The city gates of Londinium closed behind them, shutting out the sky-high flames and earth-shaking roars of Silverstone Cliff.
But this gate could not shut out the scent of death, nor the chill that penetrated deep into the marrow.
The Duke of Windermere leaned against the city wall, gasping for breath.
Her Feline swordmaster attire, once spotless, was now tattered and stained a filthy dark red by blood and gunpowder smoke.
The wound on her arm was still seeping blood beneath the crude bandages; every heartbeat brought a burst of sharp, piercing pain.
But the physical agony was far less intense than the sense of crushing defeat within her heart.
They had lost.
The nobles of Victoria, those Dukes who pontificated in the Council and acted arrogantly on the battlefield, had been crushed to powder in a single day.
Wellington, the indomitable Iron Duke, had fallen.
Gododdin, the wavering republican, had turned to flying ash.
Ashworth, Abercorn...
One by one, the familiar names were now reduced to tattered banners scattered in the bloody mud.
The Steam Knights were completely wiped out; their heart-rending wails seemed to still echo in her ears.
The Storm Assault Team suffered heavy losses, was divided and encircled, their fates unknown.
Their final hope appeared incredibly fragile before the god-like power of the Lords of the Sarkaz Royal Court.
"Lord Duke."
A surviving Sword Guard Captain knelt on one knee, his voice hoarse: "We... we have returned."
Windermere raised her head and looked around.
Fewer than a thousand men had fled back with her.
They had thrown away their armor and helmets, their eyes empty, looking like walking corpses with their souls drawn out.
This was the final ember of the Coalition of Dukes.
Inside Londinium, chaos reigned.
The news of the defeat at Silverstone Cliff had traveled faster than their fleeing footsteps.
Panic spread like a plague. Citizens dragged their families along, running blindly through the streets; the sounds of crying, cursing, and colliding bodies mixed together.
The soldiers of the City Guard gripped their weapons, their faces pale.
They watched the encirclement of the Leithanien and Kazdel coalition forces gradually closing in outside the city, the fear in their eyes almost spilling over.
"Find a place... to rest and regroup."
Windermere ordered wearily, "In addition, send someone into the city to scout and see who is in charge now."
"Yes."
The Sword Guard Captain accepted the order, selected a few hands, and quickly disappeared into the chaotic crowd.
Windermere was supported into a temporary command post. It was once the urban residence of some Count, but now it was packed with wounded soldiers.
The heavy smell of blood and medicinal herbs rushed at her face, and the groans of the injured were incessant.
She sat on a chair, and a medical officer hurried over to treat her wounds.
When the bandages were cut open, the wound left by the blood-kin progeny was revealed to be bone-deep, the flesh at the edges presenting an ominous black color.
The medical officer's expression changed repeatedly, his hands trembling slightly.
"Don't waste the medicine," Windermere said calmly, her eyes closed.
"Cauterize it with a branding iron, then sew it up. Save the supplies for the young ones who can still take the field."
The medical officer hesitated for a moment but eventually grit his teeth and complied.
The sizzling sound of the branding iron touching flesh and the smell of burnt meat permeated the room.
Windermere's body tensed violently, beads of fine sweat seeping from her forehead, but she did not let out a single scream.
The severe pain actually made her chaotic thoughts somewhat clearer.
What to do next?
Defend the city?
With what?
Rely on these thousand remnants, and those City Guard troops who were scared out of their wits?
Leithanien's fighter aircraft were circling in the sky; their tanks could easily tear open any defense line.
The Sarkaz Royal Court Legions were pure monsters.
Londinium is impregnable?
That was nothing more than self-deception from a peaceful era.
Was Victoria really going to end here?
Usher in its final destruction in the hands of her, Anfeilice Windermere?
No.
She was unwilling.
She could die in battle, but Victoria could not end like this.
Just as her heart was turning to ash, the Sword Guard Captain she had sent out ran back hurriedly. His expression was strange, containing both shock and a trace of indescribable excitement.
"Lord Duke!" He lowered his voice, leaning close to Windermere's ear.
"The Duke of Normandy's proxy, Count March, has already evacuated via secret channels with her people."
"She said... she would not be buried with a city destined to fall."
A cold sneer pulled at the corner of Windermere's mouth.
"What about Kaest Duke's people?" she asked.
Although Kaest was dead, her Grey Top Hat agents were spread throughout the city, a force that could not be ignored.
"Most have scattered or gone into hiding, but..." The Sword Guard Captain paused, seemingly organizing his words.
"When our people were looking for a safe hiding spot in the slums, they encountered someone..."
"...An unexpected person."
"Who?"
"A girl... who looks exactly like the one in the royal portraits."
Windermere's eyes snapped open. In those dim pupils, a sharp light instantly burst forth.
"Alexandrina Vina Victoria?"
"Ten to one it is Her Highness Vina!" the Captain said excitedly.
"She is leading a group of thugs... oh no, a group of gang members, maintaining order and protecting the shops and refugees that were being assaulted."
"She has a kind of... convincing aura about her."
