Chapter 383: For the Sake of Brotherhood_2

“Ugh…” Zhao Hongyi knelt to the ground, blood gushing from his mouth.

He looked up, glaring at the leader of the assassins, forcing the words out with extreme effort.

“He kills me today… someone will kill him tomorrow… the most ruthless are royal families… he… he will not meet a good end…”

The leader of the assassins watched the dying King Liangzhou with an expressionless face and said in a low voice: “The Emperor has ordered that as King Liangzhou encounters bandits, in consideration of brotherhood, a thorough investigation is necessary.”

“Hahaha…” King Liangzhou laughed eerily upon hearing this, laughter mixed with sputters of blood: “What a… what a brotherhood…”

His body slowly fell, yet his eyes remained wide open, unable to die in peace.

Moonlight fell on his once handsome and gentle face, now frozen in an expression mixed with anger, resentment, and deep hatred.

The leader of the assassins bent over to check King Liangzhou’s breath, ensuring he was completely dead, then instructed the remaining men in black.

“Check thoroughly, leave no survivors. Make this place look like a bandit encounter.”

One man in black hesitated and said: “Sir, this is… a prince…”

“Follow orders,” the leader said coldly, “The Emperor wants stability under heaven, as for the means… history is written by the victors.”

The night wind whimpered, rustling the grass and trees, and dissipating the smell of blood on the official road.

With a command from the leader of the men in black, the remaining men turned and vanished into the mountains.

As the last man in black disappeared into the darkness, only a field of corpses and the indifferent moon remained, silently watching the tragic fratricide within the royal family.

In the distance, a night owl let out a mournful cry, as if foretelling something.

The power struggle for the new Emperor’s throne had quietly begun, and the death of the most audacious King Liangzhou was merely the first step in this bloody game.

Before long, the urgent sound of hoofbeats approached from afar, breaking the dead silence of the official road.

Several swift horses, illuminated by torches, raced forward like arrows leaving the bowstring, stirring up dust in the pale moonlight, casting an especially eerie atmosphere.

Under the dim moonlight, the leader could be seen as Ping Chuan, the deputy commander of Zhao Zun’s trusted aides.

He was dressed in a dark outfit, a blade at his waist shining coldly under the moon, his chiseled face full of gravity.

Following closely behind him were Scarface and Charbon, each with a solemn expression.

“Whoa!”

With a synchronized halt, over a dozen war horses stopped near the assassination scene.

The horses stomped, creating chaotic footprints on the ground, snorting uneasily, as if they too smelled the heavy scent of blood in the air.

“Mr. Ping, look!”

Scarface swung off his horse, his rough fingers pointing to the front of the official road.

In the moonlight, the scattered bodies lay like harvested wheat stalks, some still maintaining their dying struggle postures.

Blood soaked the dirt of the official road, appearing an eerie dark red under moonlight.

Ping Chuan frowned tightly, agilely dismounted, his black boots making sticky sounds as they squished into the blood-mixed soil.

“Be cautious, check around,” he ordered in a deep voice, his tone like tempered ice.

Everyone dismounted and carefully examined the scene under the torchlight.

Most of the guards’ bodies showed wounds from sharp blades, the fatal injuries often at the throat or chest, clearly done by swift and ruthless perpetrators.

Several maidservants lay by the carriage, one still with a fleeing posture, three arrows lodged in her back.

“There must be at least a hundred people… all dead,” Charbon squatted by a corpse, his rough fingers brushing across the sword wound on the deceased’s neck, “The wounds are neat, it’s a one-hit kill.”

Ping Chuan did not reply, his eyes scanned the scene like a hawk.

When he saw the ornate carriage, his pupils contracted sharply.

A flag stuck slanted beside the carriage, swaying, even though stained with blood, it still showed the emblem of the Prince Mansion of Liangzhou.

“It’s King Liangzhou’s carriage.”

Ping Chuan’s voice was so low it was almost inaudible. He strode forward, violently lifting the carriage curtain, finding it empty.

With the torch’s light, Ping Chuan finally saw a middle-aged man in a python robe lying sprawled at the front of the convoy.

A hair-thin blood line cut across his throat, eyes wide open, his face frozen in an expression of unwilling anger.

As everyone gathered around, they all drew a sharp breath upon seeing King Liangzhou’s body.

The night wind blew, causing the torches to flicker, casting wavering shadows across their faces.

“Mr. Ping! Look.” Charbon suddenly pointed at the ground where a bandit-dressed corpse lay. “They probably encountered bandits.”