Overwhelming Firepower-Chapter 241: The end of the play

Seeing the destruction of the once brilliant city on the stage made most of those watching start to think. Was this the fate they, too, would receive if the Thorneharts stopped protecting them?

They had always believed someone would stand there, unmoving, unyielding, between them and disaster. Now, the play had shown them a world where that was no longer true.

Some glanced instinctively toward the section where the nobles sat. Others looked toward the banners bearing the sigil of the Thorneharts. A few of the people then glanced at the person who was said to be the shield of Norvaegard.

The Iron Duke Vardon Thornehart was not bothered by their stares, and he did not react much to what was shown in the play. In fact, none of those with him reacted too much, from his younger son to the old butler accompanying them.

The people from the other ducal houses looked at the stage with interest, but they did not react as much as the other nobles and commoners.

***

The nobles beside the Marquis were whispering to him. "Does this brat think that if the Thorneharts fall, Norvaegard is doomed?"

"How utterly ridiculous, thinking that as if they're the only family that could defend Norvaegard."

"Hmph, only fools would believe such things."

While all the other nobles were trying their best to say demeaning things about Lucen, Marquis Valeire himself was simply looking at the stage with a frown on his face.

He then looked at the people, especially the commoners, and the frown on his face became even deeper.

Viscount Reval Drenwick was not saying a word and simply stared at the Marquis. He had allied himself with the Marquis since he was already at odds with the Thorneharts and the genius of the Yellow Tower, Robert Duskwell.

He knew that if the Thorneharts wanted to eliminate him, they could have done so easily. Which was why, despite his pride, he decided to join Marquis Valeire's faction.

'Tsk, it seems that this alliance might crumble before anything gets done.'

While Reval was thinking about that, Marquis Valeire was looking at the stage. The burning city, the fleeing officials, the helpless people.

What unsettled him was not the implication that the Thorneharts were indispensable. It was how easily the crowd had accepted that implication.

The rumors his group had started had now backfired, as the trust the people had in the Thorneharts would surely increase because of this play.

He could no longer use the same tactic as he did. 'Hmph, well, it won't matter as long as we claim victory in battle. Norvaegard is a kingdom that values strength above all else, so winning against the Thorneharts will prove that they and other ducal households are not needed.'

***

Lysette Crowlorne was quite impressed by the play Lucen had made, but what interested her more was the reactions everyone was showing as the play continued.

Most had their emotions and thoughts written in their faces, while others had too deep a mask that it was hard to see what they were thinking, but even those kinds were showing some reaction.

A twitch of their mouth, tightening on the armrest, tapping their fingers, and other such subtle reactions made it clear to Lysette that many nobles were rattled by the play.

Lysette's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. 'Truly a masterful counter to the rumors being spread. Now no one will question the loyalty of the Thorneharts, and if they did, it would be too obvious that they have ulterior motives.'

Lucen had not directly praised the Thorneharts. He had not declared them saviors, nor had he spoken their name with reverence. And yet, by showing what happened when protectors failed, he had forced the audience to reach the conclusion themselves.

Lysette was truly impressed by Lucen's response. Without saying a word against his opponent, without physically attacking his opponent, he had dealt a devastating blow.

Lysette's heart was pounding; she did not know if it was from excitement or something else, but she did not care.

'Every time you make a move, you always go beyond any of my expectations. The fact that it is hard to predict what you would do next is what makes things interesting.' Lysette could not help but smile as she continued to watch the play.

***

The murmurs in the audience slowly died down as the illusions on the stage began to move once more.

The burning city faded, its flames dissolving into drifting embers that rose into the darkened sky. The screams softened, then vanished entirely.

Silence fell on the stage. Everyone was not at the edge of their seat wanting to see what happened next. It was at that moment that a single horn sounded.

It made a low, deep sound; it was like the ancient roar of a primordial being. Then what came after was the raging beat of war drums.

The illusion shifted. Beyond the ruined city walls, under a sky stained red by smoke, silhouettes appeared on the horizon. Broad figures wearing fur coats, covered in tattoos. They held no banners, but everyone knew who they were.

They were the proud, honorable barbarians of the Red Wolf Tribe. Unlike before, when the audience saw the barbarians appearing, they did not feel fear, but instead felt a thrill like no other, especially the children.

