Behind the boulders on the riverbank, the middle-aged natives were still unconscious, and the scrivener showed Harsha what had happened here as it was, and the latter looked stunned. Pen & Fun & Pavilion www.biquge.info thought of someone secretly peeping, and couldn't help but blush, ashamed and annoyed. This man was familiar to her, second only to wizards in the tribe, and she never imagined that he would be such a person.

The scrivener sent Harsha to the tribe and returned to carry the middle-aged native back to the cave, tied to a boulder, with his eyes and mouth blocked, and even if he didn't kill him, he couldn't be let go back, at least not until Rena's matter was settled. Although the scrivener does not kill innocents indiscriminately, it is not merciful, and he does not mind erasing anyone who affects his plans.

Early the next morning, Hasa brought breakfast. After that, I kept talking with the scrivener box until it was close to noon, and the sky was full of dark clouds, and it looked like it was going to rain. The scrivener told her not to deliver food at noon, heavy rain would fall at any time, and besides, frequent visits and departures were easy to arouse suspicion in the tribe.

Harsha reluctantly returned to the tribe, and after a while ran back again, panting and looking anxious. He kept gesturing to the scrivener box, waving the silver bracelet in his hand. The scrivener stared at her, Rena had really arrived! He strode out of the cave with his weapon in his arms and in the direction of the tribe.

Harsha followed close behind him, and the scrivener turned and told her to go back in the other direction, not to come out of the house, no matter what happened. Harsha looked at the murderous face of the scrivener, and opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't say it after all.

Wow...... The rain poured down, without the slightest excess, and it was pouring down, which was the rain of Savage Mountain. The scrivener carrying a spear approached the tribe, and the heavy rain could not change the pace under his feet, steady and firm. There was another man in front of him, who stumbled when he walked, and had to fall on his head almost every two steps, covered in muddy water, and became a moving clay man. He is a middle-aged native who was captured.

The whole tribe was flooded with rain, and there was not a single sentinel, and they had the impression that no outsider had ever entered here in the heavy rain, and that the swamps around the tribe would swallow up anyone who dared to break in.

The middle-aged native, like a dog in front of the scrivener, humble and frightened, acts as a leader in the task of targeting the chief's residence. The tribe is full of water, and most of the wooden houses are soaked in water, but the people live on the second floor, and all kinds of livestock and poultry are kept in captivity below. The manure of the livestock in the pen was washed out by the rain and mixed with the water, raising the smell of manure.

Middle-aged natives crawl through the water mixed with dung, and a stone building appears in the rain curtain, the chief's residence. The scrivener smashed the butt of a gun into the back of the middle-aged native's head, who plunged into the water, emitting a series of cloudy bubbles.

In the stone building, several middle-aged women surrounded a large wooden barrel, the barrel was steaming, and a fair-skinned woman struggled desperately in the water, but it didn't work, her hands and feet were tied with hemp rope, and the violent struggle was only a few steaming splashes.

Middle-aged women have their own division of labor, some hold the woman's body, some smear the woman's body with foaming plant juice, and some wipe the woman's body. The woman struggled desperately in the bucket, but to no avail. In the distance, a man sits upright on a wicker chair, his hooked eyes staring at what is happening, his gaze falling greedily on the woman, as if admiring a fine work of art. The more the woman struggled, the more excited he became, and his eyes flashed with an evil light.

The woman in the bucket was facing inwards and couldn't see her face, but she could tell from her long blond hair that it was Rena. The greedy man scrivener was familiar, the chieftain of the indigenous tribe.

Chief, sure enough, it's him! The scrivener lifted his foot and kicked the door open, and the abrupt sound broke the original order. All eyes couldn't help but focus. One of the middle-aged women stood up and wanted to say something, she didn't know the scrivener. Bang, in response to a bullet, cold and resolute, without any mud and water. The woman fell in a pool of blood, and the splashes of blood spilled into the bucket, and the water turned reddish.

Wow...... Yes...... The rest of the people scattered and fled, and most of them recognized the scrivener, which was a god of killing. Poof, the woman who was running at the front fell to the ground, blood splattered. Poof, another woman who tried to escape fell to the ground. The scrivener used bullets to warn them that they would only die if they ran away! Although there is some cruelty, although the other party is all unarmed women. However, the scrivener box did not relent, the actions of the indigenous people broke through the bottom line he beared, and there was no need for him to stick to his bottom line.

Whoosh, an arrow grazed the body of the scrivener, he had seen this kind of arrow, the arrow was poisonous. The scrivener followed the direction of the arrow and caught a man who was sitting on a wicker chair with a greedy face. Now he has taken refuge in a corner of the hall. Chief, very insidious fellow! The guy was holding a bow and was ready to shoot a second arrow.

