The mountain flood finally found an outlet, breaching the dam.
Two days and nights of waiting had tormented not only the bandits but also the soldiers.
Through the open wooden gate at the top of Offshore Cliff, Arthur's soldiers surged in like black fish in a dark mountain flood, pouring through the breach.
The black fish's battle cries instantly swallowed the bandits' last shouts, and the battle turned into a massacre.
Those bandits who had just been fighting amongst themselves were as fragile as rotten wood when faced with the pack of hounds who had endured day and night below the cliff, now rushing into the camp.
Large numbers of figures knelt, their foreheads pressed into the mud mixed with blood, crying and begging for mercy.
However, the blood-soaked soldiers were already seeing red; their swords continuously struck down those who knelt and pleaded.
There were no humans here, only animals; no sympathy, no human empathy existed.
Weapons were thrown to the ground with chaotic clangs; the crowd cried and wailed, running to find a place to hide, only to be found and dragged out by soldiers, beaten and tortured, then excitedly having their throats slit.
Like a cat toying with a mouse.
Arthur was surrounded by his guards, observing silently, not speaking. The soldiers needed to vent, and he could give orders, and they would execute his commands.
But they would not like someone who tried to stop them from venting at such a moment. The stopping should not come from him, but from his officers.
Hakon stood in the midst of the slaughter, his eyes wide, watching the cruel scenes, his sword-holding hands trembling slightly.
"Enough!!!" Hakon roared, his voice like an ice cube dropped into boiling hot oil, attempting to cool it down. "Enough!!!"
"Stop all of you!!!"
"Everyone stop!" Hakon clutched the wound on his arm and punched down a bandit who, after his order was given, seemed not to have heard it and was still excitedly killing a bandit who had already thrown down his weapon and was lying on the ground begging for mercy. "We have control of the camp!!!
Everyone stop!!!"
A mist of blood permeated the camp, even the air felt sticky and damp when breathed.
The inertia of the slaughter was finally forcibly halted. The soldiers trembled, panting heavily, their chests heaving violently. They looked angrily at Hakon, who had ordered the interruption of the slaughter. Their surging adrenaline gradually receded, the blood color in their eyes slowly faded, and they began to execute the order.
Amidst a landscape of human remains, kneeling figures, and flowing blood, there was only one exception.
In a corner of the camp, two stone houses formed a narrow passage.
Brin and his nine brothers stood ramrod straight, their backs against the stone wall, sheltering their families who were wailing down the mountain, and a dozen bandits who had intended to surrender.
They were covered in blood, indistinguishable whether it was their own or others', and their bodies were covered in wounds of varying depths.
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