King's Aura

The gates of Shache City remained tightly shut. The king vanished from the battlements, and the hearts of Shache's people grew colder and colder. They knew they had been abandoned.

Someone immediately burst into tears.

Crying was contagious. Before long, more and more people began to weep.

The Shache defenders atop the walls watched the crying citizens below, their hearts aching. But they were only ordinary soldiers. The king had personally issued the order—who would dare open the gates?

The only thing they could do was turn away and stop looking at the people below.

Where there was a first batch, there would be a second. One after another, the Western Regions Allied Army gathered five or six thousand Shache civilians from the surrounding area and drove them beneath the walls of Shache City.

The newcomers kept shouting for the gates to be opened, while those who had arrived earlier told them that the king had just been there. He had looked at them, then turned and left. The king had abandoned them.

Behind them were enemies eyeing them like tigers, armed with blades and spears that could take their lives at any moment. Before them stood Shache City, where they might yet survive. This was their royal capital, yet it had shut its gates against its own people—and shut away their hope of life.

A sorrowful mood spread through the crowd.

Jiang Hao felt no pity at the sight. War was like this. The ones hurt most were always the weak and impoverished common people.

That truth had never changed since ancient times.

Even in modern society, it remained the same. Look at Libya. Look at Syria. This was a pattern that had continued for thousands of years.

Jiang Hao began issuing orders. "Make camp here. Surround them on