"My men saw with their own eyes that several rioters looting in the chaos didn't even dare to lift their heads in front of her."
The Princess of the former dynasty.
Windermere's heart began to beat violently, uncontrollably.
She was a staunch noble republican. Like the other Dukes, she had personally buried the rule of the Aslan Royal Family.
In her view, the balance of power between Dukes was the best path for Victoria; royal power would only bring dictatorship and disaster.
But now, the Dukes were all dead.
The system they built had been kicked to pieces by the Emperor of Leithanien.
The glory and dignity of the nobility had become a joke in the face of absolute military force.
Victoria needed a banner.
A banner capable of condensing all remaining strength together.
A banner... whose legitimacy even the enemy would be forced to acknowledge.
"Take me to see her." Windermere stood up. The wounds on her body sent signals of protesting agony, but she paid them no mind.
"Lord Duke, your injuries..."
"I won't die," Windermere interrupted him, her eyes resolute.
"If Victoria is destined to fall, then it should drain its last drop of blood under the Aslan banner."
"Rather than being nailed to the pillar of shame in history as a bunch of losers fighting for power and profit like we are now!"
Under the escort of the Sword Guard, Windermere crossed the chaotic streets and arrived at the slums of Londinium, where dragons and snakes mingled.
The scene here was even worse than in the noble districts; garbage covered the ground, and sewage flowed freely.
At the entrance of an abandoned warehouse, she saw the person she wanted to see.
Alexandrina Vina Victoria, wearing a combat outfit, her hair tied neatly behind her head.
There was some dust on her face, but those golden eyes were like stars in the dark night, bright and steadfast.
Surrounding her was a group of young men who looked like street punks, but at this moment, they were strictly disciplined, distributing salvaged bread and water to the refugees huddled inside the warehouse.
Vina was comforting a crying little girl, her voice very gentle.
Windermere stepped forward.
The Sword Guards behind her automatically spread out, alert to their surroundings.
Vina sensed the arrival. She raised her head and saw the Feline female Duke, bathed in blood yet still possessing a fierce presence.
She recognized this face; she had seen it in those secretly hidden noble pictorials.
"Duke of Windermere?" Vina's voice held a trace of wariness.
She had no goodwill toward these nobles who had dragged Victoria into the abyss.
Windermere did not beat around the bush. She knelt on one knee.
This action stunned everyone around them.
The arrogant Duke of Windermere, famous for her swordsmanship and known as the "Blade that Destroys Towers," Anfeilice Windermere, actually knelt to a girl from the slums.
"Victoria is facing an unprecedented crisis." Windermere raised her head, looking at Vina with burning eyes.
"The Coalition of Dukes has been completely wiped out at Silverstone Cliff. The Duke of Wellington died in battle. Victoria's army no longer exists."
"The coalition forces of Leithanien and Kazdel are already at the city gates."
Using the most concise language, she described the situation of the war.
Vina's face turned pale bit by bit.
Although she lived at the bottom of society, she knew what this meant.
The firelight outside the city that dyed half the sky red was the best proof.
"I..." Vina's voice trembled slightly. "What can I do? I am just a..."
"You are Alexandrina Vina Victoria! You possess the most orthodox Aslan bloodline!" Windermere's voice suddenly rose in pitch.
"Only you can reignite Victoria's will to resist!"
"Only your banner can unite all Victorians!"
"Unite with what? Resist with what?" Vina asked bitterly in return.
"With these starving refugees? Or those soldiers in the city who are scared out of their wits?"
"With Londinium!" Windermere said, emphasizing every word.
"With this impregnable city! Our city defense system is still intact. More importantly, we still have 'The Shard'!"
"The Shard?" Vina felt unfamiliar with this name.
"Yes, this is Victoria's final strategic weapon." A crazy light flickered in Windermere's eyes.
"A device capable of projecting Catastrophes onto wide-area targets!"
"Its power is sufficient to instantly turn the enemy camps outside the city into nothingness! This is our only chance to turn the tables!"
She gazed at Vina, her words earnest yet carrying an irrefutable resolve: "Your Highness, the era of the Dukes has ended!"
"We have committed unforgivable errors; we deserve to die ten thousand times over!"
"But the citizens of Victoria are innocent!"
"Please, for them, for this land, raise the King's banner of the Aslan!"
"Lead us in carrying out the final resistance!"
Vina looked at the flames mixed with despair, madness, and a final shred of hope in Windermere's eyes. She looked back at the refugees huddled in the warehouse, watching her with eyes full of fear and expectation.
She was thoroughly disappointed with noble politics; she hated the war and suffering they brought.
But at this moment, amidst the ruin of the nation and the destruction of families, personal grievances seemed so insignificant.
The blood flowing in her body became scorching hot at this moment.
She could not watch helplessly as this city, and the millions of lives within it, were swallowed by the fires of war.
"I..."
Vina took a deep breath and slowly stood up straight.
Under the dim light at the warehouse entrance, her silhouette seemed to be plated with a golden edge.
"What should I do?"
A smile of relief finally appeared on the Duke of Windermere's face.
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