The scene inside was just too brutal; each of the indigenous people's corpses was riddled with bullet holes, their blood drenching the entire ground and attracting swarms of flies to feed on the wounds as if the blood were some kind of delicious syrup. Even Ye Wudao could hardly bear to look.
"Your people are dead, killed by those outside. They won't get up again." Still, Ye Wudao went over, dragged the indigenous man out, and told him so, regardless of whether the man could understand him or not.
The indigenous man seemed very agitated, and it took Ye Wudao a great effort to pull him out of the thatched hut. Anyone who saw this scene would feel uncomfortable, and Ye Wudao was no exception.
Luckily, he had just finished off those people with his life-sealing flying needles. Ye Wudao had felt a bit guilty earlier, wondering if he had been too cruel to deal lethal blows, but now he wished he had been even more ruthless.
