Aboriginal gods (1)

After the attack, wails could be heard from both sides of the road.

A middle-aged believer who had been splashed by the scorching Dragon flames was kneeling on the ground and taking off his burnt leather armor.

The burnt skin and flesh were exposed, and it was emitting a strange fragrance.

The middle-aged believer stuck the sword in his hand into the ground and gestured at the wound, shaking his head slightly.

blacksmith, help me cut off this rotten flesh. It's inconvenient for me to do it myself!

A middle-aged believer with a wrinkled face raised his head and shouted at a man who was rummaging through the corpses.

Hearing this, the muscular man threw away the body in his hand and picked up the saber.

"This poor bastard doesn't have anything valuable on him!"

The blacksmith squatted in front of the middle-aged believer and spat on the body that had half its head burned off by the Dragon Flame. There was a trace of regret on his face.