Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 540 - 99 Monsoon_6

Chapter 540: Chapter 99 Monsoon_6 Chapter 540: Chapter 99 Monsoon_6 The so-called “freemen” are citizens who have the right to participate in the election of lawmakers.

They must be male and possess sufficient property or merit, generally playing significant roles in local life.

Currently, the number of “freemen” in Paratu is less than 5% of the total adult male population.

Just as White Lion had observed, when things were going well, all internal conflicts could be smothered by victory.

But once momentum stalled, the fissures became so apparent that one could not ignore them.

The lawmakers from the two factions argued incessantly; one faction adamantly demanded Alpad disband his army unconditionally, while the other vehemently opposed it.

Full-scale brawls broke out multiple times within the Grand Council, with lawmakers from the Blue Blood Faction, deeply entrenched in military affairs, decisively beating those from the Kingsfort Faction into a retreat.

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In the end, both sides grudgingly reached a compromise.

The Grand Council decided to agree to Alpad’s demands: to provide for the remnants of the Expeditionary Force—though it was still unclear where the funds would come from; and to agree to appoint Sekler as the commander of the army—merely an agreement, with the actual order to be issued by the headquarters of the army.

Alpad needed to disband the army and report to the Grand Council.

Riding across the drawbridge, Alpad was filled with countless emotions. He had crossed it many times, triumphantly amidst cheers and flowers.

Back then he was a hero, basking in the spring breeze, all smiles, splendidly dressed and riding proudly down the street.

But this time, as he entered Kingsfort, when he would come out, he would be branded a criminal.

But he would not become a criminal—he had worn his military uniform his entire life and was too lazy to take it off.

The small vial of poison was tucked in the secret pocket over his heart.

Once his report was finished, before the guards could arrest him, he would drink it down in front of all the lawmakers.

“Poisoned to death? That would be letting me off too easy,” he thought.

He was willing to accept responsibility for the failure of this campaign—yes, it was a campaign, not a war.

In Alpad’s view, this was just one battle in a war, he hadn’t lost yet, and the war wasn’t lost either; Paratu certainly hadn’t lost.

“Yasin, you boy,” Alpad remembered the past and couldn’t help shaking his head with a bitter smile, “you really did learn quite a few things… but why didn’t you come with me to Paratu? Ah, why didn’t I force him to stay in Paratu?”

He instinctively reached for his flask, only to grasp at thin air once again.

“That boy… should be dead by now,” Alpad suddenly recalled the proud Venetian: “He was so young, and I promised to let him go home, but in the end, I led him to his death.”

He felt as if he was aging rapidly, each breath more exhausting than the last.

The stone-paved streets were eerily quiet, not a soul in sight.

Suddenly, a man burst out of the alley, his clothing stained with blood, clutching desperately at Alpad’s reins, “Duyao! Go! Run for it!”

The two guards, shocked and alarmed, “whoosh,” drew their swords.

The sky was dim, but Alpad could still make out who the man before the horse was.

Because the man in front of him was his own younger brother, the Speaker of the Grand Council—Alpad Kleinheisler.

“What happened?” Alpad was about to dismount immediately: “Why are you covered in blood?”

“Go, quickly! They’re going to kill you! Kill us both!” Kleinheisler cried out as he pushed his brother back onto the horse.

“Bang!”

A gunshot rang out.

Kleinheisler fell silent, his skull shattered, splattering Alpad with his blood, red and white, as he slumped to the ground.

Alpad stood frozen in place as his brother’s hand slid out of his.

More gunfire.

More footsteps and the sound of galloping.

“Kill on sight!”

“Don’t go, Alpad!”

“Dead or alive!”

Alpad roared with frenzy, drawing his sword, ready to fight to the death.

The two guards stood in front of him, forcing his Warhorse to turn around and then gave a fierce kick to the horse.

Alpad’s Warhorse, carrying him, galloped wildly towards the city gates.

His two guards charged at the oncoming enemies.

The drawbridge was slowly rising; Alpad jabbed the horse’s flanks.

Before the incline of the drawbridge became too steep to climb, Alpad’s Warhorse jumped off the bridge, soared over the moat, and landed heavily on the ground.

Straightaway, the Warhorse, with Alpad aboard, vanished into the night.

Sekler and the leader of the Kingsfort Faction, Grof David, hurried up to the city gates.

Grof, unable to contain his fury, gave the gate officer a savage slap and bellowed, “How could you let him escape!”

Unexpectedly, the sound of galloping grew closer—Alpad had turned back.

He reined in his horse before the moat and asked in grief and anger, “Sekler! Are you there too?”

“I am,” Sekler answered expressionlessly.

“Traitor!!!”

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“No!” Sekler’s voice was cold and steadfast: “I am loyal only to the Republic!”

Alpad laughed in desperation, smashed the vial of poison, and charged off on his horse.

Meanwhile, an envoy sent by Grof, carrying the “Order of the Grand Council,” was racing towards Shuangqiao Main Camp.

The rumbling of thunder echoed across the fields; lightning turned the dark night as bright as day.

The monsoon had arrived.