Chapter 405: Want Money, Want Meat

Chapter 405 -277: Want Money, Want Meat

At the crack of dawn the next morning, Henry’s massive siege camp stirred to life.

Boman and the other nobles were already impatient. They summoned their respective serfs, and the ragged, terrified men were driven to carry heavy Cloud Ladders. They formed a long line, like a swarm of ants driven by fate, slowly shuffling toward the walls of Akakarat City.

The first wave of the assault was composed mostly of scrawny serfs with vacant, bewildered eyes. The officers had selected them to be on the very front lines of the war.

It was a grim reality, but a reality nonetheless: these men were nothing more than an appetizer for the battlefield, cannon fodder meant to stir the emotions of both sides.

Per Henry’s requirements, this cannon fodder needed no battering rams or other siege engines. Simply carrying the cheap, heavy, and tall hardwood ladders would suffice.

The ladders were incredibly crude, their surfaces rough and covered in splinters—perfectly suiting the needs of Boman and his ilk.

The serfs shuffled forward with great difficulty, each step like wading through a mire.

Some of them glanced back from time to time, seemingly looking for a chance to flee, but the nobles’ curses and the crack of whips from behind mercilessly forced them back into the procession.

No one dared to run. Anyone with the courage to try had likely already died in a field or a forest somewhere. The only ones left were docile as lambs.

Henry surveyed the battlefield, his face impassive. He merely narrowed his eyes slightly, as if calculating the potential losses of this war.

His army was arrayed in neat formations, armed with spears, shields, and bows. They stood ready, prepared to charge the instant a breach was made in the wall.

Henry fought back the urge to go and smash the gate down himself, instead watching his soldiers’ pre-battle preparations.

Henry’s thoughts were a chaotic mess. He could clearly feel the whispers of Khorne lingering at the edge of his hearing—a craving for blood and destruction.

‘I have to restrain myself. If I indulge it, I’ll become nothing more than a puppet to that power.’

‘But is that even possible?!’

Lately, he had been able to enter the Subspace almost at will. Each time, he would fight that red-skinned demon.

He was beaten black and blue in every fight, always forced to flee in a sorry state, but his combat skills were becoming ever more refined through this torment.

Henry had complained more than once about his “spawn point” in that wasteland. Why couldn’t he choose where he appeared?

As a result, despite spending so much time there, he had explored less than one percent of the wasteland.

He didn’t know if he was the one pestering this red-skinned rat or if the rat was pestering him. The main point was that the feeling of disgust was mutual.

However, none of that was what mattered most. The crucial issue was that he could only enter Khorne’s domain. He was unable to establish a connection with Jianqi or Slaanesh, which made him realize he was being unilaterally corrupted by Khorne’s power.

If Henry had only received boons in the form of items from Khorne, it would have been one thing. But he had clearly received blessings from Jianqi and Slaanesh as well.

He was growing increasingly cold and apathetic, feeling passion only for bloodshed.

Therefore, to counteract this tendency, Henry began experimenting with hedonism to balance his inner scales. He discovered that by engaging in certain behaviors, he could strengthen his connection to Jianqi and Slaanesh.

So, he decided to use this method to dilute Khorne’s influence. This was a calculated move for survival, not an attempt to play all three sides.

He forced himself to indulge in luxury, masking his inner turmoil with a silent and calm exterior. The less he said, the more of an expert he seemed.

As long as others believed he had a plan, then for all intents and purposes, he *had* a “plan”!

WOOOO… WOOOO…

With the blast of a horn, the assault officially began!

Boman’s and Fass’s serfs hoisted the Cloud Ladders and charged toward the wall, stumbling as they ran.

They knew how to farm. In fact, that’s all they knew.

Atop the walls, the soldiers of Akakarat City were already in position. Archers drew their bowstrings, taking aim at the serfs below.

“Fire!”

At the officer’s command, a volley of arrows rained down like a sudden storm, instantly turning the front-running serfs into human pincushions.

Screams and agonizing wails filled the air, which grew thick with the stench of blood.

And yet, driven by the curses and whips of the Supervision Team, the serfs behind them had no choice but to press forward.

The ranged units of Akakarat City had cunningly switched to the most common type of sharpened wooden arrows, a tactic specifically for dealing with vast, endless waves of enemy cannon fodder.

After just half an hour, Boman’s and Fass’s army of serfs was pulled back, only to be replaced by a swarm of serfs under Edmund, Calvin, and Boras.

This wave was even larger, the scale and scope of the attack so much greater that the defenders on the wall mistakenly thought Henry’s army was launching its final, all-out assault.

The wave-after-wave assault put immense pressure on the defenders of Akakarat City, yet the number of dead serfs was an insignificant loss for Henry’s army.

Henry’s noble allies watched from a safe distance, their faces alight with eagerness and excitement.

They relentlessly urged on their officers, their Supervision Teams, and their serfs. It was as if winning the war wasn’t the point; what truly mattered was seeing more serfs die to better exhaust the enemy.

Fass bellowed, “Faster, faster! Once we’re on those walls, victory is ours!” His voice was tinged with fanaticism, as if he could already see the spoils of war beckoning.

He didn’t much care about dividing the spoils from Odoche; at most, Henry would give him a few thousand Dinar. But if Akakarat City was added to the prize…