Chapter 613: Hyenas Followed After

In the middle reaches of the Flowing River, the turbid water carried silt from upstream, silently scouring the reeds along its banks, yet making them dirtier with each pass.

As one of many tributaries of the Flowing River system, this stretch was a vital shipping route connecting the Golden Plains to the valley plains beyond Rapid Pass, with hundreds of cargo vessels passing daily.

These ships carried minerals from the southern realms of the Kingdom of Luo De, agricultural goods from the Golden Plains of the Kingdom of Lei En, downstream to the port of Lei Ming City to be exchanged for manufactured goods, or transferred from river port to sea port for shipment to the empire's vast markets.

Without exaggeration, this artery of goods formed the backbone of the entire northeastern shoreline of the Whirlpool Sea's trade network—and also the economic lifeline of the entire eastern region of the continent of Aus.

Yet at this very moment, an unsettling atmosphere hung over this golden waterway.

Ship captains and merchants with sharp senses chose to speed away, preferring to brave the turbulent currents through the night.

But some dared to stay.

They were either servants of nobles or relatives by marriage to noble servants; their business dealings inevitably touched upon sacred bloodlines, so they would never risk capsizing at night to push downstream.

The small town beside the river port was a fine place for amusement, offering wine, meat, and girls—all cheap and of fine quality.

Having finally escaped their master's estate, they had no intention of reaching their destination so soon.

"Where are we?"

Riding his warhorse, Haige Mo gazed toward the Flowing River, then turned to his adjutant, who was unfolding a map.

In response to the Knight Commander's question, Alarande studied the map for a moment, then gave a definitive answer.

"Ahead lies the Golden Plains."

Haige Mo's brow relaxed slightly, his weariness eased by a measure of comfort.

"Almost home."

Though five days of marching had not exhausted his men, their fatigue had not begun just five days ago.

"Push to reach Baron Slandewell's territory before nightfall—we'll rest there!" Haige Mo spurred his horse forward and shouted back to his troops.

The adjutant responded with renewed vigor, kicking his horse's flanks to catch up.

"Yes!"

The Lionheart Knights, having left the forest, continued along the riverbank.

As more open plains came into view, the knights and soldiers' faces finally showed traces of relief, their accumulated fatigue easing slightly.

Though their stomachs had long been empty, the thin barley gruel barely sustained their armor, yet the hope of what lay ahead allowed them to temporarily forget their present hardship.

Yet—

When they reached the riverbank, the morale they had barely mustered an hour ago slipped uncontrollably into despair.

The river port beside the golden waterway buzzed with laughter and chatter, a scene of thriving prosperity, with wisps of cooking smoke drifting in the air.

The scent of roasting meat made many soldiers swallow hard, their eyes fixed on the riverbank like wolves starved for days.

They starved on the frontlines, while these bastards lived in comfort. If they'd known, they should've never become knights—they should've gone into trade for their lord instead.

Serfs had no choice, but those marching ahead were no serfs. Many had just graduated from knight academies, reaching a ceiling even adventurers could never attain.

Yet, furious and simmering, they now wished they'd become adventurers instead—at least no adventurer had ever gone hungry.

But they only thought this way when angry. If forced to trade their lives for those of adventurers, no matter their answer, the adventurers would nod without hesitation.

It wasn't just the knights and their squires whose eyes grew complicated—it was also the "Radiant Knight," Commander Haige Mo, leading the column.

He pulled his reins, halting his warhorse, then scanned the riverbank, his eyes darkening with growing gloom.

There lay a massive fleet of ships. Dozens of flat-bottomed cargo vessels were chained end to end, their hulls deeply submerged, unnaturally stable in the current.

Though most were covered with canvas, his sharp eyes could see they carried mostly grain and timber.

The frontlines and rear both suffered shortages; from the king to the quartermasters, all cried poverty. Why, then, could these men still smile?

"These ships aren't heading back to the capital," the adjutant rode up beside Haige Mo, his lips curling in suppressed rage. "Our quartermaster wasn't lying—they really have no bread. All this bread is here… these merchants!"

Haige Mo said nothing, only drew his sword and gave his order in a voice colder than ever before.

"Surround them."

"Aye!" The adjutant immediately perked up, spun his horse, and galloped back to issue the command.

The townsfolk by the river port noticed distant dust rising and sensed something amiss—but none left.

After all, it was the flag of the Devalu family—and the Lionheart Knights carried it.

A drunken drunkard belched, gulped down another mouthful of rich dark ale, and wore a look of amusement.

"What are those bastards doing?"

"Hah, probably smelled the wine and came to steal some."

"Then I'll drink more."

The crowd laughed—but soon fell silent.

A squad of cavalry swiftly seized the dock, using their horses' neighs to scare off boatmen trying to cut ropes and flee. Then infantry armed with firearms and halberds charged in.

Seeing these soldiers meant business, the townsfolk panicked. Citizens bolted home and barred their windows; merchants scrambled back to the dock, colliding head-on with those fleeing from it.

Watching the crowd twist and writhe like tangled maggots, Haige Mo rode out from his ranks.

