How big is the wasteland area?

In Martin's view, it's only 30,000 or 50,000 square kilometers.

In fact, he was trapped.

What pitted him was the horribly bad map of this era.

The map is a thing that has been accumulated by countless scouts, with visual measurements and strokes. In this era when there were no precise measuring instruments, there was a little visual error in every place, and with the occasional shaking of the hand, the final result would be an error of 108,000 miles.

In fact, Martin felt wrong when he received feedback from the first scouts.

He's meowing!

The shape of the wasteland province has been found to be similar to that recorded in history, at least after crossing the Rick River, the shape of the funnel is the same. How do you feel like the wasteland is half the size of Bakaria?

This made Martin a little painful, if it was too vast and sparsely populated, even if he expanded his army to 6,000 people in three knights, in this kind of terrain, he would still not hear a sound if he left 10,000 people.

What made him even more uneasy was that only 36 of the 60 scouts sent out came back, and it was already winter. According to the route and return time that he has emphasized repeatedly before, the rest should have come back a long time ago.

The scouts were in a team of six, exactly four.

On the sand table, Martin can clearly see that the four roads leading to the northeast are completely missing, centered on the east bank of the Lorraine Bridge crossing.

"I can eat the scouts of my four teams in one bite, the strength is good. Martin muttered to himself, and then he called for Perry.

It was this goblin's excellent detection and infiltration abilities that allowed him to know where Leoni Muthallon's evil god mark was.

"It was a good job last time. "For his loyal subordinates, Martin did not hesitate to praise him.

"I thank my master for the reward. Peri humbly kissed Martin's boots, then touched the new armor on his body. It was an [excellent] level leather armor that Martin had captured from Gergent and was now being given to Perley.

"I want information on all the barbarian settlements in the wasteland. The term is three months. ”

"Understood, my master......" As the last word was spoken, Perley's diminutive figure had disappeared into the darkness again.

At this moment, in a valley three hundred kilometers away, a group of Slinger barbarians in animal skins were celebrating the arrival of the Winter Festival.

The Slingers have lived for generations on the northern shores of the Howling Strait and in the far north they worship Barbattore, the giant god of the Northlands. As a Slinger who grew up in the cold winds, they celebrate not the autumn harvest, but the first Sunday of winter after the autumn hunt - the Winter Festival!

"Cheers to this year's fat prey!" was accompanied by the toasts of several chiefs, and the heroic trumpets, drums, and percussion made of hollow bones resounded rhythmically with the characteristics of the wilderness.

"Woo-woo-woo!"

"Knock knock—"

Every savage is showing off his limbs wantonly in the music.

The ancestors of the Slinger people have long been accustomed to the polar temperatures of minus forty or fifty degrees Celsius. Although the Slingers have migrated to the wastelands further south for a hundred years, their hardiness has not changed at all.

Even though it's winter, the temperature is already below 10 degrees Celsius.

In the eyes of the Slingers, it's still as refreshing as a summer day in the Northland.

Bodybuilder girls have long used the summer to tan their skin into a toned bronzer, and then wear sexy crop tops, or even short leather skirts with exposed bandeau and vacuum inside, and indulge in their sexy and delicate bodies by the campfire.

In the passionate music, he danced passionately, swaying his plump buttocks, holding his full breasts, and throwing flattering eyes at the male savages who were wrapped in a circle with their heads and red chests. Their coquettish performance made the young male savages around them swallow their saliva one by one.

Finally, a muscular savage could not take it anymore, he raised his scimitar high in his right hand, rushed over, grabbed the hair of the hottest girl with his left hand, and bit on her left breast, leaving a clear tooth mark.

The girl was a little in pain, but instead of getting angry, she let out a delicious laugh, ignoring the sharp scimitar that was close at hand, and continued to wink at her surroundings and let out a pleasant laugh - she was inviting more challengers.

The more challengers there are, the more you can prove the charm of a girl.

Soon, a second challenger appeared. The two men glanced at each other, and without saying a word, they killed directly.

Three rounds of swords and swords, the male barbarian who appeared later had his throat cut off, and he clutched his neck in vain, convulsing and dying on the land.

No one took pity on the loser, and there was even a woman who spat on the corpse as she passed by.

The victor triumphantly cut off the ponytail at the back of the loser's head and brandished his scimitar wantonly.

"Whoa—" It was the most primitive and savage roar.

Without words, he used the most straightforward voice of challenge to invite potential competitors to fight.

Another challenger appeared, and this time he was killed.

The victor held two ponytails high in his left hand and wielded a blood-stained scimitar in his right hand.

No one was surprised, no one panicked, but the onlookers let out deafening cheers and cheers for the victors.

Casually discarding the ponytail in his hand, the victor put his arm around the most charming and sexy girl and let out a long growl.

"Oh"

"Oh-"

"Oh————"

Each roar, separated by a few seconds, is undoubtedly equivalent to the final countdown at the human auction, and when the final cry sounds, it is the final word.

The victor savagely bit the girl's chest on the other side, and this time, it was even more bleeding.

The girl was in pain, but her face was flushed with excitement, and she stretched out her limbs, allowing the man who had snatched herself from hundreds of challengers to rudely put his own 'brand' on herself!

Not only that, but the winner also enjoyed the girl directly on the spot.

No one exclaimed, no one bothered, some were just envious, and even shouted and cheered.

On the high platform, five towering chairs of different forms stand side by side, and the five leaders sit upright.

"Hahaha! make trouble! make trouble! Don't make a fuss about ten lives! Winter Festival is a failure—" A muscular barbarian leader who swung his arms vigorously with a dozen ivory carvings through his arms.

Below, more snatching battles took place.

Some are flesh-and-blood duels, and many are after seeing the challenger appear, they bow their heads and cut off a piece of braid to their opponents, and leave in shame in the scolding of others.

The rousing drum music continues.

When the fierce drum beat reaches its climax, all the music comes to an abrupt end after a toned arm is raised and retracted into a fist.