Siege Breakthrough and the Ninth Royal Uncle’s Arrival

Boom, boom, boom... Deafening drumbeats thundered in their ears, vibrating their eardrums painfully, drilling into their minds like a demonic sound—inescapable, unavoidable.

Before anyone could recover from the thunderous drums, soldiers with large drums strapped to their backs surged out from behind General Warren Yu. These men carried no swords or blades; only drums. As they entered the battlefield, they spread outward, forming a vast ring of drummers encircling the field.

Just as everyone’s attention was drawn to these newcomers, soldiers hiding in the trenches around the battlefield also crawled out. They too wore large drums strapped to their chests, pounding away to add to the thunderous cacophony.

For those on the field, it felt like an eternity, but in reality only a quarter of an hour had passed. Tens of thousands of people were beating their war drums at the same time—on the battlefield, nothing remained but the overwhelming sound of drums.

The drumbeats shook the heavens, echoing endlessly. The booming thuds felt as if they were pounding on your heart, each strike stoking irritation. Yet this wasn’t the most terrifying part—the worst was still to come...

Within this barrage, no other sound could escape the battlefield. Even trying to speak to the person beside you was impossible.

“What’s going on? Investigate—quickly!” The sudden turn caught Prince Damien of Southlyn completely off guard. His face changed drastically, a surge of foreboding rising in his heart.

At that moment, Nolan Dongling—the Regent Prince—appeared on the battlefield, riding a striking red horse and clad in blazing crimson armor.

It wasn’t just that Prince Damien’s eyesight was sharp enough to recognize the horseman from afar; behind Nolan Dongling, an aide raised a tall banner—a banner bearing the character for Nine, stylized to resemble a coiled dragon.

That character for Nine, coiling like a dragon or serpent, seemed ready to leap from the flag at any moment. Prince Damien found himself unable to look away, the image searing itself into his mind.

No one could hear what Nolan Dongling—the Regent Prince—said; no one knew what the Eastlyn imperial troops said either. All they saw was the Eastlyn soldiers spontaneously parting to let Nolan Dongling pass—he rode straight to the front line, unobstructed.

With a single glance, Nolan Dongling immediately spotted Prince Damien standing atop the city wall. No one else possessed such cold, venomous eyes.

Boom, boom, boom... Prince Damien staggered back until his shoulders hit the wall, shaking his head over and over: Impossible, impossible—he must be seeing things.

Nolan Dongling—wasn’t he poisoned? How could he possibly appear on the battlefield?

It’s fake, it has to be fake—Nolan Dongling is already dead!

Prince Damien tried to shout, to let everyone on the field know that Nolan Dongling had died of poisoning and this was just an imposter. But his voice couldn’t carry—no matter how loudly he roared, no one could hear him.

The entire battlefield descended into chaos. Generals tried to issue orders to their troops, only to realize even they couldn’t hear themselves.

What was happening? Had they all lost their voices?

Night City’s soldiers lost their commanders. Although they didn’t fall into disorder immediately, their formations broke down—and that wasn’t even the worst of it. The real nightmare was the Iron War-Wagons.

Ten Iron War-Wagons—Prince Damien’s trump cards and Night City’s ultimate killing weapon. Deploying all ten at once was meant to intimidate Eastlyn and crush their army. But now, these ten Iron War-Wagons had become Night City’s nightmare.

Night City’s Iron War-Wagons were as big as a house, and of course couldn’t be controlled by just one person. Each war-wagon required twenty soldiers to operate; after basic training, they’d follow orders to move the wagon forward, backward, or attack.

Only when all twenty men acted on the command at the same time could these behemoths rampage across the battlefield. But now, with the drumbeats pounding, the commanders might shout their orders, but the crews couldn’t hear them. Coordination broke down—no one could move in sync, and front, rear, left, and right all fell out of step.

All ten Iron War-Wagons, packed close together, soon began to sway and lurch on the field. Two even collided head-on, plowing into their own side.

The moment for Eastlyn’s attack had come!

Nolan Dongling’s blazing crimson armor only made him more striking, but to the people of Night City, this handsome man was a demon of death.

Nolan Dongling beckoned, and a young general behind him produced a command flag. He waved it in the air, signaling a pattern only Eastlyn imperial troops could read. As soon as the flag dropped, a chosen unit rode out, charging onto the battlefield.

“Flag signals?” Of course Prince Damien knew what those were, but he couldn’t read the meaning of these particular signals.

Nolan Dongling, you bastard—you actually outmaneuvered me.

Prince Damien smashed his fist against the city wall, blood streaming from his right hand, but he didn’t care. He stared at the chaos below, a wave of helplessness rising in his heart.

He couldn’t understand why—everything had been calculated, victory was in sight. But the moment Nolan Dongling appeared, the whole situation tipped: “Nolan Dongling, why won’t you just die!”

Another punch—blood splattered, trickling down the wall in a strange, almost seductive pattern.

