CHAPTER 133: CHAPTER 132: THE END OF IRON SHIELD

Outside, the people still gathered, curiosity gnawing at them like hunger. They craned their necks, straining to glimpse past the wooden barricades and the unmoving line of officers in navy-blue uniform. For what felt like an eternity, the air was filled with the clash of steel, the roar of magic, and the screams of men dying. But now—silence.

The noise had stopped.

The silence pressed on the crowd, heavy and suffocating. They whispered to one another, voices hushed. Was it over? Who had won? None dared to move closer, for the officers’ stern glares were warning enough.

Then—

Fwoosh.

A green flare burst into the sky above the warehouse, bathing the district in eerie light.

The officers guarding the barricades exhaled in unison, shoulders easing as they recognized the signal. Victory. The fight was over. Iron Shield was finished.

But the people did not know this. They only stared upward, wide-eyed, as the green light faded into drifting sparks. To them, it was just another mystery layered on the night’s terror. Murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire.

"What does it mean?"

"Is it safe?"

"Who won?"

No answers came. The officers gave none, their orders clear—silence until the commander himself spoke.

Then more green flares rose into the night, some close, some distant. The signals from other squads encircling the district. The people gasped, clutching one another as they watched the strange fire streak across the heavens.

At last, movement stirred. From behind the barricade, boots struck the cobblestones in unison. The crowd fell into tense silence as Lieutenant Talon emerged, his navy-blue cloak darkened by soot and ash. His face was grim, his eyes sharp as steel. He carried no torch, yet his presence alone commanded attention.

He halted just beyond the barricade, his voice ringing out over the sea of anxious faces."People of Keldoria! With the green flare lighting our sky, I bring you this triumph: tonight, the Iron Shield has been eliminated!"

A ripple went through the crowd—gasps, murmurs, disbelief. Some covered their mouths. Others gripped their neighbor’s arms.

Talon raised a hand, silencing them. His tone was firm, edged with both triumph and warning.

"They thought themselves untouchable. They thought they could kill our officers and defy the Crown. But tonight, by order of His Majesty Arthur Tesla, Iron Shield has been cut down. Their leader, Kaelen, lies dead. Their right hand, Tannus, lies dead. Their den has been purged. Their chains upon this city—broken."

The words struck like thunder. Some in the crowd cheered, unable to contain the surge of relief. Others wept openly, overwhelmed that the shadow looming over their streets for years had finally been shattered. And some only stood in silence, disbelief etched into their faces.

Then, two squads of knights marched forward. Between them, wrapped in heavy canvas and bound with chains, were the bodies of Kaelen and Tannus. The sight drew gasps and shouts. Men leaned forward, women clutched their children closer. Fear and awe warred in their eyes.

Talon let them look. He wanted them to look. Proof that Iron Shield was no more. Proof that law and crown still reigned.

"Mark their faces," Talon said coldly. "Let it be known across Iron Hearth—this is what awaits those who dare raise their hands against the Crown and its people."

The officers shifted, preparing to carry the bodies away, but Talon lifted a hand once more.

"These two will not be given burial. No grave. No shrine. No chance for their names to become symbols. At first light, their corpses will be taken to sea, far from these shores. There, in the endless waters, they will be cast down into the deep. Forgotten. Nameless. Food for fish and nothing more."

The crowd murmured in shock. Some nodded grimly, satisfied. Others shivered, unsettled by the merciless decree. But all understood: Iron Shield’s legacy ended tonight, body and name erased from memory.

Talon let his gaze sweep over them all. "Return to your homes. The night belongs to peace once more."

The words struck like a final command, echoing in the silence after battle.

The officers turned, escorting the shrouded bodies of Kaelen and Tannus back into the barricade, their boots thudding in grim rhythm. The people, left outside the wooden walls, buzzed with emotion. Some wept openly, clutching loved ones, whispering thanks to the Crown and the gods alike. Others murmured prayers, voices trembling as if afraid the silence might be broken again. And some—wide-eyed, almost in disbelief—told themselves they had witnessed history.

And then, slowly at first, cheers broke out.

A young man raised his fist into the air and shouted, "Iron Shield is no more!" His voice cracked, but it was enough. Another followed, then another, until the whole crowd was roaring, their voices carrying into the night.

Men laughed in relief. Women clapped their hands together, tears streaming down their cheeks. Children, woken from their beds and carried in their mothers’ arms, clapped and mimicked the adults, though they did not understand why.

What had been a tense, fearful gathering transformed into a celebration. People dispersed from the barricades, but they did not go home quietly. They took the news with them, spilling into the narrow streets, shouting it to anyone who would listen.

"Kaelen is dead!"

"Iron Shield is finished!"

"The Crown and law enforcement division have won!"

The words carried like wildfire, leaping from one street to the next, carried by voices that would not be silenced. Neighbors rushed from their homes in nightclothes, faces groggy and annoyed at first. But when they heard what had happened—that the Iron Shield, the gang that had terrorized the districts for years, had been destroyed this very night—their anger melted into shock, and then into joy.

Some laughed and joined in the cheering. Others hugged their families tight, as though a shadow had finally lifted from their doorsteps. Lanterns were lit, torches raised high, and soon whole clusters of people marched together down the cobblestone streets, chanting victory.

"Iron Shield is gone!"

"Long live the Crown!"

The city that should have been asleep was alive with celebration. Doors swung open, more voices joined, the cheer swelling until it echoed off the stone walls of Iron Hearth itself. From one end of the district to the other, the news spread until even those far from the barricade were awake, leaning out their windows, asking, "What’s happening? What’s going on?"

And when they heard the truth, they too joined in.

The sound of cheering rolled through the streets like a tide, mingling with laughter, sobs, and the clamor of hundreds of voices repeating the same truth over and over. Iron Shield was no more.

For one night—despite the hour, despite the fear, despite the bodies cooling inside the barricade—the city celebrated. For one night, the people of Iron Hearth let themselves believe in peace again.