Clang.
The gold coin cut through the air.
It landed precisely beside the blacksmith Bach’s feet.
Still spinning.
Under the sunlight, it gave off a maddening glow.
Unlike the fake scrap metal scattered all over the streets coated in gold paint.
This light was deep, pure, and heavy.
Bach remained frozen in the posture of pushing the gate, as if struck by lightning.
Behind him, thousands of Romans were equally frozen.
No one spoke.
Only the faint spinning sound of the coin on stone could be heard.
Vmm… vmm…
Finally, the coin stopped.
Like a rusted machine, Bach slowly bent down.
His hands were covered in blood, nails filled with dirt.
He tremblingly picked up the small piece of metal.
Heavy.
It was truly heavy.
Bach brought the coin to his mouth.
He opened his mouth—missing half a tooth—and bit down.
Crunch.
No despairing brittle sound.
It was soft.
The feeling of teeth sinking in.
The unique texture of gold.
Bach pulled the coin away.
Clear bite marks were visible on it.
Real.
It was real gold.
If it had been yesterday—or even this morning—he would have killed his own brother for this coin.
But now—
Bach looked at the gold in his hand.
His stomach rumbled like thunder.
A violent wave of nausea rose in his throat.
He was starving.
Too starving.
Once the adrenaline from forcing open the gate faded, hunger crashed over him like a tidal wave.
Can gold be eaten?
No.
In his hand now, it was worth less than half a piece of moldy black bread.
Plop.
Bach let go.
The priceless gold coin fell into the dirt.
He didn’t even look at it.
Thud.
The two-meter-tall brute collapsed to his knees like a falling mountain.
His knees shattered the stones beneath him.
He slammed his forehead into the ground.
“Food…”
His voice sounded like a broken bellows.
“Please… give me food…”
“I won’t fight anymore… I don’t want to die anymore…”
“Just give me something to eat!”
That single kneel was like the first domino falling.
Inside the gate tunnel—
Romans armed with clubs, manure forks, even stones—
One after another.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The sound of knees hitting the ground formed a rising tide.
Whether nobles or slaves.
Soldiers or craftsmen.
At this moment, they all did the same thing.
They knelt.
They bowed.
Toward the eight black-armored riders on horseback.
Toward the eight-year-old child.
“We surrender!”
“We surrender!”
“Don’t kill us… just give us soup!”
Cries erupted.
Tens of thousands of people howling together—it was even more piercing than the explosions.
Wang Li sat on his horse, his sword half-drawn.
He froze.
The eight hundred cavalry behind him also froze.
They had been ready to charge.
Ready for a blood battle.
Ready for these barbarians to swarm like beasts.
And yet—
This?
These madmen who had just torn down city gates were now kneeling faster than anyone else just for food.
“Your Highness…”
Wang Li turned his head, muscles twitching on his face.
He didn’t understand.
“It’s… over?”
“No charge?”
“No need to cut off a few heads to establish fear?”
His sword still thirsted for blood.
Ying Ziye tossed away the remaining half of his apple.
It traced an arc through the air.
Landing right beside Bach’s head.
Like a starving mad dog, Bach lunged forward, grabbed the half-apple covered in dirt, and stuffed it into his mouth—core and all.
No chewing.
He swallowed it whole.
Eyes rolling back, he pounded his chest desperately, his face filled with pure satisfaction.
Chapter 190: This Apple Smells Amazing! Romans: We Kneel and Beg for a Bite! (2/2)
“Clang.”
That gold coin cut through the air.
It landed precisely at the feet of the blacksmith Baher.
Still spinning.
Under the sunlight, it gleamed with a maddening radiance.
Unlike the fake, gold-painted scrap metal scattered everywhere in the streets.
This glow was heavy, pure.
Baher remained frozen in his posture of pushing the gate open, as if struck by lightning.
Behind him, thousands of Romans were equally frozen.
No one spoke.
Only the faint spinning sound of the coin echoed.
“Buzz… buzz…”
Finally, the coin stopped.
Baher bent down slowly, like a rusted machine.
His hands were covered in blood and dirt under his nails.
Trembling, he picked up the small piece of metal.
