I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 383 Fishing and Catching a Shark (Part 1)

The changes made by the Minisian patrol were so obvious that even Olaf, who was hiding deep in another dense grove of trees, could clearly sense the anomaly.

Outside the woods, the rhythmic sound of horses' hooves, like a pendulum, would sweep across the open ground from afar and then back again at regular intervals, as if silently proclaiming that the White Rock City's defenses were impregnable.

However, this suffocating rhythm has now been disrupted, and completely disrupted.

Lying behind a bush, Olaf peered out while his rough fingers haphazardly crumpled a damp leaf... a small, unconscious gesture as he pondered.

The feeling of time passing became viscous. When was the last time I heard the sound of horses' hooves?
Olaf mentally calculated that the interval was long enough for a squirrel to leisurely stroll from the tree roots to the treetop and back.

The number of patrols had decreased significantly, and this was not an illusion, nor was it a figment of his imagination due to excessive tension.

He could even imagine that the Minisian riders might be gathered elsewhere, or dozing in some warm outpost, or... something big had happened in the city that had drawn away the forces that should have been deployed here.
The dense canopy blocked out most of the starlight, and the forest was pitch black.

This prevented Olaf from seeing the specific situation on the distant White Rock City Wall, but he could "feel" it.

It's the instinctive sense of the battlefield that seasoned veterans have for the smell of war.

The invisible, taut string in the air seemed to loosen a bit. The trails of light from the torches patrolling the city wall also seemed to thin out and slow down considerably, especially in the southwest corner near the mountains and forests that he was focusing on.

Is it an internal rebellion?
Commander change?
Or is it a greater threat that has captured their full attention?

These questions flashed through Olaf's mind, but were immediately suppressed by a stronger thought.

The reason is not important; the result is what matters.

The result is that the barrier before him is now showing unprecedented and visible weakness.

A surge of intense heat rushed to the top of his head, and even the palm gripping his battle axe felt slightly hot. This wasn't fear, but the ecstatic excitement of a hunter discovering a fatal weakness in his prey.

"Chance……"

The word exploded in his mind like a thunderclap.

This is not a small opportunity, it's a great one!
A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to pry open the solid outer shell of White Rock City and let the Varangi Battle Axe drink blood!
Olaf's confidence in the Varangian Chapter bordered on arrogance, even though he was still unaware of what was going on inside White Rock, the city's layout, and the number of enemies.

However, as long as the Varangian Legion gets close to White Rock City, they will have a chance to break through the city gates. Once inside White Rock City, the Varangian Legion will seize the city and wipe out all the enemies inside.

As for what to do after capturing the city, Olaf hadn't thought it through, nor did he continue to think about it... Capturing the city wasn't the goal; the killing and fighting during the process of capturing the city was what Olaf and the Valangi Chapter were after.

Thinking of this, he no longer hesitated.

Olaf, like a giant wolf that has caught the scent of blood, silently slid backward from the lurking bushes, his movements so agile that they contrasted sharply with his imposing figure.

He quickly found a few trusted captains scattered nearby and whispered a few words of advice to them. After exchanging glances, the captains immediately lay down on the spot and used convenient offline communication software to notify the players in other battle groups.

The command, like a stone thrown into still water, created silent ripples that quickly spread through the dark forest.

One by one, the lurking figures began to move and converge cautiously.

There was no conversation, only the faintest rustling of armor and suppressed breathing.

The soldiers' eyes gleamed with the same light as Olaf's... a bloodthirsty excitement and a thirst for victory.

Through word of mouth, they came to understand the leader's thoughts.

The Varangian Chapter has few members, partly because its members can only join offline.

Secondly, these players, like Olaf, are a group of madmen who crave battle and bloodshed.

In less than fifteen minutes, more than two hundred Varangi members had assembled deep in the dense forest.

They were like a pack of wolves about to pounce on their prey, their eyes burning with a sinister light as they awaited the alpha wolf's command.

Olaf stood at the front of the line and took one last look in the direction of White Rock City in the distance.

He took a deep breath of the cold air, which smelled of earth and decaying leaves, as if trying to etch this fateful moment into his very being.

"go!"

He gave the final command in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.

