Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters
Chapter 1055: 77: The Storm (Part 6)

Chapter 1055: Chapter 77: The Storm (Part 6)

The Swift Sword that struck from behind was fast and venomous, fiercely biting towards Xial’s underarm.

In the fleeting moment, the blade’s edge precisely captured the gap left for holding the lance in the right arm’s shoulder armor, a testament to matchless swordsmanship.

Xial was too slow to dodge and got stabbed, the pain causing his body to suddenly curl up and fall forward.

However, the blade’s length penetrated merely an inch into the armor gap, halted by the chain mail beneath the armpit, unable to advance further.

Presumably, even a master swordsman wouldn’t have expected someone to go through the trouble of wearing a full suit of heavy armor outside of battle.

The attack having failed, the swordsman strode forward, aiming to stab at the downed knight’s groin.

What greeted him was the dark muzzle of a gun.

The shattered lamp, the knight on the ground, the silent swordsman, the bewildered militiamen; time seemed to freeze at this moment.

Xial clenched his teeth in desperation, enduring the severe pain until the pistol was steadily aimed at the assassin, and then he pulled the trigger.

A crisp “click” sound followed, the cylinder revolved, sparks and gun smoke burst forth, and time resumed its flow.

The lead bullet tore through flesh, shredding heart and lungs.

The swordsman stumbled, precision lost from his hand, and the Swift Sword, pushed by the falling body’s weight, stabbed into Xial’s left leg.

Xial, using the pistol like a hammer, viciously smashed the assassin’s head: “Fuck!”

Two sled dogs barked crazily and patrolled restlessly, the two militiamen who followed Xial into the basement were taken aback, one reached out to grab the assassin while the other fumbled to draw his sword.

Another muffled gunshot rang out, this time the smoke plumed from inside a hidden door.

Following that, a pitch-black iron ball flew out from the hidden door, the fuse on the shell hissing ominously.

In a life-or-death moment, Xial exploded with astonishing power, grabbed the iron ball and hurled it back through the hidden door, while simultaneously pulling the unknown-state-of-life assassin in front of himself as a shield.

…

On the street.

Two bodies were dragged out of the yard. White-haired Roger looked at each one, but the “dark-faced man” he spoke of wasn’t among them.

Xial rested against the wall, having already received Caman’s medical treatment.

His temples were streaked with two lines of blood, hair and eyebrows coated in dust, as if dusted with a layer of perfumed powder. Amidst the expanse of white, dark red spots were scattered everywhere, the mud of blood mixed with dust.

A militiaman lay silently by the road, his upper body covered with clothes.

Another militiaman sat in a daze next to his neighbor’s corpse, still not recovered from the shock.

The place where the bodies lay became a temporary rallying point, continuously men with weapons hurriedly arrived to join forces.

A few reservist non-commissioned officers with sashes rushed along the streets with torches, maintaining order.

Some women living nearby came out of their homes wrapped in shawls, standing far from the bodies, whispering to exchange news.

A young barefoot woman, not caring for the militia ranks or the wall of onlookers, dashed to the side of the militia corpse.

The young woman trembled as she uncovered the clothes, her last hope vanished with the gesture. She collapsed to the ground, weeping helplessly.

Shortly afterward, an elderly woman, staggering on her feet, approached the corpse with the help of a servant.

The old woman wore a sorrowful expression but did not weep in public. She only quietly covered the deceased again, meticulously tucking in the corners of the clothes, holding the dead one’s cold hands, mumbling a low chant.

Inside the courtyard, Winters had just interrogated the elderly doctor couple and was leading a team to inspect the secret room discovered by Xial.

The secret room, along with the basement, was ordered by Winters to be sealed off, forbidding entry to militiamen and unrelated personnel.

Only when among his own people did Winters speak up and question Caman: “You can discern the truth in my words, why can’t you tell if the old man is lying?”

Caman, following behind, responded mutely: “He’s too scared, and even when he speaks the truth, it sounds like lies.”

The terror-stricken old couple from the Royalist Party spilled everything they could, like water.

The problem was, other than knowing they were “serving His Majesty,” they had precious little contact with anything else.

The old doctor had been “serving His Majesty” for sixteen years, but what he did most during these years was to record his observations—write in his journal, then regularly mail it to relatives in North Monta.

Four years ago, “His Majesty’s servant” disguised as the old doctor’s coachman, began digging the secret room beneath his house. Since then, the old doctor had dismissed all live-in servants.

According to the old doctor, since its completion the secret room had remained idle, only two years previously had there been some boxes moved in and out intermittently. “His Majesty’s servant” neither informed him of what was stored nor permitted him to inquire. Occasionally, under the guise of making house calls, he would transport the stored goods.

He was unaware of “His Majesty’s servant”‘s other footholds, and his contact was a dark-faced gentleman from the John H. Shylock Trading Company—the same contact as White-haired Roger’s. But the John H. Shylock Trading Company was located in the Bay area—also known as Old Town, beyond Winters’ reach for now.

In Winters’ view, the secret room had never been idle. With a trustworthy background, concealed location, and the house owner being a doctor… this room was a perfectly ideal emergency refuge.

As for the old doctor’s claims of “never being told what was stored,” it was nothing more than an attempt to shirk responsibility.

Winters sighed: “Twenty years have passed, yet the Royalist Party still exists, people still yearn for the imperial system, still dreaming noble dreams.”

“Really?” countered Caman coldly.

The secret room was lower in height than the house’s original basement and connected to it by a short passage.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.