Zoe cautiously moved closer to Erwin and asked in a low voice, “Mr. Erwin, why do you think the Prince is personally arranging for our departure?” When the Prince had questioned her just moments ago, Granny had directly used her extraordinary ability to pull Zoe, Erwin, Connor, and the others into a bound perspective. Everything was presented before them in perfect detail—the Prince’s escorts, the surrounding situation nearby. After a brief discussion, Connor and Erwin reached a consensus and promptly advised Zoe to agree. Erwin gestured toward the Prince, who was galloping ahead of them, and said, “He’s decided to personally leave the Upper City. Either the Upper City is more dangerous, or he has a way to resolve the rebellion outside. In that case, there’s no reason for us to cling to the mansion and die there.” “But wouldn’t it be even more dangerous to follow him?” Zoe asked, clearly worried. “He’s the lord here. Wouldn’t he be the primary target of the rebellion?” “That’s exactly why his decision to leave the Upper City must be driven by something significant. We might as well follow him for now, and if anything seems off...” Erwin’s expression darkened as he gestured toward both sides but didn’t say the rest. Their Holy Guard outnumbered the opposition, and their equipment was overwhelmingly superior. The knights on the other side wore full suits of plate armor—effective against blades and swords, but not bullets. If they ran into real trouble, the advantage was firmly on their side. The Prince made no covert moves and simply led the way up front. Before long, they arrived at the boundary between the Upper City and the outside world. Although the wall wasn’t particularly tall, it effectively split the city into two disconnected sections. They now stood at a breach that had been made in the wall, where many soldiers were busy with tools, tearing it down. “The main gates have long been blocked by cultists. If we want to get out smoothly, the quickest way is to open a temporary passage,” the Prince explained, pointing at the wall with his riding whip. “Fortunately, the wall isn’t very sturdy. Taking it down isn’t too hard.” Soon, the soldiers had pushed down a section of the flimsy stone wall, creating a small opening. Galahad was the first to charge through. “Friends of Castel, stay close!” the Prince called, spurring his horse forward. Zoe stared in disbelief. “They just knocked down the only wall?” “The Prince himself has left. The Upper City is just bait to lure in the cultists. A flawed lure is actually better,” Erwin said with a glint of admiration in his eyes. “At least this is better than charging through the main gate.” There were quite a few cultists on the streets outside, but none had gathered here—not yet, at least. When the Prince appeared, they roared and charged toward him. Galahad raised his voice in a loud cry, drew his sword, and charged straight at them. Knights honored swordsmanship and martial skill, but on the battlefield, they typically used lances—not for any complicated reason, but because in the age of cold weapons, weapon length often directly translated into combat power. Although Galahad wielded a sword, it was undeniably a two-handed greatsword. Weapons were usually swung rhythmically back and forth to kill using inertia. Rarely would one block or parry precisely with it—the human wrist simply couldn’t bear the strain. This was a weapon that slightly exceeded the limits of human capability and had very limited practical use. The one in Galahad’s hand was such a sword. Nearly two meters in length and, by its proportions, weighing at least ten kilograms—an impractical weight for most combat. Yet Galahad held it in one hand, as if it were a stick. The cultists surged forward with only makeshift weapons—wooden clubs, daggers, and at best, rusted sabers. The longsword cleaved a waterfall of blood. The warhorse crushed severed limbs under its hooves, grinding them into pulp. He charged back and forth twice, the greatsword slicing through flesh, clearing a swathe of cultists. Only then did Zoe and the others emerge. The girl glanced at the blood-soaked ground and frowned. She had seen far worse battlefields during the Deep Sea War, but... She examined the crushed enemies carefully. They were thin, emaciated bodies. Their once-numb eyes had been stirred to hatred, only to fall lifeless again. One youth, cleaved in half and lying in a pool of blood, raised his head. His eyes, filled with rage, met Zoe’s. He still had a boyish face, not much older than Zoe. His body was soaked in blood—his own, his companions’, the blood of Blood Harbor.   Check latest chapters at novel•fire.net He tried to stand, only to collapse into the pool again. Looking down in confusion, he realized his lower half was nothing but mangled viscera. He stared for a moment, then grabbed a handful of his own ruptured organs and hurled them at the knights. But before he could release them, a bullet hole bloomed in his forehead. The Prince lowered his firearm, tightened the reins, and called out with a blank expression, “Go! Go! Charge straight through!” Zoe couldn’t ride, so Old Connor took her with him. She sat there dazed, staring at the corpse on the ground until the horse galloped into a narrow alley. Then, she slowly wiped her forehead. Unlike the monsters from the deep sea, these emaciated bodies still held blood that was hot and vivid. As she wiped it away, some flowed into her eyes. She bowed her head and rubbed at them, but couldn’t get it out. Panic rose in her chest. One eye saw knights in shining armor swinging their swords, while the other saw bloodstained cultists. Cultists... they were cultists, but the hot blood in those frail, sickly bodies was no different from the blood in her own delicate wrist. They weren’t monsters. They were people. Zoe suddenly felt nauseous. She had witnessed horrific battlefields, seen monster corpses piled high up to the firing slots. Yet now, her vision began to blur. Connor noticed something was wrong and held tightly to her clothes. Thankfully, there was no need to fight once they entered the alley. The knights leading the way were fully armored, both man and horse. They didn’t even need to swing their weapons—just gripping the reins tightly was enough. The warhorses trampled cultists beneath their hooves. These heavy-armored knights, charging through the alley, were like a rolling steamroller, grinding everything in front of them into the gaps between the cobblestones. Before long, the knights had burst out from the alley. Erwin glanced at Granny, who shook her head. “I can’t move my body while using my ability.” She then looked around and narrowed her eyes. “This... is a bit off. This isn’t the dock. It’s closer to the Eastern Port Guard’s garrison.” The Holy Guard silently raised their rifles.