"Prepare for bayonet combat!" The young officer fired a shot at the table, and the bullet struck a frad picture hanging on it, leaving a bullet hole in the head of the King's grandfather before discarding his own rifle.
He drew his Longsword from his waist, and the soldiers, wielding rifles already fitted with bayonets, waited for their final mont to co.
The table on the opposite side was getting closer, and behind it the insurrectionist soldiers seed to see hope, shouting madly, pushing forward the table with all four legs.
"Kill!" As the enemy's table approached the doorway, the young officer was the first to charge from the side. He did not give the enemy a chance to react, lifting his pistol high, and pulled the trigger at the crowd hiding behind the table.
The crisp sound of the Left-Wheel Handgun echoed down the hallway, and a soldier from the crowded insurrectionist group scread as he was shot and fell.
The young officer defending the door took aim at another insurgent peeking out and fired, and then several guards ard with bayonets rushed out from behind him.
These guards held their rifles horizontally, butts up, stabbing their bayonets diagonally downward, knocking down the insurgents pushing the table at the front.
In an instant, five or six insurgents scread and fell down, and it seed at that mont that the guards who charged out had regained the advantage.
With their shoulders against the thick table, they pushed together and managed to move the table backward about half a ter.
However, there were just too many insurgent soldiers in the hallway, crowding, so with guns, so with swords, with no end in sight.
The insurgent soldiers also braced against the table. Nurous and powerful, they quickly regained their courage after a mont of cowardice.
The soldiers from both sides wrestled with the table between them, and the side with fewer numbers was slowly being pushed back to the door.
"Bang!" The young officer, holding the Left-Wheel Handgun, fired again, one shot after another until the chamber was empty.
But before he could reload, the nurous insurgents, officers, and soldiers alike, opened fire in retaliation.
A Kingdom guard standing next to the young officer took a bullet to the head, didn't even have a chance to scream before he fell straight down. His blood splattered on the faces and bodies of other guards, still warm.
As ti ticked by, more and more Kingdom guards fell. The two sides blindly stabbed at each other over the table, and ultimately, the side with more people had the advantage.
After two more guards were stabbed and fell, the young officer's pistol was also out of bullets.
He leaned against the table, gritting his teeth as he pushed, but still, he kept being forced backward. He clenched his teeth so hard, his face was pressed against the table, yet he still couldn't prevent the table from advancing.
Suddenly, he felt sothing pierce his back, and he could feel a liquid spreading beneath his uniform.
Then, he felt sothing slice across his neck. He couldn't free his hands to check if he was wounded; he could only keep propping himself against the table, daring not to move an inch.
After that, he felt sothing else pierce the shoulder that had just been hit, and another strike in the sa spot again.
He could see his red blood soaking through his clothes. The sticky liquid dripped down his collar, drop by drop, onto the marble floor at his feet.
He could feel his strength ebbing away, and he noticed the speed at which he was being forced back was increasing.
"Ahh!" Filled with intense resentnt, he roared fiercely, and the table seed to be pushed back incessantly by him.
A year and a half ago, he was just a poor boy. Every day he would only help his mother dry fish at the Brunas port to supplent the family inco.
Until one day, a friend told him about a school that didn't charge any fees and was accepting students for classes. The curriculum there sounded incredibly interesting; every day the teachers would tell stories they had never heard before.
So, he went.
There, he learned arithtic, and there he learned swordplay and hand-to-hand combat.
Even now, he vividly rembered the class where the teachers introduced them to the magic of the steam engine. He saw for the first ti such a huge machine moving on its own, driving a whole row of machine tools.
In school, he discovered for the first ti that there were things in this world worth clinging to. He cherished the brothers he had lived with in the dormitory for over a year, treasured the girls who smiled at him in class, never in his life had he imagined having such a wonderful life.
If only he had been braver, would he have dared to give that letter to "Queen" Yulin? If only his grades had been higher, could he have received Mr. Tang's scholarship? If only he...
His consciousness began to blur, yet stubbornly he continued to brace against the table, unwilling to back down a single step. At 22, this young man was roaring like a beast at the end of a splendid corridor.
Thank you... Thank you, Mr. Tang Mo, for teaching so much. All I can repay you with is this little bit... I'm sorry.
