Panlong's Worton

Chapter 20 Killing Clyde

The first day of the Green Moon in the year 10000 of the Magnolia Calendar.

The city of Fenlai was bustling with activity from dawn. Colorful flags and magical lanterns adorned the streets, shops opened early, and vendors pushed carts hawking festive pastries and toys. In the central square, clergy from the Holy See were setting up an altar—it was said that this year's grand ceremony would be presided over by Pope Haitings himself, praying for the entire Holy Alliance's prosperity for the next ten thousand years.

Linley stood at the window on the third floor of the mansion, watching the ant-like crowd bustling about in the distant square. He was dressed in ordinary dark casual clothes, with the "Slaughter" sword hanging at his waist, its scabbard wrapped in cloth, concealing his family crest. Bebe perched on his shoulder, its small eyes fixed on the direction of the royal palace at the end of the street.

"elder brother."

Wharton came up the stairs, dressed similarly in unremarkable clothes. The twelve-year-old boy had grown to Linley's shoulder height, carrying a longsword wrapped in coarse cloth—a replica of "Slaughter," the real sword being in Linley's possession. The two brothers exchanged a glance, but neither spoke.

The plan was finalized a month ago.

On the day of the Magnolia Festival, the palace guards would rotate shifts, with some elite troops being deployed to the square to maintain order. As was customary, Clyde would return to the palace after the midday ceremony, passing through "Maple Leaf Street"—a street lined with densely packed buildings, ideal for an ambush. Linley and Walton had rented the top floor room of a two-story building there three days in advance, with windows facing the street.

Simple, straightforward, take advantage of the holiday festivities and get started.

"Is everything ready?" Lin Lei asked.

"Yes." Walton nodded. "Grandpa Ciri went to the manor outside the city yesterday, ostensibly to buy holiday supplies, but actually to lay low. There are only a few servants left in the manor, and I gave them the day off today."

"Well done."

Linley turned and picked up two leather bags from the table, tossing one to Wharton. Inside were dry rations, water, first-aid potions, and a few emergency magic scrolls—the lowest grade kind, containing no strong magical fluctuations so as not to alert the Vatican's monitoring array.

"Brother," Walton said, fastening his leather pouch, "how many guards do you think Clyde will bring today?"

"Not too many." Linley said, holding his leather bag. "He can't bring a large group for the festival; it would seem cowardly. According to past practice, it will be about twelve to sixteen elite Thunder Squadron members, plus two court mages. Caesar will definitely be there—he's Clyde's chief guard, a level nine warrior, and he's never out of his sight."

"Leave Caesar to me," Walton said. "You focus on dealing with Clyde."

Linley glanced at his younger brother. Fourteen years old, claiming he could take on a level nine warrior—anywhere, that would be considered madness. But Wharton spoke calmly, as if discussing lunch. Over the past two years, Linley had witnessed his brother break through from level eight to level nine, and after transforming into a dragon, he possessed the strength of a Saint-level expert. In ten thousand years, he had never heard of a fourteen-year-old reaching Saint-level.

"Be careful," Linley finally said. "Caesar is no ordinary level nine; he fought on the border for over a decade and has extensive combat experience."

"Haha, I understand."

The two checked their equipment again.

At 3:45 AM, the two brothers went out.

The streets were teeming with people. Parents led their newly dressed children by the hand, couples strolled hand in hand, and vendors' cries rose and fell. The air was filled with the aroma of roasting meat, the sweetness of pastries, and the lingering sulfurous scent of magic fireworks. Joy, noise, a scene of prosperity.

Linley and Walton walked against the flow of people toward Maple Street. Both of them kept their heads down and walked at a leisurely pace, like two ordinary brothers heading to a relative's house for a holiday.

"Brother," Walton suddenly whispered, "the weather is so nice today."

Lin Lei looked up. The sky was azure, the sun was shining brightly, and a few wisps of thin clouds looked like torn cotton wool.

"Um."

"Suitable for killing," Walton added.

Lin Lei didn't reply, but a cold smile appeared on his lips.

Maple Leaf Street gets its name from the two rows of maple trees lining the street. At this time of year, the maple leaves are turning from green to red, their dappled colors shimmering in the sunlight. The rented building is in the middle of the street; the ground floor houses a tailor shop, which is closed for the holiday today. The two brothers went around into the back alley, unlocked the side door with a key, and climbed the narrow wooden stairs to the top.

The room was small, with only one window facing the street. A square table and two chairs sat beneath the window. Lin Lei moved a chair to the window and sat down. He could see the street from the window, but people outside couldn't see him unless they deliberately looked up.

