Chapter 1384 - 7: Bastia, the City That Never Falls (Extra)

Chapter 1384: Chapter 7: Bastia, the City That Never Falls (Extra)

At this moment, a gust of wind blew through, and Vick instantly realized that there was a familiar sensation in it—a corrupting aura from the Ascension Sect!

"Retreat, retreat, retreat, inform everyone to evacuate from the city. Leave behind whatever you can’t carry. If you lose contact, gather the refugees and head to Ovando.

You few find some fresh faces to spread the word that it’s the cultists who killed the Earl—they intend to massacre the city. Encourage everyone to flee quickly. Our people should hide among them to avoid standing out."

The involvement of the cult meant losing control. It wasn’t a struggle between nobles but a fight between humanity and anti-humanity.

In their line of work, decisiveness is key. At the slightest breeze or rustle, you must flee without a moment’s hesitation.

However, Vick couldn’t leave yet. He needed to do one thing—arrange for people to notify the underlings to transfer as well. Some he could only contact himself, like Francis...

Some informants planted by the nobles had also noticed the situation and started using a bit of money to encourage those rascals and idlers to spread the word.

On the other side, after Bruce took Alvin back, he was busy with various affairs, and thus wasn’t in the castle.

He only learned about this when the castle guards came to him, leaving him stunned.

"What? Alvin killed father!"

"Mr. Alvin went mad..."

"Get back quickly!" Bruce didn’t have time to listen to all this, immediately calling his people and rushing back; he had to take control of the situation.

However, chaos had already begun to emerge before he could return. The news spread like a plague, with everyone panicking—even the city guards were running around like headless chickens.

Even more so, it seemed everyone knew more than he did. When did the cult become involved?

At this point, Bruce decisively raised his hand and drew the longsword from the guard beside him, directly charging forward to cut down the loudest screamer, and then stood up facing the crowd.

"I am Bruce! Don’t believe those rumors; they are the enemy’s plot. Guards, immediately maintain order and arrest those spreading rumors."

After all, Bruce had a renowned reputation, and he quickly controlled the street’s situation, though amidst the surging crowd it was hard to notice those approaching.

Suddenly, someone burst forth, a poisoned dagger pointed directly at Bruce.

Bruce was no ordinary person; he wielded his sword and swiftly killed the assassin in a few strokes.

No need to keep them alive, as only a few people wanted him dead, and after today, they would all cease to exist.

Bruce’s ruthlessness finally emerged—indeed, he was the Earl’s son.

Damn, even the missionary hiding among the crowd was speechless; these weren’t their people after all. It seemed many sought to eliminate Bruce, but the early warning had put him on guard.

At this point, there was no retreat. At the missionary’s signal, several cultists scattered incense among the crowd, a bizarre aura pervaded, chaos ensued once again, and the freshly gathered guards were scattered.

Even if Bruce were foolish, he understood this was an assassination attempt on him, "Guards, rally to me, charge forward, and death to those who approach!"

But by now, the missionary was already closing in. Bruce sensed it, turning and rolling the next second.

Dark Rites Finger!

Almost simultaneously, protruding from beneath the cloak was a sharp bone spur intertwined with flesh and blood and centered around the spine.

Bruce dodged, but it impaled a nearby guard, instantly killing him.

This scene sparked further chaos, everyone frantically fleeing the area, even causing a stampede.

Bruce’s scalp tingled; his armor would still be pierced—this was clearly not normal human ability—it truly was the cult!

But he had little time to dwell on it as cultists gathered, slaughtering the guards while he was eyed by the missionary.

Another roll, deep crimson tentacles emerged from where he stood, nearly grabbing him.

No fighting back; he realized he was doomed if surrounded alone—he had to break out to survive.

No time for hesitation; grabbing the longsword, he ran, completely abandoning any thought of battle.

However, the missionary couldn’t let him leave so easily. Bruce was stuck, unable to shake him off, and cultists on the other side finished off the guards, converging toward him.

As they had once besieged and exhausted the Barbarian Tribes legendary, now the cult would do the same to him.

Suddenly, Bruce felt a bit tragic, unable to unleash his strength—was he destined to die here?

Just then, the sound of galloping horses rang out; knights charged forward from one side of the emptied street, tearing open the cultists’ circle with a charge.

Yet the cultists were no ordinary people, especially the missionary—it wasn’t so easy to escape; face-to-face, they quickly killed two knights.

"Lord, hurry away; I’ll hold them back!"

A knight leapt down, offering his horse to Bruce—though wearing a helmet, Bruce recognized him as the one he had demoted from deputy commander...

"Leave now!"

With a desperate roar, the man charged directly at the missionary without a second of hesitation.

Bruce paused no longer, mounted, and charged forward; as he instinctively glanced back, he saw the missionary’s bone spur piercing and lifting him.

His heart swelled with rage—he nearly turned back, but urgent shouts pulled him from that thought.

"Lord, keep going!"

Another knight turned his horse, charging at the pursuing missionary, the determination deeply engraving itself in Bruce’s heart.

Soon, Bruce dared not look back, only surging forward with his head down...

Originally, the plan was to act that night, but Alvin had caught everyone, including the cult, off guard, causing inadequate preparation, unable to seize the city gates immediately.

This allowed Bruce to finally escape the city. Only after gaining some distance did he dare glance back at the towering Bastia City walls, with a complex expression.

The one known as the empire’s tiger, who had suppressed the Mountain Barbarian Tribes for years—his father—didn’t die at the hands of the tribes but was killed by his son, while Bruce himself only escaped with the guards’ life-risking actions.

Not just him, who would have thought so much could happen in less than half a day?

And to find himself in such a predicament...

"Lord, what should we do now?"

Nevertheless, Bruce was still a product of the Lord’s elite education, tempered from a young age—not breaking down over these matters, but quickly calming.

"You mobilize people to gather the surrounding army immediately; I’ll go to the barracks."

Bruce promptly decided; now with Bastia City fallen to the cult, his status as a successor faced a massive blow, as everything accumulated was gone, whether reputation or resources.

Additionally, because Alvin colluded with the cult, the Church wouldn’t support him.

Furthermore, Bruce knew some nobles were already dissatisfied with his father’s control; now that his father was dead and Bastia City lost, there was no telling what those nobles would do.

Fortunately, the army wouldn’t stay in the city, and due to the impending campaign against the mountains, it was resting and gathering outside—in those camps lay his core strength.

Bruce wasn’t like Alvin, who was entangled in his successor identity; he understood clearly that, at this moment, nothing else mattered but controlling the three Orders of Knights.

His power didn’t stem from his successor status but depended on the force he held.

The old nobles had always been watching the situation unfold, so basically, as the incident occurred in the city, those nobles would somewhat receive news.

The Earl’s death might be significant but not surprising, given his age.

But real cultists running rampant was indeed news catching them off guard, as many assumed it was fabricated as a malicious excuse, finding a few ordinary people to take the blame would suffice.

Relying on Alvin or the Church was fundamentally the same, just an excuse to counter the Earl.

Bastia City, a symbol of the Earl’s power and strength, falling to ruin gave enough reason for them to ponder.

Almost all noble Lords entered a state of preparedness, even those who rarely cooperated with the Earl tried their best to arm themselves, pulling together a force.

Lawrence also received the news.

They called it the never-fall Bastia, breached from within, while the darkness shrouding Hamlet dispersed overhead.

As known, the East dawns...