Step by step, the table finally ca to a stop, halting near the middle of the corridor. Because of the overwhelming number of corpses, it was just too heavy, and he could no longer push it an inch.
And he simply had no strength left; he wanted to rest for a while.
"It's over," a familiar voice sounded from the other side of the table, followed by a young officer flipping over the table and landing beside him.
The blood-soaked young officer suddenly lost all his strength, collapsing, but the newcor caught him in his arms.
"I held the line." As the young officer spoke, blood frothed from his mouth. A bayonet had sliced through his blood vessels and pierced his heart and lungs, yet he felt no pain at all.
"Hmm! You're better than , you were always better than in school," the young officer holding him said, forcing out a smile uglier than crying itself.
"My grades... weren't as good as yours... you... forgot..." The young man in his arms slowly closed his eyes: "Help ... look after... my...
mum."
That last sentence exhausted all of his strength. The young officer holding him bowed his head, showing no expression, hugging the body in his arms tightly, only choking up and whispering softly, "Okay."
"Who did this?" After laying the corpse down, placing his classmate's hands folded over his chest, staring at the bloody dandelion ring on his finger, the young officer who had hurried over but was still one step too late stood up, his voice dark as he asked.
His voice echoed in the corridor, like a malevolent ghost hungry for manflesh: "Who did this?"
"There's no need to ask." King Dorne approached the officer, looking down at the body lying on the marble floor in the sticky, fresh blood, his tone similarly nacing.
Then, suddenly lifting his head, he looked at the mutinous soldiers being detained and coldly issued an order, "Those involved in the rebellion, execute them all!"
"Bang!" A soldier pulled the trigger, and the mutinous soldier he was pointing his gun at clutched his chest, sliding down the wall to the floor.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!" The next second, gunshots erupted in the corridor, one after another, as the mutinous soldiers who had just thought victory was within reach, pushing the table near the door, fell to the gunfire.
"I didn't shoot, I was far from the table!" one mutinous soldier scread in despair, but before he could finish, he was shot in the head.
A mass of mutinous corpses piled up in the corner, blood spreading out and flowing everywhere along the smooth, marble floor.
This coup, or rather mutiny, was dood to be bloody and brutal, and no one could change that.
"I promised him... to make him the captain of my guard!" Looking down at the young body lying on the ground, King Dorne wept amidst the gunfire.
Even King Dorne, who had seen much and thought himself to be a master of power with a heart as hard as iron, wept at this mont.
The more one endures, the more one treasures the most genuine, simplest emotions. As a king, to have a subject who remains loyal at a critical mont, gave King Dorne a sense of warmth.
The throne, which he had assud in isolation, was too cold, so this bit of warmth moistened his eyes that had been dry for so long.
"The forces of Sur and Shireck are outside, Your Majesty," said the young officer with an intense aura, looking down at the corpse of his classmate, seemingly dissatisfied with the sll of blood perating the air.
There was too little blood here, too few bodies here, how could such a small number... be enough? How could it be worthy of his brother? The scene was not spectacular enough! The blood, not nearly enough!
"Those bastards! I'll kill them myself!" King Dorne clenched his fists, his teeth gritted in anger.
"Or, leave it to . Death, for them... would be a rcy," the young officer said, lifting his head, his face still wet with blood.
"Okay!" King Dorne agreed without a second thought, then he rembered sothing, "Right, you were his classmate?"
"Yes." The young officer watched as his n moved the table to one side, answering absently.
"Your troops are now my guards, you will act as captain of the guard!" King Dorne commanded: "Send people out, summon the ministers!"
"Most of them won't make it." The young man in luxurious clothes, who had just been racing on horseback through the streets, stepped over several bodies of the mutineers and approached King Dorne: "Many have joined the mutiny; others who did not side with the rebels were killed by mutineers."
"Also, there's one more thing to tell you..." He knelt on one knee and laid his hand on his younger schoolmate's forehead as if performing a ritual.
After a few seconds of silence, he said softly without raising his head to King Dorne, "The army of Xilun Kingdom has crossed the border... that's the latest news."
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These last two days, I haven't been feeling well, my condition has been poor, so updating will be slow, let adjust... Once I recover, I will make up for the missed updates, I definitely owe you 3 chapters!
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