At noon the next day, Finks was lying in her tent and screaming, when the young man and Mira came to visit her.

"Does it hurt?" Mira took Finks' hand as soon as she entered, after all, she used to be whipped in the tribe before, and knew that it was not a pleasant taste.

Maya and Pami sat by with guilt on their faces, and although they didn't laugh and didn't punish them, they also knew that the main cause of Finks's punishment was still on them.

"You don't have to be too upset." The young man almost pissed Finks to death as soon as he spoke, "This idiot has always been like this. ”

Mira glared back at him, "How can you visit a patient like this, get out of here, I'll see how Sister Finks's wound is?" ”

"There will be no wounds." The young man found a place in the tent to sit cross-legged, "If you don't laugh, you will forcibly drag her into the illusion and execute her, where you will not die even if your head is cut in half, but you will be out of the illusion immediately - but the wound will hurt for days." ”

He was also dragged into the illusion by Buxiao to learn the sword technique, so he was able to comprehend the martial arts on Shenlong Island in a very short period of time, and finally won the approval of the magic sword Red Dragon.

Finks looked at the young man with a grim expression, "Do you know that even if you leave the illusion, the pain won't go away?" ”

The young man sneered, "I've heard Sister Shirley say before, you five were very naughty when you were young, and the others were brought into the illusion once or twice to get acquainted, but you don't remember the punishment of the troublemaker." Even if he had just been beaten by a fat beating, he dared to provoke him again after five minutes. ”

Finks only hated that his hand was not long enough, otherwise he would have to punch him a few times, "You wait for me, when I don't hurt, I have to hit you ......"

"Look, this hard-mouthed look." The young man complained unceremoniously, "Where does this look like a freshly whipped person?" Tell me, how much did you suffer this time? ”

"Five hundred!" Finks replied angrily.

The young man shouted, "Oh my God, you're a brand new record, it's a great day, you need to get a slate carving to record it." ”

Mira looked at Finks' aggrieved eyes and touched her face distressedly, "Poor child. ”

"I think it's a pity." The young man was used to arguing with Finks, and he didn't have the slightest sympathy, "I heard the princess tell a story about the 'bitter meat trick', but unfortunately she didn't have any injuries on her body, otherwise she could go to the Eighteen Tribes and pretend to surrender." ”

"Are you the devil?" Finks sobbed again as he spoke, not knowing whether it was pain in his flesh or in his heart.

The young man smiled and pulled out a pocket from his arms, "Look what this is?" ”

Before Finks could open his pocket, he screamed, "I haven't eaten it in two years!" As she spoke, she reached out and grabbed a fruit and took a ferocious bite, the brown juice almost bursting her face.

"Look at your gluttonous appearance." The young man laughed, "People who don't know think you haven't eaten in ten years." ”

Finks just lowered his head and rattled to eat, ignoring him at all.

The young man sneered, "Since a few of the Tree Fruits have sent you away, I'll swallow that good thing." ”

"What's good?" Finks lifted his face full of pulp. Mira looked straight and frowned, and hurriedly wiped her clean with Maya.

The young man took out a long barrel wrapped in cloth from his bosom and handed it to Finks.

"What is this?" Curious, she rolled up the cloth and studied it, "This seems to be a telescope?" ”

The young man looked at her with a grin, "This is called 'twitter'......"

Before he could start pretending, Mira debunked the diorama, "The king of the unsmiling king clearly said 'sniper scope', which is mounted on a crossbow gun to shoot something far away." ”

"Don't laugh at me?" Tears welled up in the corners of Finks' eyes again.

The young man hurriedly gave Mira a look: "No, I didn't say. ”

But he forgot that although this athletic female general had a steel fork and a hundred shots, she couldn't understand her eyes by nature, so she just said to herself, "The king also said that the eighteen tribes are menacing, and it is too dangerous to detect at close range in the desert, and adding a telescope to her crossbow gun can increase the attack range......"

Finks barely jumped up and rolled on the bed with the sniper goggles.

"Are you...... Doesn't it hurt? The young man questioned.

Finks came back to his senses and curled up in a ball with his ass in his hands......

.

Let's turn our gaze away from poor Finks to the far-flung "Seed Wasteland", the territory of the Eighteen Tribes, the Seventeen Tribes to be exact.

At dusk, a tall bonfire ignites in the large ring in the center of the camp, and the light of the fire jumps between the endless sand dunes, casting deep shadows. Issam, the leader of the tribal alliance, stood in front of the large altar in the center in a robe of animal skins, waving the feathers of an eagle.

The other tribal leaders gathered around the circular altar, their faces smeared with dyes of various colors, and their mouths muttered ancient prayers and prayed reverently.