The muzzle of the scrivener box was pointed at the chief, and his eyes were cold and murderous. The chief's hand trembled, and the bow and arrow hung down. But his face was quite calm, and he was muttering something, he should be bargaining.

The scrivener didn't understand, and he didn't want to understand, and the muzzle of the gun was aimed at the other party's chest. The chief could no longer remain calm, the muscles on his face jerked, he was a man, not a god, and the Grim Reaper was still a grandson when he visited him. The scrivener stared at each other very contemptuously, afraid of death, right, what you did was damn it, afraid of having a hair!

The cold muzzle of the gun was aimed at the chief, and the guy's body trembled slightly, obviously a sign of fear of death, and at the same time, a pair of eyes looked left and right, and from time to time they aimed at the door. The scrivener became alert, turned his head to look out the door, and a tall black man stood close to the door, the hunting knife in his hand raised high and ready to rush up at any time. Bang, the scrivener didn't give him a chance, and the gun turned around at the same time.

A blood hole appeared in the big man's chest, and the blood column was bubbling out, this guy was very unwilling, he was one of the best figures in the entire tribe, recognized as a brave man, and no one could shake him. But in the face of modern civilization, he is nothing, and the weak can only be slaughtered by others.

The bullets flew out, and so did the body of the scrivener. With the chief behind him, he won't miss a chance to fight back. Bang, the arrow hit the ground, which happened to be the original location of the scrivener. At this time, the scrivener box has deviated from the original place by two meters. He stared coldly at the chieftain, the muzzle of his gun drifting between the other's head and chest. The chief could no longer be calm, even if he pretended. But he didn't give up, he was still bargaining, as long as he kept his life, he probably could agree to anything.

The scrivener was expressionless, staring at each other coldly. The more this happened, the more frightened the chief became, but he hadn't given up yet, and was still talking about something. The scrivener blinked and hesitated, as if moved. The chief's face was overjoyed, as if he had seen the hope of life.

Bang, gunshots, the chief's smile froze forever in that moment. The scrivener's hesitation is fake, the goal has never changed, but he just doesn't want the other party to die so much. The smell of blood was diffuse, and the vast space was filled with free plasma molecules.

Snort, there was a slight noise overhead. The scrivener looked up and saw two adult-thigh-thick pythons coiled on the beams of the room, spitting long letters at him. This may have been one of the chief's killer features, but it didn't have time to use it. The strong smell of blood stimulated the python, and the two guys were no longer calm, and crawled to the ground after a few probes with their hovering bodies. Didn't care about the scrivener, but went straight to the corpse on the ground.

The scrivener took Rena out of the bucket, and the Englishwoman was surprised and delighted, with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. The scrivener told one of the indigenous women to strip off her clothes, put it on Rena, and helped her out of the stone house.

The rain was still falling, no one was walking around on a rainy day, and everything that happened in the stone hall was isolated. The scrivener carried Rena and walked outside the tribe. One wooden house after another was submerged in water, and the rain was heavier than usual. A head poked out of the cabin, he was looking at the sky, watching the rain, when the damn rain would stand. At the same time, he also saw the scrivener. Bang, a bullet responded to him, and the native's head was lifted open, and his body swayed in the wind on the plank.

This kind of vignette does not affect the pace and rhythm of the scrivener. The rain soon obscured him, leaving only the terrifying screams of the cabin. Bang...... Bang...... From time to time, gunshots echoed, and one by one the natives fell. They may be kind, not the slightest hostile to the scrivener, and even less at fault, and they die only because they appeared at the wrong time and place.

Finally out of the indigenous tribe, the scrivener looked back, and there was nothing to see except the rain curtain. He asked Rena if she would like to take a break. Rena shook her head firmly, signaling that she could persevere. The scrivener doesn't say anything anymore, it's still very close to the indigenous tribes, and it's really not the time to relax. The heavy rain had already soaked his clothes, and he was very restrained against his body. Every time I make a movement, there will be friction between the clothes and the skin, and it hurts when the epidermis is worn off.

Heavy rain poured down his head, down the top of his head, and it was difficult to open his eyes. There is an ocean under your feet, and when you step on it, you sink into the mud softly, and it is difficult to pull it out. The two supported each other and struggled to move forward. Fall down and get up and keep walking.

When the rain finally subsided, the scrivener shook the water from her face and asked Rena if she wanted to rest for a while. Rena shook her head firmly and kept walking. Although it took a lot of time, the journey was not long, and it had not yet gone beyond the scope of activities of the indigenous tribes. We must grasp all the worlds and go far.

I don't know how long it took, but finally the rain cleared. The world is full of water, and streams of all sizes crisscross and converge into small rivers that flow rapidly into the distance. The two finally couldn't hold on anymore and sat on a boulder to rest. When the body is idle, the feeling of exhaustion is overwhelming, and the person lies on the ground and never wants to get up again.