"What are you doing!" A man, trembling but emboldened, shouted at the mounted knight.

Haige Mo ignored him, instead gazing at his eager adjutant and the hundreds of hungry youths behind him.

"Seize them."

At the order, hundreds of starving knights surged toward the encircled dock like sharks scenting blood.

The crowd screamed, shrank back, crouched, even fell—but realized the youths weren't coming for them; they were rushing past them toward the ships.

Gangplanks were slammed onto the hulls; the clang of armor shattered the river's silence.

When the first tarp was pierced by a spear, the golden sight that met their eyes nearly blinded them.

It wasn't gold coin—but it drove these youths wilder than gold, igniting furious flames in their eyes.

It was a mountain of wheat—plump, perfect, radiating the intoxicating scent of grain!

Beside it stood neatly stacked barrels of well-preserved salted meat, their oily surfaces gleaming like fish scales.

Not only that.

There was cheese and vegetables, even beer whose flavor they'd forgotten, and tightly bound wool and leather.

"These bastards…" one soldier muttered, wanting to devour it all, yet also wanting to burn it all.

The boatmen, shoved into corners, exchanged bewildered glances, unsure what madness or rage had seized these men.

They were just trying to eat. How had they become beasts?

But the soldiers weren't cursing them—though the fury and fear born from this scene fell equally upon all.

Finally, someone who could speak arrived.

A corpulent merchant pushed through the throng, hurrying from the direction of the town.

"Stop! All of you, stop! These are the property of Duke E Feier!"

He waved a parchment scroll, his face showing fear but mostly arrogant confidence despite the gleaming blades before him.

"We… are licensed merchants with legal rights! Knight, your valor is admirable, but I advise you to order your men to sheathe their swords. Otherwise, should Duke E Feier complain, even as His Majesty's brother, you'll have trouble explaining yourself."

The implication was clear: you're causing trouble for your own emperor.

Haige Mo rode his horse up to the merchant, looking down at the greasy-faced man, then removed his helmet.

"Legal trade?"

Haige Mo's gaze passed over the merchant, fixed on the grain, his fury threatening to boil the icy river.

"My men on the frontlines are starving, so hungry they're chewing bark. The king's subjects shiver in the cold. Yet you're shipping this grain south—to sell it to our neighbors?"

"It's business… my lord. We sell these goods to our neighbors, not give them away. We don't return empty-handed."

The merchant's lip twitched, wanting to explain he was trading for cloth and ironware from the south—but he didn't know where to begin.

Perhaps a minister should explain why he issued such foolish orders.

And conveniently, he couldn't explain—just as Haige Mo didn't want to hear, and the soldiers behind him certainly didn't want to hear.

The adjutant spurred his horse forward two steps, glaring at the greasy merchant, and spat out:

"Stop your lies! I know your tricks! Six months ago, you traded Lei En's silver for their broken copper and iron. Now you trade our grain for their worthless paper! You've betrayed our kingdom!"

"Worthless paper?"

The merchant, as if hearing the greatest joke, couldn't help but chuckle.

"Ha… my noble knight, you've been away from the capital too long? Even Campbell's paper is better than your fragile pottery shards. At least with paper we can buy bread. If you're so upset, go steal it yourselves—before your lances turn to mush."

He, too, was seething.

Had the Three Estates not passed that damned law, had nobles not trampled honor and shame into the dirt, he'd be sipping red wine in Roland City, waiting for the Campbells to beg him for trade.

Not like now—forced to travel downstream, begging those labyrinth-born creatures to buy a little more, just to ease Roland City's crisis.

If these knights truly loved their emperor, they should raid the Campbells—not turn their swords on those still serving His Majesty.

What kind of courage is that?

"You—!"

A mere commoner dared defy him. Alarande flew into a rage, raising his whip to teach the man a lesson.

But as he lifted his arm, Haige Mo's hand shot out and stopped him.

The merchant watched the knights with shifting eyes, his heart pounding, yet he didn't retreat.

With his political instincts, he was certain he was safe. The Devalu family needed noble support now; Haige Mo, the emperor's brother, had no reason to draw his sword against Duke E Feier 's property.

If they truly moved…

Let them take it. His money was only a drop in Duke E Feier 's ocean.

Seeing Haige Mo appear to retreat, the merchant's lips curled into a faint smile.

"I'm glad you've made the right—"

His words were cut short by a sharp *clang*.

Only then did Hagemo draw his longsword without a word, its cold gleam slowly illuminating his pallid face.

"... In the name of the Grand Captain of the Lionheart Knights, I declare all goods stored in this river port requisitioned as wartime supplies!"

That stirring voice echoed through the river port, thick with deadly silence.

"Remove everything!"

That command sounded like celestial music.

Soldiers who had long been holding back erupted in cheers, surging forward like treasure hunters, hauling sacks of wheat and salted meat off the ships.

Even knights of noble birth now abandoned all dignity, shouldering salted meat and grinning as if they'd reaped a bountiful harvest.

The merchant who had earlier produced the parchment said nothing this time, only shook his head and silently retreated into the crowd, clutching the "waste paper" the Duke had given him.