“I won’t lose. I won’t lose to Nolan Dongling again!” Prince Damien’s eyes burned red. Without a second thought, he leaped down, ready to join the battle—but someone suddenly darted out behind him and grabbed him: “Don’t be foolish. Night City is finished.”

A mere hundred thousand iron riders—without the lethal power of the war-carriages, Night City was as weak as children before Eastlyn’s army.

“Go. Kill those drummers.” By now, Prince Damien was completely possessed—the Ninth Royal Uncle had become his heart-devil.

“Over ten thousand people—how are we supposed to kill them all? Prince Damien, don’t lose your head. Our Master said we’d follow your orders, but only if you complete the assigned tasks. Look what happened last time—after all that effort at the Martial Arts Conference, we lost men and gained nothing. Keep this up and our Master won’t be pleased.” The speaker wore all white, chilling and sinister, his body completely wrapped except for a deathly pale, claw-like hand.

“I am serving our Master now—taking Night City is nothing to fear from those martial artists.” Prince Damien insisted, refusing to admit he was settling personal scores with Ninth Royal Uncle.

“Night City? Soon it’ll be a ruin—what’s the point?” The white-clad man was ice-cold. “You have two choices: stay or leave.”

“You’re abandoning Night City?” Prince Damien frowned. It wasn’t that he cared about Night City itself, but without it, how could he fight Ninth Royal Uncle—with no troops, how could he beat Eastlyn’s army?

“You can stay, or come to the Nine Provinces Realm. We don’t lack normal people like you.” If not for the fact that everyone there was so monstrous, unsuited for public life, they wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to save Prince Damien.

Once you’re no longer useful, Prince Damien is as good as dead.

The chill in the air made Prince Damien shudder. He was no fool—he knew exactly what was best for himself. Without hesitation, he chose to leave with the white-clad man.

Night City was lost, but there were still Taicheng, Jiancheng, Cloud City, and Chucheng—plenty of places for him to make a comeback.

No sentiment, not even a word to Reid Yale; Prince Damien simply disappeared from Night City, taking his men from overseas with him—utterly irresponsible.

“Think you can just leave? Naive!” The moment Prince Damien vanished from the wall, Ninth Royal Uncle noticed. His deep eyes flashed with mockery: Serena Feng was about to avenge Lance Quinn—there’s no way she’d let Prince Damien escape again!

Ninth Royal Uncle wasn’t in a hurry—he simply ordered his men to assist Doudou and make sure Old Gray was captured alive. He wanted to see who was really backing Old Gray, and what their true purpose was.

The battle raged on. Soon, Night City’s forces realized their commander was gone. With their leader abandoning the city, how could the soldiers have any confidence left? Facing an army just as fierce but far more numerous, Night City’s iron cavalry collapsed. Their war-carriages either broke down or attacked friend and foe alike.

Night City’s defeat was now obvious. Reid Yale rushed over, only to see devastation—piles of wreckage and bodies, some Eastlyn soldiers, but mostly Night City’s iron riders.

“Lost. Lost—Night City is finished.” Reid Yale was dazed, as if his mind had gone blank.

“Ah…” Suddenly, Reid Yale cried out, dropping to his knees in agony, wailing to the sky: “Heaven is unjust!” Without the iron cavalry, Night City was nothing.

“My father’s death is still unavenged—I can’t accept this, I refuse!” Reid Yale’s voice was thick with pain and grief.

He hated them—hated Nolan Dongling, hated Prince Damien—but most of all, he hated Su Wan.

“Wanwan… Su Wan, it’s all you, all you! You ruined me.” Without Su Wan, he never would have gone to Eastlyn, never caused trouble, his father wouldn’t have died saving him—if his father hadn’t died, he wouldn’t have ended up like this.

“Su Wan, you ruined me. You ruined me.”

“I am a sinner—I’ve failed my father, failed all of Night City.” Reid Yale’s face twisted, eyes bloodshot, his intense hatred unsettling everyone around him.

“City Lord, City Lord… you must pull yourself together! Night City still needs you to save it.” Seeing Reid Yale’s state, those nearby knelt and tried to comfort him—but as they spoke, they broke down crying themselves.

Ever since the old City Lord died, Night City had gone downhill—its people suffered more and more, and hunger grew rampant.

“City Lord…” Even so, they were still Night City’s people, still protected by Night City. But now?

Night City was lost—soon Eastlyn would occupy it. Would Eastlyn treat Night City’s people kindly?

But Reid Yale couldn’t think about any of that. All he knew was that Night City had fallen, he’d lost—lost utterly. He had nothing left.

Death!

Death was his only fate.

“I am a sinner—a sinner to Night City.” Reid Yale was trapped in deep self-blame. Suddenly, a murderous glint flashed in his eyes—he sprang up, grabbed a blood-stained broadsword, and dashed madly toward the City Lord’s manor…

At the same time, Sean Xuan, Ling Mo, and Serena Feng received word and immediately led their men to pursue the fleeing enemies toward a nearby village.

This time, no one would escape alive!