Heavy.
Genuinely heavy.
He brought it to his mouth.
Opened his half-broken jaw.
“Crack.”
He bit down.
No sharp brittle sound of despair.
Soft.
A sinking sensation under his teeth.
Gold.
Real gold.
If it had been yesterday, or even this morning, he would have killed his own brother for it.
But now…
His stomach let out a thunderous growl.
A violent wave of hunger hit him.
Gold can’t be eaten.
To him now, it wasn’t worth even a piece of stale black bread.
“Plop.”
He let go.
The priceless coin fell into the dirt.
He didn’t even look at it.
“Thud.”
The two-meter-tall man collapsed to his knees.
His knees crushed the gravel beneath them.
He slammed his forehead into the ground.
“Food…”
His voice sounded like a broken bellows.
“Please… give me food…”
“I won’t fight anymore… I don’t want to die…”
“Just give me food!”
That single kneel was like the first domino falling.
Inside the gate.
One after another.
The Romans knelt in waves.
“Thud! Thud! Thud!”
The sound of knees hitting the ground rolled like a tide.
Nobles, slaves, soldiers, craftsmen—none mattered anymore.
Only one action remained.
Kneeling.
Bowing.
Toward the eight hundred black-armored riders.
Toward the eight-year-old boy on horseback.
“WE SURRENDER!”
“WE SURRENDER!”
“Don’t kill us… just give us soup!”
The cries exploded into the air.
王離 (Wang Li) was stunned.
He slowly drew his sword halfway, then froze.
“…It’s over?”
“Do we not charge?”
“Do we not cut a few heads to establish fear?”
But the sword only thirsted for blood.
Ying Ziye casually tossed away the half-eaten apple.
It landed beside Baher.
Like a starving dog, Baher grabbed it and swallowed it whole, not even chewing.
He choked, pounding his chest, but his face showed pure satisfaction.
Ying Ziye pointed at him.
“You see?”
“This is humanity.”
His voice was carried by the wind into Wang Li’s ear.
“When the spine is broken, it’s hard to straighten again.”
“But if they kneel for a bite of food…”
“They will never stand up again in their lives.”
Wang Li stared at the man devouring a rotten apple in gratitude.
His grip on the sword loosened.
A sense of conquest far stronger than killing surged through him.
Killing is nothing.
This… is destroying the soul.
“Enter the city.”
He tugged the reins.
The black warhorse stepped forward.
“Clop.”
Its iron-shod hoof struck the Roman stone road.
And the faces of the Romans.
People automatically parted.
The road to the inner fortress was now lined with kneeling bodies.
Two human walls.
Ying Ziye rode through the center.
He did not look left or right.
Not even once.
As if they were not people, but street debris.
Wang Jian and Meng Tian followed behind.
Two veteran generals exchanged a glance.
Cold sweat on their foreheads.
Too ruthless.
This silent march was more oppressive than a battlefield of a hundred thousand soldiers.
No Roman dared to look up.
Only at the horses’ hooves.
Even the horses of Great Qin looked better fed than them.
A Roman general suddenly tried to stand.
Lucas.
He was still alive.
Before he could speak—
“Bang!”
A Roman civilian smashed a brick into the back of his head.
Lucas collapsed.
The man pressed him into the ground and smiled ingratiatingly at Ying Ziye, afraid he might disturb the “soup.”
Ying Ziye didn’t even glance at him.
As if a fly had been swatted.
Finally, they arrived.
The inner fortress.
Broken gates.
A shattered statue of Caesar.
The heart of Rome.
Now rubble.
He stopped his horse and pointed his whip at the Senate building.
Half collapsed, revealing gold, paintings, sculptures, treasure chests.
Centuries of Roman plunder exposed.
Wang Li swallowed.
“…Your Highness…”
“These…”
Ying Ziye stretched lazily on horseback.
“Send word.”
“Bring the abacus.”
“House, land, gold, silver, women, slaves…”
“Even a single decorated brick on the ground.”
He turned slightly toward Wang Jian and Meng Tian.
His expression was calm, cold.
“Write it all down.”
“It’s all mine now.”
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