More than two hundred pairs of feet, wearing soft-soled boots or wrapped in thick cloth, stepped onto the damp humus layer in the forest.

There were no torches, no clanging of metal, only a moving, silent, murderous shadow, like a thick fog spreading along the ground, stealthily making its way towards the White Rock City, which was still slumbering in a state of "relaxation," five kilometers away.

The darkness before dawn provided them with the best cover, while the "very obvious" patrol loopholes of the Minisians opened a bloody path to the city.

More than two hundred Valangi Warband players swiftly traversed the sparse woodlands and rolling hills.

Thanks to the almost foolishly lax patrols by the Minisians, Olaf's chosen, albeit unsafe, route near the refugee settlement went exceptionally smoothly for the first half of the journey.

The soft soil and withered grass beneath my feet masked most of my footsteps; only the occasional soft snapping of a small twig was promptly carried away by the night wind.

However, fate, or rather the god of war, always likes to pluck the strings at their tightest point.

Just as they rounded a patch of low bushes and were about to step onto a path worn by refugees leading to the shantytowns outside the city, a small, thin figure suddenly appeared in the shadows by the roadside.

It was a child, no more than seven or eight years old, who was curled up sitting on a cold stone.

His tattered shirt couldn't cover his bony ribs, and his deep-set eyes looked particularly large in the moonlight.

He was neither a sentry nor a scout, but a pitiful creature suffering from stomach cramps and unable to sleep during the long, cold night.

He stared blankly into the darkness, his eyes empty, completely unaware of the approaching danger, until a tall figure, almost blending into the night, nearly collided with him, jolting him awake!
The player leading the way, Varangi, reacted incredibly quickly. Just as the child's mouth, which was instinctively agape in fear, was about to let out its first scream, his axe was already about to strike the child's head.

But just as the axe blade was halfway through its swing, the player clearly saw the opponent's appearance, and the axe was forcibly raised.

After the axe swept over the child's head, the child continued to stare blankly at the player, silent, while the player stared back at the child.

After a moment of eye contact, the player did not raise the axe again. Instead, he reached into the leather pouch at his waist and quickly pulled out a piece of whole wheat bread wrapped in oil paper, which was probably his emergency ration.

The bread wasn't as hard as a rock, but it wasn't soft either. Yet, to a starving person, it was nothing short of a delicacy.

Without even looking, the player roughly and urgently shoved the bread into the child's open mouth, which hadn't even had a chance to make a sound.

"Well……"

The child's scream was abruptly cut off by a large, hard object that suddenly appeared and smelled of food.

He was completely stunned. He instinctively wanted to vomit, but the violent spasms in his stomach and the aroma of wheat filling his mouth instantly overwhelmed his fear. The instinct for survival made the child bite down on the bread tightly, and his two little hands instinctively hugged this "gift" that had fallen from the sky.

He made muffled, whimpering sounds in his throat, his whole body curled up, his attention completely drawn to the food in his mouth, desperately trying to soften the hard pieces of bread with his saliva, and he had no time to scream for help.
Without even pausing, the player simply made a very slight, quick downward gesture behind him, indicating "minor trouble resolved, continue forward."

The Varangian warriors behind them silently bypassed this small obstacle, which was immersed in the brief paradise brought by food, and continued to surge toward their target like a black tide overflowing a reef.

In the darkness, the suppressed, wolfing sounds of a child chewing could be faintly heard.

This dramatic scene stirred up an indescribable unease within the stealth team.

Some people think this player is an idiot for wasting food, while others think he's clever and saves trouble.

Olaf saw this scene from the middle of the team, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, then he relaxed... As long as the result was correct, the means didn't matter, he only cared about the result.

The Varangians continued their advance, getting closer and closer to the city walls.

500 meters... 300 meters...

The air slowly filled with the distinctive, sour smell of the refugee shantytown, a mixture of excrement, garbage, and despair.

The outline of the city wall was clearly visible under the starlight, and the blurry figures of sentries behind the crenellations could even be vaguely seen.

Two hundred meters!
The Varangians had reached their limit at this distance; any further ahead lay an open field with no cover, where the moonlight would be enough to expose any moving object.

