Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!
The fat, big-eared cooks stir-fried food in huge woks.
Countless cannon fodder lined up to eat.
Someone nearby held a tin megaphone and shouted, "The crown prince is kindhearted. Knowing that you're going off to die, he has prepared a last meal for you."
"Eat heartily, everyone. Eat more."
"Once you've eaten and drunk your fill, go kill the enemy and go to your deaths with gratitude in your hearts."
"After you die, the crown prince will look after your families."
"You have nothing to worry about."
"So please go to your deaths without worry, boldly, and quickly."
"As long as enough of you die, and die fast enough, the enemy will die quickly too. Then nobody will have to die."
"Theoretically speaking, the more people die, the fewer people die."
"Keep it up!"
The cannon fodder ate a bowl of their last meal with tears streaming down their faces, drank a bowl of their last wine, then headed straight for the front lines, sobbing.
When they passed a cliff, they took off their armor and threw away their weapons.
Because the generals above had said that, to maintain the efficiency of dying and keep the battlefield tidy, it was better to throw away such clutter.
The battlefield-no, it should have been called a slaughterhouse:
The last Liu Yong darted and dodged, fists and feet flying, slaughtering the Great Qian Empire's cannon fodder to his heart's content.
"Heh, trying to exhaust me to death this way? Ridiculous. In this fragment of an era, I never tire."
"Using death to make my mind collapse?"
"Ridiculous. I've repeated this stretch of time countless times. My mind is resilient and won't collapse at all."
"Do you really think I wouldn't dare kill tens of millions?"
"Today, I'll kill them for