Standing alongside the Barbarian army was the main character of the play, the former knight who no longer wore shining armor, nor was standing ahead of others.

Instead, he stood beside them not as a knight but as a warrior, as a family member of the Red Wolf Tribe. He was there to save the innocent as the proud warrior Xolik Ogihaadaa.

The people who had invaded the city and were slaughtering the civilians stopped and looked at the barbarian army.

It was at that moment that Xolik, who now had spirit tattoos all over him, roared. The tattoos shone with a beautiful glow, and they shone brighter as if responding to his roar.

The other barbarians roared with him and then, without saying a single word, charged at those who were slaughtering the weak.

Of course, despite the stage looking like it was a huge battlefield, was not actually that. It was all done by illusions, and the actors playing the main character and some barbarians made it look like they were running, but they were not actually moving.

The mages simply made the background move, and the barbarians that were created using illusions moved with the background, making it seem like they were charging.

Seeing this scene alongside the sound of raging war drums made all the children excited, even most of the adults.

Whether noble or commoner, they could not help but feel excited as well, seeing the breathtaking charge of the former knight with the barbarians.

They might not have been the ones on the battlefield, but the people of Norvaegard had the blood of warriors running through their veins.

In fact, Kaelvar Runescar was so immersed in the charge that he actually roared with them and wanted to charge as well, but was stopped by his wife and daughter.

On the stage, the clash began.

The barbarians did not fight in tight formations like knights. They surged like a living tide, each warrior moving with savage instinct yet never colliding, never obstructing another.

Axes cleaved. Spears thrust. The shadow-faced invaders were torn apart, their eerie grins vanishing beneath overwhelming force.

But what struck the audience most was not the violence. It was what the barbarians did between the strikes.

A warrior shielded a crying child with his own body. Another dragged an injured old man away from collapsing rubble before rejoining the fray without hesitation.

A woman of the Red Wolf Tribe lifted a fallen civilian onto her shoulders and ran, ignoring the blood soaking her fur cloak.

The people of Norvaegard understood that this was just a play, a story made up, but seeing the heroic deeds of the barbarians on stage had moved them deeply.

Xolik moved through the chaos with terrifying calm.

He struck down an enemy soldier who had cornered a group of civilians, then immediately turned his back on the battlefield, kneeling before them instead.

"Run," he said simply, pointing toward an opening the barbarians had carved. "Do not look back."

The civilians hesitated only a second before obeying. The illusion lingered on Xolik's back as he rose, broad, scarred, covered in glowing spirit tattoos, standing between the fleeing innocents and the enemy once more.

Not as a knight of a kingdom, but simply someone who wanted to protect others.

They no longer showed how the battle was waged. Instead, the sound of clashing steel and war cries slowly faded, as if swallowed by the wind.

Smoke drifted across the stage, thinning little by little, until the ruined city was visible once more. Fires still burned, but they were smaller now.

Civilians emerged from hiding. Some were wounded, some wept, some simply stood there, dazed, staring at the barbarians who had saved them.

The Red Wolf warriors roared in triumph as they beat their chests in victory.

Xolik walked through the streets once more, his steps slow, his shoulders heavy. Blood, real and illusory, stained his hands, but his gaze was steady.

A child broke away from the crowd and ran toward him. The mother of the child was stunned by the child's action.

Xolik, seeing the child in front of him, knelt on the ground. The child threw his arms around Xolik's neck.

The illusion lingered there. A former knight of a fallen kingdom, covered in spirit tattoos, kneeling in the ashes of a ruined city while holding a trembling child.

The narrator's voice echoed softly through the hall.

"A hero does not protect because he is ordered to.A warrior does not fight for glory alone.

When all titles are stripped away, what remains is simply a choice."

Xolik rose, patted the child's head. He then looked at the burning city and the people he had once protected. Then he turned his back on it.

The Red Wolf Tribe began to move, guiding the survivors, sharing food, tending the wounded. Once that was done, they left alongside the Xolic.

Slowly, the illusion dimmed. The stage darkened. The last thing visible was the symbol of the Red Wolf, faintly glowing before fading into nothingness; the curtain fell.