Chapter 424 - 401: Golden Rain

Chapter 424: Chapter 401: Golden Rain

The clouds were thick.

Like a layer of soft cotton.

Ola rubbed his throbbing temples.

’Twelfth one.’

Stuka’s voice echoed in his mind, carrying a punchable smugness, as if he wasn’t yet satisfied.

’These nobles build their houses like a woman’s jewelry box. They shatter with a single touch.’

Below, a delicate, small castle was smoking.

But this wasn’t a scorched-earth disaster like before. It was a more insidious strategy—the castle’s main tower, which typically housed its owner’s private treasury and bedroom, had now half-collapsed.

In the artisan and commoner districts, not even a single roof tile had fallen.

Perhaps because of this, the firefighting scene below the castle had an air of bizarre "composure."

"Quickly! Put out the fire! That’s the master’s collection room!" a butler in a silk suit shouted from a safe distance, his face slick with oily sweat and his voice raw, yet he didn’t move an inch.

The servants and guards heard him and were indeed moving, but their actions looked sluggish from any angle.

Since the fire wouldn’t reach the servants’ shared quarters, fighting it naturally required a certain degree of "steadiness."

The bucket brigade was perfectly neat. Everyone passed the pails in an orderly fashion; no one cut in line, and no one ran. During a gap while waiting for water, two grooms even huddled together and chatted in low voices.

After all, it was the lord’s money burning, not theirs. Why would they risk their necks for a fire that was doomed anyway?

’Let’s go.’

Ola snorted as he watched the unhurried crowd below. The Big Thief Gull deftly circled in the air and dove into the clouds.

"So this is what Velin meant by ’psychological warfare’?"

For the past three days, they had been like Ghosts.

They didn’t clash head-on with the regular army or try to crack hard nuts.

They just dropped bombs on the lairs of those vassals.

Specifically targeting treasuries, wine cellars, and those big, velvet-covered beds.

’Where to?’

Stuka flapped its wings, the airflow gliding between its feathers.

’We still have two "Screamers." The fief of a Viscount named Perez is nearby.’

’Then let’s go deliver him a gift.’

’I hear he just married a thirteen-year-old wife and spent a fortune building an art gallery.’

’Roger that.’

Stuka let out a pleased, low cry.

’An art gallery? I like art. Especially the broken kind.’

...

「Half an hour later.」

Viscount Perez’s prized domed gallery was reduced to a pile of burning rubble amidst a series of muffled explosions.

But the small air-raid squadron didn’t turn back.

Still not satisfied, Ola glanced back at the smoking manor, his gaze shifting to the distant horizon.

There, the silhouette of a much grander city reflected a blinding white light under the sun.

’Where’s that?’ Ola squinted.

’White Rock City.’ Stuka’s voice held a trace of excitement. ’If that Viscount was Hector’s dog, then the city ahead is Hector’s own kennel—this is the core domain of the Hector Clan.’

’Core domain?’ A wicked smile tugged at Ola’s lips. ’Since we’re already here, wouldn’t it be rude not to pay a visit to the master’s bedroom?’

The flock of birds carved an arc through the sky, flying over the hills and straight toward the white city.

White Rock City.

This was a city famed for its white marble, with clean streets and sophisticated architecture.

In the center of the city square stood an enormous statue.

It was a statue of Hector himself.

It was a full twenty meters tall, carved entirely from the purest white marble.

The statue depicted Hector robed, holding a Magic Staff, and gazing up at the heavens with an elegant and divine posture.

But now, a flock of uninvited guests was circling above this divine statue’s head.

’We’re out of bombs.’

Stuka circled once, its tone slightly regretful.

’That Viscount’s gallery was too big. I couldn’t help but drop a couple of extra ones. The racks are cleaner than my face now.’

Ola lay on the saddle, looking down at the defenseless city below.

There were no Magic shields, no heavy crossbows.

Because Hector had drawn away all its defensive forces to the front lines.

It was like a beautiful woman, stripped naked and lying in bed, waiting to be taken.

But you’ve dropped your pants only to find you forgot to bring your tool.

"Damn it."

Ola cursed.

"Such a perfect target."

He stared at the statue, finding it more and more disagreeable the longer he looked.

The statue’s chin was raised too high. The arrogance it exuded was so damn lifelike.

’Wait.’

Stuka suddenly called out.

’Who said we’re out of ammo?’

"Huh?"

Ola froze for a moment.

"Are we going to peck it with our beaks?"

’The belly compartment.’

Stuka reminded him.

’The ballast tank. The one used to maintain balance during long-distance flight.’

It clicked for Ola.

It was for adjusting their flight attitude.

But before they set out, to disgust Hector—or perhaps to indulge a certain peculiar Dwarven sense of humor...

Ola had someone fill it not with water...

but with the excrement of Big Thief Gulls, mixed with rotten fish guts and fermented for a whole week.

One whiff of that stench was enough to make you vomit up last night’s dinner.

This "bioweapon" was originally intended to create chaos for an escape, should they be forced to land.

"You mean..."

Ola looked down at the flawless white statue, a profoundly sleazy grin spreading across his face.

"Hehehe."

’Hehehe.’

Man and bird shared the same sleazy laugh over their mental channel.

"All units!"

Ola roared into the channel.

"Get your belly loads ready!"

"Target: that pretentious bastard’s head!"

"Bombs away!"

Over a hundred Big Thief Gulls opened the valves on their bellies simultaneously.

"SPLASH—"

This was not rain.

It was a yellowish-brown waterfall carrying a thick, fishy stench.

Several hundred kilograms of long-fermented viscous liquid, pulled by gravity, rained down with precision on the center of the square.

In the square.

A group of white-robed believers was praying beneath the statue.

"O great Lord Hector, may your glory..."

The lead Priest had barely gotten halfway through the prayer.

SPLAT.

A glob of something viscous landed on his nose.

He instinctively wiped at it.

Wet.

Foul.

Before he could even process it.

WHOOSH—!!!

A sky full of "liquid gold" poured down.

The statue of Hector, gazing elegantly toward the heavens, bore the brunt of it.

Its handsome face was instantly smeared with a thick, yellowish-brown mask.

The pristine white robe became a spotted garment.

A suffocating stench instantly exploded across the square, a place renowned for its cleanliness.

"AHHH!!!"

"What is this!?"

"My eyes! My eyes!"

The square erupted into chaos.

The usually well-dressed nobles and believers were now like maggots thrown into a cesspool, screaming as they scattered in every direction.

High in the sky.

Ola clutched his stomach, laughing so hard he nearly fell off the bird’s back.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"

Looking down at the Hector statue that had been turned into a "shit man," he felt a satisfaction greater than blowing up ten granaries.

’This is art.’

Stuka commented.

’This is how he’s supposed to look.’

"Let’s go!"

Ola wiped away tears of laughter.

"With this, Hector has lost all face completely."