"Whoa~!"
More than ten demonic horses stopped beyond the archery range of the stockade wall.
The burly men on horseback were a bizarre assortment. Some bared their chests, while others were wrapped head to toe in tattered cloth. Their weapons were equally varied, and they reeked of banditry—clearly no good people.
The demonic horses, bearing traces of demon beast bloodlines, were restless and uneasy, stamping their hooves and breathing heavily.
The horse bandits were plainly accustomed to this situation. They did not urge their mounts forward, instead pointing at the wall. Whenever they spotted women, they whistled and shouted filthy obscenities to tease them. They did not seem in any hurry to commit evil deeds. The sun had only recently set, and darkness had not yet fully fallen.
One bald, crooked-mouthed horse bandit urged his mount forward. Having spent years roaming the wilderness, his skin was rough and greasy, while the dryness had split his lips and peeled them raw. A cleaver of unknown age rested on his shoulder.
The horse anxiously kept pawing at the ground.
The bandit narrowed his eyes and shouted in a hoarse voice through one side of his crooked mouth, utterly slovenly.
"Old man! Please open the stockade gate for us~!"
"In these years of great disaster, the brothers haven't eaten for two days! We're hungry!"
The word "hungry" echoed across the wilderness.
The wind and sand wailed, like countless Lost Souls who had starved to death recounting the misery of hunger. It also made the Flood Dragon hiding in the mud feel it deeply.
The villagers atop the wall said nothing. Food was scarce, and no one was willing to hand it over to others.
Besides, the men did not merely want a meal. No one had ever survived after a village stockade was