Victory seemed within reach, and the fervor of breaching the city surged once more in the hearts of the warriors.

However, fate once again bared its cruel fangs.

Just as they were pressing against the dilapidated tents and piles of debris on the outermost edge of the shack area, preparing for their final sprint, an old woman who had gotten up in the middle of the night shakily lifted the tattered curtain, revealing a dense, menacing black mass of people under the moonlight, their armor and weapons reflecting a cold, eerie light.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment.

The next second, a shrill, terrified scream, like a poisoned ice pick, pierced the last moments of peace before dawn.

"Ah...the murderous bandits are here!!!"

The scream, like a drop of water thrown into a pot of boiling oil, instantly ignited the deathly silence of the refugee camp.

"what?!"

"robber?"

"Where?!"

"Damn it! Help!"

"From the city walls! From the city walls! Look down!"

More refugees were awakened, and panic spread like a plague.

From the shack came the sounds of panicked clattering, crying, and hurried footsteps. Countless terrified eyes were fixed on the edge of the shadows where the Varangian Legion was hiding.

Although they were not yet fully exposed to the moonlight, the densely packed heads and the cold glint of metal, under the influence of panic, were enough to terrify anyone who saw them.

"Enemy attack..."

"There are people below the city wall!!!"

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack! Sound the alarm!!!"

On the seemingly loose city walls of Baiyan City, chaos erupted instantly! The slowly moving torchlight suddenly accelerated and converged! A sharp, piercing copper whistle rang out, tearing at the heart.

Immediately following was the heavy, urgent tolling of bells, carrying a sense of immense panic and alarm: "Clang, clang, clang..."

The alarm bells for Baiyan City have been rung.

The cold tolling of the bell struck the hearts of every Varangian warrior like a heavy hammer.

A perfect stealth maneuver, ruined at the last moment.

The last glimmer of hope in Olaf's eyes vanished, instantly replaced by a violent rage.

He suddenly drew his massive battle axe from his waist, the blade tracing a cold arc in the faint light of the first rays of dawn. With all his might, he unleashed a deafening roar, like that of a wounded beast.

"Varangi...for Odin, charge forth!"

The steel torrent, poised to unleash its power, is now completely unmasked.

Two hundred meters is neither a long nor a short distance. When Varangi charged at full speed, it only took them one minute to completely cross the refugee area near the city gate along the main road.

At this time, the alarm bells on the city wall were still ringing, but because it was late at night, not many people were still awake. When the Varangians arrived at the city gate, only a few crossbow bolts were falling.

No gunshots were heard.

Without muskets to fire, the fully armored Varangians ignored the slightest attack from above.

"Sweeping spear!!!"

Olaf roared and waved his hand behind him, and two Varangians carrying siege spears came running over quickly.

By now, the Minesians were familiar with the tactics and equipment favored by the Bagnians, but they still had no idea of ​​the existence of the siege spears.

On the one hand, equipment such as the Tiger Crouching Cannon and the Explosive Rocket performed too well on the battlefield; on the other hand, the players also tacitly kept the Siege Spear a secret.

The siege spear, an extreme weapon that kills a thousand enemies but also inflicts a thousand casualties on the player, was only equipped by Chris to players. Since the players did not flaunt it, the intelligence personnel in Minicia did not know much about it.

Few city gates survived the siege spears, and all the Miniese soldiers who witnessed their effect were killed by the players; not a single one survived.

Therefore, although Baiyan City closed its gates tonight, it did not reinforce the wooden gates in any way, which led to one thing.

As the muffled explosion rang out, the sturdy oak gate of White Rock City seemed to have been slammed down by an invisible giant fist. The huge shockwave visibly distorted the air near the gate, and a blinding orange-red tongue of fire violently erupted from the gap in the gate and the hinges, instantly engulfing the heavy door panels.

The oak wood, covered with iron plates and rivets, was as fragile as rotten wood in the face of the siege spear's unreasonable, directional explosive power.

Instead of caved inward as if struck by a battering ram, the city gate was torn apart, shattered, and blown away from the inside.

"The city gates are open! Brothers, charge in! Leave no one alive!!!"

(End of this chapter)