Walton closed the door, took out a black cloth from his pocket, and began to wipe the blade of the "Mountain Guardian" sword. His movements were slow and meticulous, as if he were performing some kind of ritual.

Time passed second by second.

Faint hymns drifted from the distant plaza—the festival had begun. Pope Haitings's voice, amplified by a magical megaphone, resounded throughout the city, solemn and deep, praising the divine grace of the Lord of Light and the millennia-long peace of the Yulan Continent.

Linley closed his eyes, his fingers tapping lightly on the hilt of his "Slaughter" sword. He mentally reviewed the plan: Clyde's convoy would depart from the east gate of the square, travel 500 meters along the main street, and then turn right onto Maple Leaf Street. This section, about 300 meters long, with dense buildings on both sides, was the perfect spot to strike. He and Walton would leap from the window, while Bebe simultaneously launched a surprise attack from the side rooftops, creating chaos. They needed to eliminate the outer guards within ten seconds, subdue Clyde within twenty seconds, and then immediately retreat—no lingering, no time for the palace reinforcements to react.

The plan is simple, but the simpler the plan, the fewer surprises there will be.

Wharton finished wiping the sword, folded the black cloth, and put it back in his pocket. He walked to the window, sat down next to Linley, and closed his eyes as well.

The two waited in silence.

Waiting for the enemy to pass by.

Blood debts must be repaid in blood.

At noon, the festival reached its climax. A deafening roar of cheers erupted from the direction of the square, and magical fireworks exploded in the sky, their dazzling brilliance visible even several streets away.

Lin Lei opened his eyes.

"Soon."

Walton nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Another fifteen minutes passed. The number of pedestrians on the street gradually decreased—most people gathered in the square or on both sides of the main street, waiting to admire the grandeur of the king's motorcade returning to the palace.

The sound of horses' hooves could be heard in the distance.

coming.

Linley stood up, walked to the window, and turned slightly to look outside. At the end of the street, a troop of cavalry was slowly approaching. Twelve knights in golden armor, two in a row, stood in neat formation. Their warhorses wore dark blue cloaks trimmed with gold, and their horseshoes struck the cobblestones with a crisp, rhythmic sound.

Following the knight was a four-wheeled carriage. The carriage was entirely black, with the griffin emblem of the Kingdom of Finlay etched on the walls, and heavy velvet curtains hanging from the windows. The four white horses pulling the carriage were tall and magnificent, their gait perfectly synchronized.

Beside the carriage rode two figures. On the left was a burly middle-aged man with a fierce face, a broad-bladed sword—Caesar—hanging at his waist. On the right was an elderly man in a dark blue robe, holding a staff; he was likely a court magician.

Four knights were brought up at the back of the group.

There were a total of eighteen people, which was about the expected number.

Linley took a deep breath and gestured to Walton: As planned, kill the mage first.

Walton nodded and grasped the "Mountain Guardian" with both hands.

The convoy entered the middle section of Maple Leaf Street.

Lin Lei counted the sound of hooves. Thirty paces, twenty paces, ten paces…

It's now!

He flung open the window and leaped out. While still in mid-air, "Slaughter" was already drawn, its blade tracing a dark red arc in the sunlight, aimed directly at the magician beside the carriage.

Almost simultaneously, Walton leaped from the window, but in a different direction—he hurtled towards Caesar like a boulder. Bebe swooped down from the opposite rooftop, a dark figure as swift as lightning, heading straight for the coachman.

The attack came too suddenly.

Caesar was, after all, a level nine warrior, and his instincts kicked in at the critical moment. He roared and parried with his battle sword, meeting Walton's greatsword head-on.

clang--!

The deafening clang of metal striking metal rattled the windows along the street. Caesar's warhorse neighed and collapsed to its knees—the force of Walton's sword had crushed both man and horse.

But Caesar did manage to block it. Using the momentum of his kneeling, he rolled off his horse, slashing his sword at Walton's shin. Experienced and ruthless, he completely disregarded his own disheveled fall, seeking only to kill his enemy.

Walton stumbled, pressing down with his heavy sword. With another clang, Caesar's sword nearly slipped from his grasp, his hand splitting open and bleeding.

Meanwhile, Lin Lei's surprise attack was successful.

The mage didn't even have time to cast a spell. A flash of light, and the staff snapped in two, along with the right hand holding it, severed at the wrist. The mage screamed in agony, hastily raising his left hand to unleash an instant fireball towards Linley's face.

Linley neither dodged nor evaded, but threw a punch with his left hand. His dragon transformation was instantaneous—his arm was covered in black scales, and his fist tore through the air, shattering the fireball. Amidst the scattering flames, his right hand's "Slaughter" pierced the mage's chest, twisted, and was pulled out.