As for the cargo owners without titles, they wailed and cried, helplessly watching their life savings plundered clean.

"You thieves!"

"This is robbery!"

Hagemo glanced at them coldly, a sneer curling at his lips.

These traitorous parasites truly think the Devalu family can't wield a blade anymore?

This not only solved the army's urgent supply shortage, but also severed trade routes to the south, and allowed surplus grain to be brought back to the royal capital.

It was a triple gain.

As for the slander...

Let these parasites curse all they want.

The fleet was stripped bare; the once heavily laden cargo ships now floated helplessly on the water, swaying with the current.

All food had been taken; only wool and leather remained.

And clearly, not all soldiers were disciplined—they took more than just food, stuffing silver coins from the ships into their own pockets.

Watching the returning procession, laden and departing, the crowd by the river port fell silent, their eyes slowly hardening with hatred.

"What Lionheart Knights? They're just a pack of iron-clad dogs!"

"The royal house has gone mad—they've started eating their own people..."

"Let them gloat. I've never seen a debt that didn't have to be repaid!"

Adjusting his hat brim, a grimy merchant spat fiercely toward the direction where the Devalu banner had vanished.

"Rot in hell, Devalu!"

No amount of spitting would return the lost money; realizing the truth, the crowd climbed aboard the wrecked ships to tally their losses.

Some wept in despair.

Others shook their heads and sighed.

The minstrel seated by the tavern gently plucked his lute, offering a silent tribute to the radiant knights riding off on the wind.

Though the heartbroken crowd paid no heed to his music, he felt no regret—he had already seen the ending of the tale.

Epic songs always unfold this way: next time, it will surely be because the self-serving citizens failed to see the greater good, letting the sacred crown fall into the dust.

At the edge of the distant forest, several pairs of eyes watched coldly from behind the withered shrubs, observing all that unfolded on the riverbank.

Brennan uncorked his leather water flask, tipped it back, and swallowed a large gulp; though it was water, it felt as satisfying as swallowing a draught of strong liquor.

He set down the flask, wiped his lips casually with the back of his hand, and fixed his gaze on the retreating "lions," a cruel smile curling at his mouth.

"Are you all ready?"

As he spoke, he turned his head toward his men behind him.

These soldiers wore no Salvation Army uniforms; instead, they were uniformly clad in gleaming plate armor or chainmail.

On their chests and shoulders bore the lion crest, strikingly lifelike under the sparse sunlight—all the armor had been painstakingly collected and repaired from battlefields.

As for which workshop had repaired them...

Let's say the dwarves of the Wanren Mountains.

"Ready!"

The soldiers behind him answered eagerly, faces alight with anticipation, eyes as fierce as hyenas in the forest.

Everyone had forgotten their origins—but they themselves never had. They were raised on meat, forced to eat grass for a while.

Including their leader.

Brennan had long wanted to do this.

Whoever set fire to their homes, they would set fire to in return—that was justice. Light a fire, then walk away?

Did you ask the Duskfolk for permission?

"Good."

Brennan slung the flask back to his waist and drew the heavy Crownbreaker Axe from his back; its blade glowed with an eerie, shadowy luster.

"The lions have feasted. Now it's our turn to eat."

"Remember your roles—follow me!"

After the lions devoured the choicest cut of meat, the hyenas followed.

The dust along the Flowing River had barely settled; dockworkers still rummaged among scattered barrels, trying to salvage what they could.

Then, the thunder of hooves shook the earth once more, and another banner blazed into view at the road's end.

"It's the knightly order!"

"They've come back!"

The merchants of Lain by the river port looked up in terror, still reeling from the first raid, when a second "nightmare" charged straight at them.

Brennan rode atop a towering warhorse, clad in ill-fitting armor, gripping a fearsome battle-axe.

Though his bearing bore no resemblance to a knight, to the already terrified Lain folk, what he was didn't matter.

The axe was the law!

"Whoa!"

Brennan yanked the reins; the warhorse reared, its front hooves crashing down on the checkpoint's wooden barrier, shattering it to splinters.

"By order of Hagemo Devalu!"

He bellowed in a coarse voice, thundering across the docks—he deliberately mimicked the haughty tone of noble lords, though he could never quite replicate it.

"For the survival of the kingdom, to confront those damned Campbellites to the north, all goods in this river port now belong to the Devalu family!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the entire river port erupted.

"Wait—what do you mean?!"

"The Campbellites are in the south! I recall... the Rothes are in the north."

Huh?

Is that true?

Brennan scratched his nose, slightly embarrassed, but made no effort to explain—instead, he glared fiercely at the man who dared to object.

The crowd was furious.

What's the difference between this and robbery?!

The merchant who had earlier confronted Hagemo now dared not step forward; he quietly tossed his documents into the river.

He felt something was off about these men—they didn't seem like Devalu's soldiers, more like bandits who'd slipped over from Dusk Province...

But it didn't matter anymore.

Even if he knew the truth, he'd never lift a finger to defend a worse pack of dogs.

One merchant staggered forward, attempting one final plea.

"My lord... Lord Hagemo just took all the grain! We truly have nothing left!"