A Procession of Arrivals

One of the prefectural cities in the northern part of the Anarchic Lands. Ankh, Gates, and Boone each wielded their massive long-handled greataxes, standing atop the city walls like wargods. Corpses littered the ground around them, and fresh blood stained the walls and the ground below the walls.

The nearby soldiers were all terrified.

They didn’t dare to fight back anymore. All of them put down their weapons.

“Of the seven Duchies, five Duchies have voluntarily surrendered. The previous Duchy was easily taken over. You are the last one.” Gates grabbed the leader of the town guards, his furious, ox-like eyes staring into the terrified, quivering leader. “Motherf*cker, why fight back when you don’t have the power to? Isn’t that the same as just ordering your soldiers to commit suicide? Eh?!”

It was indeed tantamount to suicide.

The two sides were on totally different levels of power. Gates and the other two had killed a huge number of the enemies by themselves.