Everything that followed was only natural.
By the time they finally reached the forest clearing, the ratfolk warriors, deeply ensnared by the Mandala Fruit, had lost all strength and courage.
Forget fighting the Wolf Cavalry, armed to the teeth, to the death.
They could not even summon the will to slash their own throats.
Like limp marionettes, tugged by strings woven from fragrance, they staggered about in a daze, unable to control themselves, scrambling to throw themselves at the steaming cauldrons.
After they wolfed down the food, fought and clawed over it, and swept clean the rows of cauldrons like rabid dogs pouncing on meat, then clutched their bellies and let out warm, satisfied belches.
Was there any choice left besides surrender?
After all, many of them had surrendered once before.
Never mind whether their previous surrender had been forced by circumstances, born of desperation, or even meant to deceive that foolish Wolf King.
Surrender was like lying: there was only the difference between zero times and ten thousand times.
Once one fell into the abyss and became covered in mud, there was no washing clean ever again.
What was more, quite a few ratfolk warriors had originally been house rats raised by "Jackal" Kanus. They also chattered noisily among the crowd, saying things like, "Even the Great Horned Rat God has abandoned us. Holding on this long means we have already done right by ourselves and everyone else."
As a result, without lifting a finger or spilling a single drop of blood, the Wolf Cavalry captured surrendered soldiers more than ten times their own number.
When these surrendered soldiers sent word back to the chaotic positions of the Great Horned Legion that "Lord Kanus is magnanimous, will not hold ordinary ratfolk accountable for their crimes, and has even prepared