Chapter 174: Your Majesty, Someone is Attacking Your Bird!

The Blackrock King’s heart was full of confusion. What was wrong with him? Why had he suddenly felt such a violent, bloody craving, with a hint that he might not control himself?

He quickly told himself that this dark-haired boy, Prince Irvine, was not someone the Blackrock Kingdom could offend. At the same time, he forced his hand away from his sword handle. Strangely, this action felt much harder than letting go of his four thousand elite troops or the whole Blackrock Fortress.

Unaware of this, the dark-haired Prince Irvine rode his horse swiftly ahead.

He felt nothing. He didn’t sense a pair of bloodthirsty red eyes staring hard at his back. He didn’t know that his life had already danced under the God of Death’s sickle six or seven times in that short time, without him noticing.

Silently, the two men rode their horses toward Blackrock City, the capital of the Blackrock Kingdom.

They had been chased like scared dogs by the King of Champoo, one thrown so hard he felt dizzy, the other too panicked to look back. Neither had seen what Sun Fei did after switching to Necromancer Mode. Ashamed and embarrassed, they silently agreed to bury what had happened deep inside, never to tell another soul.

Just then, the white-winged eagle let out a sharp cry. It flapped its wings, soared higher among the distant white clouds, and was gone in an instant.

…

Blackrock Fortress, water dungeon.

The shouts and sounds of fighting outside slowly died away, but the confusion grew thicker inside the dungeon.

“Hard to believe,” said a tall, thin man chained tightly to the dark, damp wall. He twisted his waist – the only part of his body he could move a little. His sores screamed in pain. The jailers had been cruel. Thorn-studded chains bit into his flesh. Wounds healed only to rip open again as the hidden hooks tore into his twitching muscles. Foul-smelling black water, knee-high, swirled around him. Infected pus and fresh blood dripped down the chains into it. It was a wonder that despite being covered in wounds, with no skin left untouched, and suffering torment worse than Hell, the man still wore a faint, calm smile. There was no despair or hopelessness on his face.

“Maybe some merchant caravan or adventurers got greedy eyes from the vampires in Blackrock City,” a voice nearby replied. “The Blackrock King probably pulled his usual trick – stealing their stuff after killing them. What miracle were you praying for? Listen. It’s quiet now. Poor fools… eaten and torn apart by those monsters…”

“Don’t worry about them. Worry about us! That old devil Blackrock King truly means to wipe out every Shampoo miner this time…”

Everyone jailed in this water dungeon was a Shampoo City miner.

This prison was dug into a cliffside cave, far worse than the Iron Prison Water Dungeon back in Shampoo City’s Underground Grotto Labyrinth. Knee-deep, stinking water held rotting rat corpses, small animal remains, moldy hair clumps, and bloated bits of dead humans. The cold deepened as autumn set in. Frail men trapped here quickly froze, starved, or drowned. Life here seemed cheap as grass, yet tough like roaches. Despite the horrors, most miners, hardened by hardship, had helped each other survive.

Because deep inside, a tiny sliver of hope kept them going.

A Holy King had appeared in Shampoo City.

That’s what Old Zola had told them.

Old Zola also said the Holy King would come with an invincible army to crush Blackrock Kingdom and free them from their suffering.

True… it felt like a beautiful dream.

But… dreams are hope.

Back in the mines, they had been like walking corpses, resigned to their cruel fate. Hope itself was a luxury they couldn’t dream of. While the coming of the Holy King seemed faint — more like self-deception — having hope was still better than having none, right?

But right now, hope seemed to be dying.

Maybe Shampoo City truly had a Holy King, one who defeated the Nine-Nation Alliance? Maybe someday the Holy King would march with his divine Might to strike down Blackrock City? But sensing a threat now, the cruel Blackrock King was determined to kill them all as trouble before it started… they would not live to see that day.

This cruel twist of fate brought deep despair and unwilling silence over the dungeon. To taste the light, only to die?

“Hold on… this silence… strange…” The tall, thin man frowned. He listened hard. His eyes began glowing. “It’s too quiet! The jailers usually shout at the smallest noise. They’re not here!”

“Eddie?” His nearby companion trembled. Having guessed Eddie’s thoughts, he could hardly believe it. He asked anyway, his voice shaking, “What… what do you mean?”

“Maybe… just maybe… Old Zola got something right?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed. His voice grew louder.

“You mean…? No! No way! Impossible!” Another man joined the conversation. This man had a large frame, gaunt after harsh mining life.

But even among the four or five hundred survivors, he was among the strongest. Though his denial sounded fierce, everyone saw the desperate longing behind it.

Suddenly, every surviving miner felt a spark of excitement.

What if…?

What if Old Zola’s predictions were about to come true?

Newfound hope made anxious eyes lock onto the dungeon entrance. They waited.

Just then, rapid footsteps echoed.

The moment of fate arrived.

Hearts pounded fiercely. They feared merciless Blackrock soldiers would burst in with bloodied swords, not the Holy King they desperately awaited. Even Eddie, who had kept spirits up with his optimistic words, felt his mouth go dry. Truth was, he feared death. He feared seeing all his fellow countrymen die in this hellish place.

Screeeech!

A rusted iron door groaned open.

A sliver of blinding light shot in.

It cut through the dark dungeon where countless souls clung to life. Eyes unaccustomed to light for so long flinched away, hands shielding faces. In that brilliant light, they saw a young figure in armor by the door, strong and radiating warmth.

Armor…

Blackrock soldiers?

Oh… we are dead…

Where is the Holy King? Why didn’t he come?

Despair struck like a physical blow. Some clenched fists, ready to fight even unto doom. Others began weeping again. But suddenly —

“Your Majesty, this is the water dungeon. All the men are inside. But please don’t step in. It’s filled with foul, stinking water!”

