"Bang bang bang!"

The oak door, locked with iron chains, started to shake.

"Who?" Several soldiers dozing off in the winch room were startled awake, angrily retorting.

"Catherine's decree. It's me, you bastards, open up, it's winch room duty!"

"Oh oh oh." Hearing the Gatekeeper's voice, the Militia Captain in the winch room finally rose from his seat by the table, rubbing his eyes with his palms as he walked to the door.

"Hurry up, what's taking so long?"

"Sir, I'm opening it right now..."

"Bang!"

Once the iron chains were unfastened, the iron-bolted door revealed a small gap, and the person behind it suddenly kicked the door panel forcefully.

The soldier opening the door was immediately hit, his forehead jerking backward as he stumbled back three steps, sitting heavily on the ground. He looked at the bloodstains on his trousers, bewildered, and wiped his nose.

The bright red on his fingertip hurt his eyes, igniting the soldier's anger as he sharply raised his head: "You damned goat, you're insane... ah, ah—"

Before he finished speaking, his eyes suddenly widened as a crossbow arrow pierced through his throat, the arrow's tail still trembling.

"You all..." One soldier stood up, shocked, only to have another crossbow arrow penetrate his forehead, causing him to fall backward onto the ground.

Two crossbowmen retreated, and seven or eight burly men clad in chainmail instantly surged into the room, hurling their hand axes as they entered.

The axes spun with shadowy remnants, impeccably accurate in the confined space, embedding joyfully into the collarbones, chests, and foreheads of the guard soldiers, whose screams mingled with flowing blood.

Along with the echoes in the winch room, muffled groans and screams equally resonated in the castle gate passage.

The cries from the winch room seemed to be a signal, as about ten soldiers standing in a row suddenly erupted, drawing their longswords to hack at their comrades beside them.

When the longswords sliced open their skin and cut through their throats, the soldiers loyal to Catherine still turned disbelievingly.

Not until they saw their former comrades aiming their longswords at them did they finally lose hope.

"What are you doing?"

"You traitors!"

A few soldiers who hadn't been killed in the ambush also drew their longswords, wielding spears as they swiftly charged at the betraying soldiers.

Unfortunately, they didn't run far before they were covered by a barrage of crossbow arrows.

The arrows rained down upon them, and the charging soldiers let out muffled groans one after another, falling at the feet of the traitors.

After clearing out the soldiers at the castle gate, the sound of clinking chains echoed from the winch room.

Amidst this noise and the curses from the heavily injured soldiers on the ground, a young man with scruffy beard and graying hair walked over.

"Riyal!" Staring at the signature two fingers of the leading traitor, a heavily injured civilian militia lies in a pool of blood, shouting in disbelief, "Why?"

Riyal's complexion was frighteningly pale; he didn't look down at his friend but stared straight ahead.

Only when a group of Workshop Masters appeared did the captured or fallen soldiers' eyes show some understanding.

"Just to save your meager property in the city?" The civilian militia shouted at Riyal, "I knew that woman was a devil, she's corrupted your soul!"

"That's my wife, and she and I are devout Believers of Miseria!" Riyal suddenly glared at his old friend, as if his tail had been stepped on, "The real devil is that Witch with the vampire's whip, your most loyal Catherine!

She's a Witch; she's never told us. I suspect Malok and the others died because they were infected by Witch's disease.

Using the vampire's things, always on the edge of madness, I don't want to die at the hands of a maddening Witch.

Following her, my soul will be corrupted, never able to ascend to heaven."

"Didn't Lady Catherine always wear a cloak and hood, and gloves?" The civilian pressed his wound where the arrow pierced through his intestines, "She'd rather get a rash than take them off. We used to discuss why that was, do you remember?"

"Of course she had to do that." Amid the sharp friction of the winch and chains, Riyal was cold like another person, "Otherwise, her being a Witch would be exposed."

"Riyal, why are you arguing with him?" One Workshop Master behind him slipped over nimbly, and Riyal instinctively reached out to grab but failed.

The longsword pierced through the civilian's chest, and when withdrawn, he could no longer speak, only widened his eyes, leaning against the wall as he slowly slumped to the ground.

Riyal's hand, left with only two fingers, trembled slightly.