Blood splattered.

"Enemy attack—!" Caesar's roar was finally fully uttered.

The twelve Thunder Squadron knights reacted, drawing their swords and spurring their horses to try and surround the horse. But Bebe had already dealt with the coachman—the Shadow Rat's claws slashed across his throat, and the coachman, clutching his bleeding neck, fell from his seat. Bebe didn't stop there; it pounced on the nearest knight, biting off the horse's leg. The warhorse neighed and collapsed, and the knight tumbled about in disarray.

confusion.

Linley kicked open the carriage door. Inside sat Clyde and a bodyguard—the bodyguard drew his sword and thrust it forward, his swordsmanship cunning, aiming straight for the throat. A level seven warrior, and one specializing in assassination.

Linley dodged to the side, grabbing the sword with his left hand. His dragon-transformed hand was as hard as refined steel, the blade unable to cut through his scales. He twisted it forcefully, the longsword shattering, and his right hand slashed horizontally with his saber.

The guard's head flew up, hit the carriage wall, and rolled down.

Only then did Clyde truly see the attacker's face.

"Monsters from another dimension..." The king's voice trembled slightly, but his hand had already reached for his waist—where hung an ornately decorated short sword, its scabbard inlaid with jewels.

Linley didn't give him a chance to draw his sword. He stepped into the carriage, and "Slaughter" was pressed against Clyde's neck, the blade digging into his skin, blood seeping out.

"Don't move." Lin Lei's voice was as cold as ice. "Move even once, and your head will be gone."

Outside the train carriage, the fighting continued.

Caesar and Walton had already exchanged three blows. In the first head-on clash, Caesar was at a disadvantage; in the second skirmish, Caesar tried to use his experience to suppress Walton, but Walton's greatsword, though seemingly clumsy, was actually exquisitely varied and always managed to shut down his attacks; in the third, Caesar began to fight desperately, his battle sword flailing wildly, his battle aura exploding, and the full force of a level nine warrior caused the cobblestones of the entire street to fly.

But Walton is stronger.

As the greatsword struck for the third time, Caesar finally could not withstand it. His sword flew from his hand and embedded itself in the wooden wall of a shop on the side of the street. Caesar staggered backward, a deep, bone-revealing sword wound on his chest, blood staining his golden armor.

"You…" Caesar's eyes widened, "Sanctuary?!"

Walton didn't answer, raising his greatsword once more. This strike was simple, a straight slash, but its momentum blocked all of Caesar's escape routes. Caesar roared, channeling all his fighting spirit into his fists, and slammed them upwards, attempting to meet the attack head-on.

The sword fell.

The fist shattered.

The greatsword cleaved through the fighting spirit, split the fist, shattered the helmet, and finally cleaved Caesar in two. Blood and entrails splattered everywhere, and the level nine warrior's body fell to either side, still twitching slightly.

The remaining knights were stunned.

Lord Caesar... is dead? Three moves?

Fear spread like a plague. Someone shouted "Run!" and the twelve knights—four already dead, eight remaining—turned their horses around, trying to rush out of the street.

But it was too late.

Linley emerged from the carriage, carrying Clyde—the king—in his left hand, held by the scruff of his neck like a chick, his feet off the ground as he struggled desperately. Linley held his sword in his right hand and looked at the knights.

"Leave no one alive."

Wharton made a move.

The greatsword felt as light as a stick in his hand. He caught up with a knight, and with a sweep of his blade, he cut the man and his horse in two. Turning, he stepped forward and with another strike, cleaved another knight from shoulder to hip. Blood rained down, staining the Maple Leaf Street red, staining the cobblestones and maple trees crimson.

Bebe was also killing. The black shadow moved among the knights, and with each pause, a knight fell, blood gushing from his throat.

Twenty seconds.

From the start of the raid until now, twenty seconds have passed. The entire 18-man guard has been wiped out. Two level nines (Caesar and a mage), twelve level seven elites, and four level sixes—not a single one survived.

The streets were deathly silent.

The only sounds were the dripping of blood and Clyde's heavy breathing.

Linley threw Clyde to the ground. The king lay sprawled in a pool of blood, his magnificent robes stained with filth, his crown askew, utterly disheveled. He tried to rise, but Walton's greatsword was already pressed against his chest—the tip pressing lightly, the ribs creaking with a groan.

"Who are you?... " Clyde looked up, his face drained of color. "Attacking the king is a crime punishable by extermination—

"Shut up." Linley crouched down, the blade pressed against Clyde's face. "I ask, you answer. Say another word, and I'll cut a piece of your flesh."