That voice… Old Zola’s??

The miners froze. Impossible! Old Zola had been beaten half-dead by Blackrock soldiers! Just four days ago, they all saw it in the Blood Pillar Square! Charged with stirring the miners, he was publicly tortured: eyes gouged, tongue cut off, limbs shattered! How could he sound so strong now? Unhurt?

And… what did he say?

Your… Majesty?

Who else could Old Zola address so respectfully?

Almost instantly, they thought of the same possibility.

Who didn’t know Old Zola? Stubborn as a rock! He’d call no foreign leader ‘Majesty.’ The Blackrock King himself had offered him freedom and Noble rank just for those words. Yet the proud old man had refused.

“If my people endure this hellhole for four days, how could I not step inside for one moment?”

A deep, majestic voice filled the dungeon. The figure glowed with warm, golden light that instantly filled the chamber. Power radiated from him like kindness and Might. An unfamiliar feeling washed over everyone – their wounds healed. Pain vanished.

A young, handsome, resolute face came into view.

It etched itself into every soul present.

They would never forget this face, this moment.

“Warriors of Shampoo City… Alexander has come late! I know the suffering you endured here. As your King, I owe you all an apology. I am sorry. Alexander has brought shame upon the Crown of Shampoo! I failed to protect my people!”

Sun Fei stepped into the filthy, stinking water. His golden light intensified.

Paladin skill — Prayer.

Its effect fortified health, restored stamina, and healed wounds within an area.

Black sword gleaming, he walked among the people.

His blade hummed, unleashing dazzling blades of light that snapped every chain and cuff without harming the skin beneath. Precision impossible for a normal hand. Everyone stood frozen. Relief. Healing. Freedom. Like a dream too beautiful to trust. Puzzled silence reigned. Some pinched themselves, fearing waking darkness.

Seconds later, just as Lampard and Drogba arrived at the dungeon entrance, frantic to enter, an earth-shaking cheer exploded from within —

“Long Live the King!”

“Long Live Your Majesty!”

“Long Live the Holy King of Xiangbo!!!”

The sheer volume threatened to lift the dungeon roof! Pure joy – mixed with heart-wrenching grief – surged beyond words. Instantly Lampard felt it too. His eyes stung. He remembered that desperate day in Shampoo City months ago. Black Armored Army swords ready to fall. Then Sun Fei, clad in Heavy Knight Armor, struck down the enemy warriors. Surrounded then by joyful roars of “Long Live the King!” Now… history echoed here, far from home.

…

The exhausted, starved, injured, but ecstatic miners were led to the slightly drier Stone Pillar Square. Shampoo Expeditionary Force soldiers demolished the bloody stone pillars. Tents went up. Fires crackled. Pots bubbled with warm, life-giving food.

“Old Tom?! By heavens! You’re alive?!”

“Dear God of War! Is it real? Father? Mother and I thought… thought you were dead! Thank you, God of War! Thank you, Your Majesty!”

“Kutra! Aunt Nina cried herself nearly blind missing you! Go see her quickly!”

“Brother? Remember me? Karl! Big-head Karl! I finally found you! Father and Mother… they passed… died from grief after you vanished…”

Such reunions filled the blood-soaked square.

Over the years, countless people vanished from Shampoo City. Families shattered, mourned loved ones seemingly lost forever. Yet fate now offered a miracle. People recognized kinsmen and friends long-thought dead among these survivors.

Sadly, over two hundred miners weak with disease had succumbed inside the water dungeon, never meeting Sun Fei.

Their bodies, found among the fallen, joined countless others in the mass grave in the Back Mountain. Flames roared high, like the hatred of all Shampoo People, consuming the scarred remains. The fire promised warmth and freedom to these lost spirits, far from home. Ash filled more than a dozen large boxes. Sun Fei, as King, declared this ash would return home. They would rest high upon the Eastern Peak Summit, honored as heroes!

“By my royal vow,” Sun Fei promised his people and himself as flames danced, “no Shampoo citizen shall endure slavery again! Any who harms my people shall face severe judgment from the King of Xiangbo and the God of War!”

The over four hundred captured Blackrock soldiers shuffled onto Stone Pillar Square. Shampoo miners identified those who killed Xiangbo People. They met swift justice. Others were stripped of armor and banished from Blackrock Fortress.

Calm settled.

Sun Fei discussed how to help the rescued people with Lampard and his leaders. The Expeditionary Force must rush to the Imperial Capital Saint Petersburg for the Martial Arts Combat Tournament. Travel was arduous. They could not escort these six hundred miners, weak from starvation and overwork. These souls needed gentle care and restful recovery. With Lampard as the strongest after Sun Fei, he, the Heng-Ha Twin Generals, twenty-five Saints, and fifty Urban Management troops would escort the injured back to Shampoo City, under Chancellor Best. Then Lampard’s group would ride hard to rejoin Sun Fei near the Imperial Capital.

The Expeditionary Force decided overnight encampment at Blackrock Fortress. Let the injured regain strength before traveling back.

Sun Fei switched to Druid Mode. He summoned four giant white wolves and three Giant-winged Crows to patrol the fortress, guarding exhausted soldiers deep in sleep.

“Your Majesty! Something’s attacking your bird!” Drogba’s loud shout shattered the quiet.

Sun Fei groaned inwardly — a crow! Calling it a bird? So suggestive?

He looked up. A white-winged eagle! It viciously chased one of his summoned crows, attacking with furious claws and beak.

“Shoot it down!”

Sun Fei commanded. His personal guard, Fernando Torres, swiftly drew his bow and fired. The arrow struck true – directly through the eagle’s head! A pained shriek tore the sky. Beating wings faltered. Down it plummeted.