The Formed War Machine

Time passed in haste. Unknowingly, 30 days had passed.

On the early morning of this morning, in the open space at the center of Tudenan, in an extremely huge dark bark house that was recently built, 30 strong indigenous midgets kneeled in front of Zhang Lisheng and attempted to stick their heads close to the cold ground as they saluted.

"This blessing ritual only has a 30% survival rate. Have you guys thought clearly about it?" The young man was wearing a blue surgical gown with a mask, looking like a surgeon, as he asked without restraint, while washing his hand on the stone channel that had a constant flow of water.

"Great Raider! Being able to accept your blessing ritual is the glory of our life, we're willing even if we have to pay with our lives!" The aboriginal warriors said while kneeling.