Clyde fell silent. He stared intently at Linley, the fear in his eyes gradually replaced by a kind of madness. This king was no ordinary man; he had fought his way through a group of princes to ascend the throne and had remained on it for twenty years, not because of mercy.

"Twelve years ago," Linley crouched down, grabbed Clyde's hair, and lifted him up, "you sent men to kidnap a woman. Remember?"

Clyde's pupils suddenly contracted.

He remembered. Of course he remembered. That woman with the pure soul was one of the "sacrifices" he offered to the Holy See. Because of that sacrifice, he was promoted from a level seven warrior to level nine and also received the Holy Domain magic scroll "Guardian of Fate".

But he couldn't understand how those two monsters knew about this. Could it be...?

"Who are you to her?" Clyde blurted out.

"She is my mother." Linley's voice was as cold as ice. "Now, tell me, where is my mother?"

Clyde's mind raced. He couldn't admit it; admitting it meant certain death. But if he didn't admit it, these two monsters wouldn't let him go. What to do? Buy time? Wait for the Vatican to come to his rescue?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Clyde said, trying to sound calm. "Are you sure you haven't got the wrong person?"

Walton stepped on his leg.

Click.

His leg bone was broken. Clyde let out a bloodcurdling scream.

"Say it again," Linley leaned closer, his dark gold eyes fixed on his, "Where is my mother?"

Clyde was in so much pain that he was covered in cold sweat, but he still gritted his teeth and said, "I...I really don't know..."

Walton lifted his foot, ready to step on the other leg.

"Wait!" Clyde finally broke down. "I'll talk! I'll talk!"

Lin Lei released his grip, letting him slump to the ground.

"Twelve years ago...yes, I did capture a woman," Clyde gasped, "but I didn't kill her! I just...I just handed her over to the Vatican!"

"The Vatican?" Linley's eyes sharpened. "Why?"

"Because...because her soul is pure." Clyde dared not look Linley in the eye. "The Holy See has been collecting pure souls to...to sacrifice to the Lord of Light. In return, the Holy See bestows gifts upon the sacrificer. It was because I offered her that I broke through from level seven to level nine and even obtained the Sanctuary Scroll..."

As he spoke, he pulled a scroll from his pocket. The scroll was bound with gold thread and had intricate magical patterns on its surface.

"This is 'Guardian of Fate,' a Saint-level defensive scroll. I'll give it to you! All of it! Please, let me go—"

Linley snatched the reel without even looking at it and tossed it to Walton. His attention was entirely focused on what Clyde was saying.

Sacrifice. Purification of the soul. Lord of Light.

Every word was like a knife, piercing his heart.

"Sacrifice..." Linley's voice trembled. "What do you mean? My mother was... was sacrificed?"

Clyde lowered his head: "I...I don't know the specifics. I haven't seen her since the people from the Vatican took her away. But according to custom, sacrificial offerings...can't be alive."

Lin Lei stopped breathing.

Sacrifice. The Vatican. Divine grace.

Each word was like a knife, churning in his heart.

"Why...why?" He heard his own voice tremble. "Why did I choose her?"

Linley's knife plunged down. Not to a vital spot, but to the shoulder, piercing through flesh and embedding itself in the stone slab. Clyde screamed, but the sound was choked back by Linley's punch—his jaw shattered, and a mouthful of teeth spurted out, mixed with blood.

"Brother!" Walton grabbed Linley's shoulder. "Calm down! Ask him clearly!"

Linley trembled. He drew his knife and plunged it into Clyde's other shoulder, pinning the king firmly to the ground.

"Who ordered it?" Linley asked, enunciating each word clearly. "Who in the Vatican is in charge of this?"

With his mouth full of blood, Clyde mumbled incoherently, "The...cardinal, Gilmer...and the Inquisition...Useno...they were all involved..."

The distant commotion grew closer, accompanied by the sound of horses' hooves—the royal guards were approaching.

"Brother, it's time to go," Walton said in a deep voice.

Linley stared at Clyde. The king was already ruined; his jaw was shattered, both shoulders were pierced, and he had lost too much blood. He wouldn't live much longer. But that wasn't enough—letting him die like this was too easy.

Lin Lei drew his knife and raised it again.

The madness in Clyde's eyes was finally replaced by fear. He shook his head desperately, trying to say something, but could only make hoarse sounds.

The knife fell.

Lin Lei sheathed his knife, turned around, and said, "Let's go."

"He got off too easy," Walton said.

The two brothers prepared to leave. Bebe jumped back onto Linley's shoulder, his little paws also covered in blood.

Just then—

The sky darkened.

It wasn't the kind of darkness that comes from dark clouds obscuring the sun; something heavier, more oppressive, enveloped the entire city. The air suddenly became thick and viscous, making it difficult to breathe.