Today is the day the Eastlyn troops escort the Southlyn King into the Capital. The road from the city gate to the Imperial Palace has already been cleared, with Imperial Guards stationed on both sides, keeping back the crowds and blocking anyone with ill intent.
People are packed on both sides of the avenue, but the center of the road remains empty, waiting for the triumphant soldiers to return.
The citizens aren’t left waiting long. As soon as the gates open, the southern expeditionary troops stride in, proud and upright, their murderous aura making the Imperial Guards on both sides envious. Those left behind regret not going to the front lines, not witnessing the fall of the Southlyn capital with their own eyes...
At the head rides the deputy, dressed in black armor on a red horse. The commoners spot him and start shouting, “Great General Phoenixfield! He’s the Phoenixfield Clan’s Great General—Great General Phoenixfield broke Southlyn and captured the Southlyn King!”
Soon, the cries of 'Great General Phoenixfield' fill the air, and occasionally someone even shouts 'King of Phoenixfield,' praising his deeds.
Sitting atop his horse, the deputy is deeply frustrated. He’d been pleased to enter the Capital to accept rewards on Victor Phoenixfield’s behalf, but now sees that no one knows who he is; all glory belongs to Victor by name. At such a formal moment he cannot correct them, so he can only sit stiffly in the saddle and 'enjoy' honors that should be Victor’s.
Sigh... The deputy quietly laments, his face stiff as he sits on horseback, forced to accept glory that rightfully belongs to Victor Phoenixfield.
“I wonder if the Three Excellencies and the prime minister will be so furious at today’s scene that they spit blood.” In an upstairs private room at a teahouse near the gate, Serena Feng sits in plain clothes, occasionally glancing at the lively spectacle below.
The crowds lining the street shout 'King of Phoenixfield,' loudly praising the Phoenixfield Clan’s Great General—this is all Serena Feng’s handiwork. The Phoenixfield Clan isn’t just putting on a show—this is their public declaration: their glory isn’t over.
Only after truly sitting in this seat does Serena realize that keeping a low profile is impossible. To outsiders, her restraint looks like weakness—they’ll trample her if she lets them. Unless she wants to be crushed into the mud, she has to go high-profile and domineering, showing all those schemers that her position as Empress isn’t just about the Emperor’s favor.
She has her own pride—she could even brag that with her influence in Eastlyn, no matter who sits on the throne, if she wants it, she can stay Empress.
Serena turns a delicate cup in her hand. The warmth Little Dumpling’s birth brought to her eyes is gone—now her gaze flashes cold and sharp again.
Zuo An stands silently at her side, lips pressed tight, not saying a word.
He just can’t understand why Serena insists on leaving the safety of the palace to watch this spectacle. Today, the captured Southlyn Emperor is being brought into the Capital; Southern Lyn loyalists will not miss their last chance. Zuo An is certain they will gather all remaining strength to rescue him.
Of course, what you fear is what comes. As soon as the prison carriage enters the city, before the citizens can even glimpse the Southlyn Emperor and his consorts, a group of black-clad men suddenly bursts from the crowd.
These black-clad men kill without hesitation, carving a bloody path through the civilians and rushing to the front: “Rescue the Emperor!”
“Assassins!”
“Protect the prison cart! Don’t let them take the prisoner!”
Chaos erupts at the gate. Terrified commoners scream and run; some fall and are trampled to death, adding to the soldiers’ burden.
The Eastlyn troops cannot spare attention for the panicked crowd; their duty is to keep the prisoner. If the Southlyn King is taken back, they will not only lose their honors but also face severe punishment.
The carriage holding the Southlyn King is immediately surrounded; veteran soldiers close ranks before and behind, left and right, creating a living shield. When the black-clad men attack, the well-trained troops instantly form a barrier around the prison cart, not letting them get close.
Inside the cart, the formerly broken and death-seeking Southlyn King’s eyes blaze with sudden hope when he sees the assassins. Fixated on them, he trembles with excitement, convinced his loyalists have not abandoned him and have finally come to his rescue.
He knew it—his men would never forget him. They would find a way to get him out.
The Southlyn King is so excited he trembles all over, desperate for the black-clad men to reach him and break him out.
“Quick, hurry and save me!” At this moment, royal dignity and face mean nothing to the Southlyn King—he only knows he must escape, and he is desperate to get out of that cursed prison cart.
Once a ruler of the realm, now with his country fallen, he’s reduced to a lowly prisoner—worse off than ordinary criminals. At least common prisoners aren’t paraded through the streets for public ridicule...
The crushing contrast nearly drives the Southlyn King mad. With freedom so close, how could he not be excited?
The black-clad men do not disappoint. Despite the heavy guard, they force a bloody path to the Southlyn King’s prison cart.
Their target is clear: they do not care about imperial consorts or the young prince; they only intend to extract the king. The lives of others mean nothing to them.
Seeing hope, the Southlyn King shouts excitedly, “Quick, hurry and get me out! I’ll reward you all handsomely!”
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty, save me!” The consorts in the other carts sob pitifully, hoping the Southlyn King will soften, but right now he only cares about himself—he has no time for these beauties.
“Your Majesty, our child...!” The Wang clan concubine, holding their infant son, cries so heartbreakingly, but the Southlyn King still doesn’t spare her a glance.
Never mind that the black-clad men couldn’t save so many—even if they could, he wouldn’t allow it. Every extra person is extra danger; he refuses to let anyone drag him down.
Women and children—he’ll have them again one day. If he restores his throne, he’ll avenge his dead consorts and son. Right now...
Sorry, no one’s life matters more than his own.
Sigh... Men really can’t be relied on. A trace of sadness flickers in Serena’s eyes as she turns to Zuo An, “Zuo—”
“Don’t ask me to intervene—I won’t save her.” Zuo An cuts her off before she can finish. Serena rolls her eyes, “Do you take me for a saint? They’re Southlyn royals—why would I go out of my way to save them?”
She might pity that concubine, but it’s only sympathy—she won’t act against Eastlyn’s interests because of it.
“Oh? Then what do you want me to do?” Zuo An asked coldly, looking at Serena.
“I’m telling you—you can make a move now!” Serena points at the Southlyn King, already dragged out of the prison carriage by the assassins.
The Southlyn King must not be allowed to escape!