The soldier's frothy blood flowed through the slowly rising gate, and the sunlight shone on the despairing faces of the fallen soldiers through the slowly opening crack of the door.

Outside the gate, hundreds of Foot Knights who had swum across the moat stood wet by the gate, shields raised above their heads.

Falling alongside the rain of arrows from the city walls were the bodies of fallen soldiers, some masked, some unmasked.

Sunlight shot from the backs of these Foot Knights, and in the darkness, Riyal could not see their faces, only the blurred silhouettes on the edge.

But for some reason, Riyal always had the feeling that they seemed to be smiling, a smile that seized the breath.

"Boom, boom, boom——"

The drawbridge over the moat lowered slowly, and the dust kicked up by the galloping riders started to rise from the distant woods.

"To the city wall, seize the winch room, the arsenal, and the street entrances."

"Destroy all the door bolts, and dismantle all the chevaux-de-frise!"

"Control the city wall, make sure to smash the ballistae."

The leading Knight methodically issued three commands, and the Foot Knights behind him immediately sprang into action.

Only then did the leading Knight seem to notice the merchants and common folk standing in front of him.

He walked slowly up to Riyal, the sunlight shifting away, revealing his face at last—it was Ailard, the Company Commander of the Commandery.

"We meet again, Mr. Riyal, oh dear, tsk."

He feigned a light tap of his lips and gave an exaggerated salute with one hand on his chest, "Or perhaps I should call you Baron Riyal."

Even in the world of nobility, traitors are the most ostracized figures.

Though Ailard was grateful to Riyal and the rest of the merchants and commoners, he held more respect for Catherine, who withstood days without fleeing single-handedly.

If Riyal could seize this chance to become part of the noble class, it would likely take three generations to cleanse the label "progeny of a traitor."

Staring at Ailard's mocking face, Riyal was at a loss for words.

His once sharp gaze wholly withdrawn, retaining a semblance of pride, yet he seemed to deflate like a punctured balloon.

Clumsily practicing the noble etiquette he once despised, Riyal bowed his head: "Greetings to you, Sir Knight Ailard."

"Of course, of course." Ailard casually walked past the prisoners, dismissing Riyal's words, and approached the dozens of citizens, "I will meet your demands, but first, tell me, where is Witch Catherine?"

"She's by the eastern wall," an enthusiastic merchant raised his hand, "we poisoned the Gatekeeper of the clock tower in advance, they didn't have time to get the news."

"Who told you to kill the clock tower monks?" Ailard asked with a furrowed brow.

"Huh?" The merchants and commoners were baffled, unable to grasp Ailard's meaning.

Ailard clicked his tongue: "Go ring the bell, signal the gate breach as planned."

"But..."

"Do as you're told." Ailard's voice was steady and elegant, "Consider yourselves fortunate to be absolved of your sins, what more do you want?"

The commoners immediately fell silent, selecting someone who remembered the bell signal, and sent them scurrying to the clock tower with great haste.

Watching their departing backs, Ailard sneered openly, then shouted to the approaching Church Guards: "After breaching the city, you may plunder for three days, do not sheathe your weapons!

Whoever brings me Witch Catherine's head will be rewarded with 1000 gold pounds, ennobled as a Baron and a Knight, with the Prince himself as guarantor, and invited to join the Garter Stocking Knight Order!"

The hundreds of arriving Night Guards and Armored Soldiers erupted in deafening cheers.

"What you wanted me to do, I've done." Amidst the cheering, Riyal staggered to Ailard's side, "Where is what I wanted?"

Ailard glanced at the other hopeful merchants and citizens: "Go home, I'll give you a pennant, hold it at your door, and no one will loot or massacre you."

"What about the others? Wasn't it said that as long as we offered up the city, the Saint Master would forgive the believers within?" Riyal reflexively questioned.

"Indeed, but how can the Saint Master forgive them if they don't go to him?" Ailard spread his hands innocently.

"A district, at least a district!" Riyal's body began to tremble, pleadingly.

"Does doing this make you feel any better? Hmm?" Ailard leaned close to Riyal's ear and whispered, "Do you think this washes the blood off your hands? Traitor, the more you flaunt that bit of conscience, the more pathetic you look!"

Like an elder admonishing a youth, Ailard tapped the back of Riyal's head, "Remember, you belong to us, and the order you need to heed is—siege massacre!"

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