I Pioneered Scientific Magic - Chapter 272: The Panic in the Kingdom and the Nobles

Inside the Hadralata Palace, a routine meeting was taking place to discuss this year’s tax issues. King Bazeel received a report from his attendant that Archbishop Anluke urgently requested an audience outside the hall.

Before King Bazeel could respond, Harold chuckled and said, “Seems like the war has concluded! What about Grand Duke Kriman? Hasn’t he returned with you? Still out there in the Earl’s domain, finishing off those hiding mine slaves, perhaps?”

At this point, Harold, intending to witness his brother’s expression of incompetence, turned to see Hatar’s face, only to unexpectedly find him also smiling, seemingly congratulating him as the next king.

The attendant, head bowed, didn’t reply to Harold’s inquiry.

“Bring the person in,” King Bazeel said in a deep voice. He sensed from the attendant’s reaction that things were likely not as simple as they seemed.

The doors of the palace hall soon swung open, and Archbishop Nord swiftly entered, his face tinged with fear. Alongside him came over twenty knights, their armor mismatched, covered in dust and bloodstains.

At that moment, even the oblivious Harold sensed that something was amiss.

“Archbishop, what has happened? Is it that the situation at the frontlines is unfavorable?” Harold urgently asked.

The worst scenario he could imagine was Grand Duke Kriman being ambushed by those mine slaves, suffering heavy losses, and then this Archbishop running back to the palace seeking support…

“There’s barely a front line now, Your Highness Harold! Grand Duke Kriman is dead, several counts and earls didn’t make it out. Over ten thousand went to suppress the mine slaves; I’m afraid only a few of us remain!” Nord bitterly shook his head.

Kriman was by his side when he fell from his horse. Nord hesitated for a second between rescuing Kriman and ensuring his own safety before choosing the latter! After all, this information was too crucial!

Kriman dead? Fifteen thousand elite troops wiped out?

Upon hearing these two pieces of news, Harold’s mind went blank, almost fainting.

The assembled nobles also felt shock and disbelief, almost suspecting that the Archbishop was joking with them.

For this heir apparent contention, the eldest prince’s entourage brought out their utmost strength. Apart from ten thousand private soldiers and two thousand cavalry, they had the support of Church priests and bishops.

When these people gathered outside the capital, there were concerns that they might suddenly turn against each other, sparking a palace coup.

Who could annihilate such a powerful army?

Even King Bazeel, seated on the throne, couldn’t resist standing up, eyes wide like a lion glaring down at Nord and the knights.

“You must be lying; this cannot be true!” Harold’s eyes reddened, grabbing Nord’s collar tightly, his voice hoarse as he roared, “With those lowly slaves wielding hoes and mine tools, even using the most despicable means, it’s impossible for them to defeat my elite army!”

“Unfortunately, it’s the truth, Your Highness Harold…” Nord struggled free from Harold’s grip and, under everyone’s gaze, recounted the recent battlefield events in detail.

The knights beside him stuttered as they supplemented his account, vividly remembering the brutal scenes of being attacked by firearms, cannons, and white phosphorus.

Though fortunate to have escaped the battlefield, the hellish scenes remained etched in their minds, inevitably adding a touch of exaggeration when narrating.

During their charge, a well-equipped regular army suddenly emerged from the ragged mine slaves, wielding incredibly powerful wizardry items seemingly capable of manipulating thunder and flames.

They only heard thunderous roars, and their comrades fell in rows like harvested wheat…

The torrential rain of fire was incredibly terrifying, akin to hellfire from the abyss in the scriptures, scorching everything it touched to ashes…

Nord and the twenty knights’ descriptions sent shivers down everyone’s spine. However, along with it arose skepticism!

“Archbishop Nord, you mentioned a sudden rebel army numbering in the thousands, each wielding a wizardry item? Even if we add up those cultists hiding underground, they wouldn’t amount to that many!” a noble of the kingdom questioned.

Though rumors circulated about these wizards being seduced by devils and dark gods, possessing unimaginable powers, they were not easily deceived individuals.

Some nobles even had clandestine interactions with those wielding magical powers, able to discern what was alchemy and what was magic.

And even if wizards were powerful, they had limits. How could they cast spells continuously for over ten minutes without stopping?

The voices of doubt persisted, growing louder, but beneath them lingered a hint of fear. They didn’t want to believe it; therefore, it had to be a lie!

“I swear to the Lord, everything I say is true, without a shred of falsehood!” Nord’s thunderous voice silenced all the doubters in the hall.

When a clergyman was willing to swear in the name of God, it meant there could be no falsehood!

Nord’s angry words shattered the last shred of hope among the people. It meant that their enemies, nearly overwhelmingly, had decimated almost half of the kingdom’s elite troops led by Duke Kriman!

The entire hall fell into a deathly silence, fear spreading like a plague. If Kriman, leading so many elites, was defeated, wouldn’t they be at the mercy of the invaders if they came to the capital?

Harold was distraught; his close aides and supporters perished in this war. He knew he was finished…

King Bazeel’s face turned pale; his body swayed, collapsing onto the throne behind, making it seem like he might pass out any moment.

“Your Majesty!”

The attendants on either side attempted to assist, but Bazeel gestured to stop them. He forced himself to sit upright, trembling slightly, and looked at Nord, his voice quavering.

“What about Archbishop Anluke? Does he know about this news?”

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