Seven or eight priests, dressed in ancient furs, feathered headdresses, and strange ornaments, danced wantonly, and shook mysterious ritual weapons in their hands. Their singing is like the sound of wind and sand, lingering in the night sky, and cannot be dispersed for a long time.

The bell rang, and as the bell rang, the Lord of Isam and the leaders of the other tribes began to walk around the altar. As he walked, he called out to the gods of the desert. The breeze blew, curling up the feathers in the air, and carrying them into the depths of the desert along with their voices.

The priests slowly lit the spices and threw them into the fire of the altar to the sound of ritual vessels. Suddenly, a thick puff of smoke rose and filled the air.

In the center of the altar, a scepter inlaid with a skull is inserted into the platform. Two soul stones are installed in the binocular position, and under the illumination of the flames, they reflect a strange light.

The leader of the Isam League held up his scepter in both hands, closed his eyes, and called out the holy names of his ancestors, hoping that they would be able to bless these descendants and win the victory in the face of the Red Pavilion.

In the midst of the prayer songs, the people are immersed in pious prayers. No one noticed that the sacrificial hands were quietly holding a handful of leaves.

Lost leaves.

The psychedelic leaves shimmered in the moonlight, and the priests seemed to deliberately avoid the eyes of the crowd and gently threw them into the altar.

The aroma rises and intertwines with the notes of other spices. The special aroma of the lost leaves soon spreads through the smoke and becomes imperceptible.

The priests were still singing, the Isam leaders were still praying with their eyes closed, and the leaders of the other tribes were immersed in prayer. They were unaware of the subtle change.

As time passed, the subtle aura released by those misty leaves gradually blended into the atmosphere of the sacrifice. Inadvertently, a warm feeling began to rise in everyone's hearts, and it seemed to make people feel inexplicably happy.

However, this psychedelic feeling did not attract too many people's attention. They continued to pray, and the singing became more and more passionate. The priests danced more and more vigorously, as if they were in contact with the gods.

And those lost leaves that have been quietly thrown into the altar are gradually playing a role, conveying subtle pleasure to the depths of people's hearts. It seems that the gods of the desert also heard their prayers and responded in such a strange way.

Gradually, the people of the tribe began to feel a wonderful lightness and pleasure, as if their bodies were light and their hearts were clearer. Their eyes blurred, smiles bloomed at the corners of their mouths, and an indescribable sense of happiness gradually spread.

In the blazing night wind, the tribesmen seemed to feel the call of the ancients, the wind and sand of the desert seemed to become gentle, and the starry sky twinkled overhead, as if to convey a wordless message.

Hallucinations, a hallucination gradually developed in front of their eyes.

It was as if seeing an ancient sight, in the middle of a vast desert, surrounded by ancient tents and magnificent tribes, and a great ancestor stood among them.

"Aye, it's the ancestor of Aye!" Someone screamed.

This visionary patriarch is dressed in a magnificent attire, and his eyes are full of love and protection. His gentle and kind voice seemed to ring in everyone's ears: "Brave sons and daughters, you are the guardians of the desert and the glory of your tribe. ”

All the tribesmen fell into this beautiful illusion, and some of them were already in tears, as if they really felt the presence of the ancestors, as if they were in contact with the ancestors.

Perhaps no one would have expected that all this was just an illusion brought by the misty leaves, and this short-lived dream might just be the beginning of a nightmare.

The Lord of Isam stood in front of the altar, his gaze distant and deep, apparently deeply intoxicated by the joy brought by this miscellaneous.

He solemnly raised his scepter, and a loud voice echoed in the desert night sky: "I have been guided by our great ancestors!" They signal in an illusion that victory is beckoning to us! We will win this war! ”

This sentence was like a pebble thrown into the surface of the lake, causing ripples. The tribal people present cheered, and they were infected by this fever, and their blood boiled and they cheered loudly.

"Let the glory of our ancestors bless us!" With the command of the Isam leader, the tribal warriors were ready to go. Huge battle flags fluttered in the wind, the troops lined up neatly, and the warriors wore armor and held various weapons, and the atmosphere was solemn and reverent.

The desert winds and sands seemed to stir for them, and the shamans, holding aloft their sacred staffs, continued to chant mystical incantations and continued to pray for the army as they marched to battle.

When the last incantation was chanted, the Isam Lord raised his hands and solemnly announced: "Go, warriors!" Fight for our ancestors and glory in the direction of victory! ”

The tribal warriors shouted in unison, forming a surging wave. They took advantage of the night to embark on a journey to challenge the Red Pavilion.

As the army slowly moved away, the camp gradually regained its tranquility under the cover of night, accompanied only by wind and sand and silence. Those tribesmen waiting in the camp looked in the direction of their relatives' departure, and their hearts were colder and more bitter than the desert at night.