a loudly shouting army was rushing towards them. The commanding general was none other than Maclean Lyons, seated in the principal position, his eyes filled with excitement.
“General, there’s a problem with the terrain ahead. There could be an ambush,” a scout reported.
“A problem? What problem? The Kisia War God is still trying to take over St. Sunday. He can’t spare us any attention. We can’t afford to be late. Speed is of the essence in warfare. St. Sunday is too important to us. We must go. Give the order to move at full speed!” Maclean Lyons made an immediate judgement.
Both men’s focus was on St. Sunday. The sooner they advanced, the greater the odds of capturing St. Sunday. Thus, they had to speed up.
“Yes!”
Immediately, the army accelerated once again. However, when they reached the terrain in question, they saw a line of shadows in front of them. No, not shadows, but men in black armor, ragged black cloaks, riding ironclad horses, wearing wolf-shaped masks, and a flag depicting a howling wolf. They were densely packed and emanated killing intent. At the front was Jeff Reczek.
“Ghost Wolf Cavalry!”
Maclean Lyons’ gaze faltered for a moment before he realized, “Their target is me, not St. Sunday!” He had been too impatient!
“Retreat, full retreat,” Maclean Lyons immediately ordered.
In this terrain, fighting against the cavalry was suicide! But Jeff Reczek grinned, “Too late. Ghost Wolf Cavalry, kill!”
Whoosh!
A murderous intent spread out like a wolf’s howl, engulfing the entire battlefield. Then, blades flashed, and the ironclad cavalry began slaughtering!
Maclean Lyons’ army of 100, 000 was retreating, but it seemed like enemies were everywhere. There were enemies in front, behind, to the left, and right, seemingly endless. And all of them were in black armor. They infiltrated their ranks, cutting through their formation. They were being slaughtered!
“Damn it, we’re trapped in the enemy’s formation, break out!” Maclean Lyons, his eyes red, immediately ordered.
“General, our forces have been scattered, we can’t transmit the order,” a blood-stained adjutant reported with a mournful face.
They had been surrounded. Completely surrounded.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” Maclean Lyons’ eyes filled with old tears.
100, 000 soldiers, all lost under his command.