133 073. City of Slaves -1 Part One
**
In the campsite of Aslan’s army.
Countless tents had been set up on the barren wasteland.
“Uwaaaah! It hurts… It freaking hurts! Healer. Where’s a healer?!”
Soldiers were crying out in anguish while the medics were urgently running around here and there.
They stitched up the grievous wounds and poured healing potions on the injuries to heal their patients.
The current status of Aslan’s camp was truly wretched to behold.
The number of wounded soldiers were mind-numbingly numerous, while quite a few of the still-healthy soldiers were holding onto their stomachs out of starvation. They were also visibly panting laboriously.
It was a man in his mid to late sixties, boasting a burly physique currently hidden underneath the sturdy armour – it was the king of Aslan, Rahamma.
The slaves stood on either side of him, waiting. The king had his eyes closed, but when the arrival of the communique was announced, he opened them and stared at the scout.
He spoke up. “Is it from the Theocratic Empire?”
The scout bringing the communique from the empire swallowed back his dry saliva.
While trembling away, he bowed deeply and addressed his king. “…Y-your majesty. It’s indeed a message from the Holy Emperor. His reaction seems to be in favour of the declaration of ceasefire.”
Rahamma slowly rubbed his face down.
This was truly humiliating.
It was him who started this war first, yet after a string of bitter defeats, he now found himself basically begging the enemy to spare him. Honestly, who would’ve guessed that an old man over one hundred years of age was that vicious and insane?
try { window._mNHandle.queue.push(function () { window._mNDetails.loadTag("386623558", "300x250", "386623558"); }); } catch (error) { }
Rahamma finally understood why the Vampires were so scared of that old man and stayed hidden all this time.
The slave’s neck was broken, and at the same time, his vitality seeped out and his body withered into a mummified corpse.
The remaining slave barely managed to stop an inevitable scream from jumping out by blocking his mouth.
Meanwhile, Rahamma’s complexion was getting increasingly redder by the moment. Unchecked rage distorted his expression and the aura of death began spreading out from all around him.
The surviving feudal lords gasped out in surprise and hurriedly knelt down before their king and bowed their heads.
Rahamma growled out in rage. “That wretched bastard of an old man dares to…!”
The letter’s contents were fairly simple in nature.
One, to immediately announce Aslan’s surrender. Two, for the period of next ten years, Aslan must pay tribute to the Theocratic Empire and serve the latter’s needs.
Finally, Aslan’s king, Rahamma, must bear all the responsibilities of this war, and…
In the campsite of Aslan’s army.
Countless tents had been set up on the barren wasteland.
“Uwaaaah! It hurts… It freaking hurts! Healer. Where’s a healer?!”
Soldiers were crying out in anguish while the medics were urgently running around here and there.
They stitched up the grievous wounds and poured healing potions on the injuries to heal their patients.
The current status of Aslan’s camp was truly wretched to behold.
The number of wounded soldiers were mind-numbingly numerous, while quite a few of the still-healthy soldiers were holding onto their stomachs out of starvation. They were also visibly panting laboriously.
It was a man in his mid to late sixties, boasting a burly physique currently hidden underneath the sturdy armour – it was the king of Aslan, Rahamma.
The slaves stood on either side of him, waiting. The king had his eyes closed, but when the arrival of the communique was announced, he opened them and stared at the scout.
He spoke up. “Is it from the Theocratic Empire?”
The scout bringing the communique from the empire swallowed back his dry saliva.
While trembling away, he bowed deeply and addressed his king. “…Y-your majesty. It’s indeed a message from the Holy Emperor. His reaction seems to be in favour of the declaration of ceasefire.”
Rahamma slowly rubbed his face down.
This was truly humiliating.
It was him who started this war first, yet after a string of bitter defeats, he now found himself basically begging the enemy to spare him. Honestly, who would’ve guessed that an old man over one hundred years of age was that vicious and insane?
try { window._mNHandle.queue.push(function () { window._mNDetails.loadTag("386623558", "300x250", "386623558"); }); } catch (error) { }
Rahamma finally understood why the Vampires were so scared of that old man and stayed hidden all this time.
The slave’s neck was broken, and at the same time, his vitality seeped out and his body withered into a mummified corpse.
The remaining slave barely managed to stop an inevitable scream from jumping out by blocking his mouth.
Meanwhile, Rahamma’s complexion was getting increasingly redder by the moment. Unchecked rage distorted his expression and the aura of death began spreading out from all around him.
The surviving feudal lords gasped out in surprise and hurriedly knelt down before their king and bowed their heads.
Rahamma growled out in rage. “That wretched bastard of an old man dares to…!”
The letter’s contents were fairly simple in nature.
One, to immediately announce Aslan’s surrender. Two, for the period of next ten years, Aslan must pay tribute to the Theocratic Empire and serve the latter’s needs.
Finally, Aslan’s king, Rahamma, must bear all the responsibilities of this war, and…
RECENTLY UPDATES
Fantasy
Action
Eastern
Contemporary Romance
Action
Action
Contemporary Romance
Action