Thirty minutes after the death of the bulb and old woman, with the help of other players the cabin quickly became clean enough for people to rest in.
The dead corpse thrown outside became part of the scenery of emotionless sandy hills as the blow of light wind gradually covered away the aftermath of the battle. Players, blood, vines, and everything else slowly diminish into nothing alike the cold reality of their circumstances.
Each survival means another scar riddled on their bloody soul. Whether known or unknown in the consciousness of each person's thoughts.
It's just another normal day.
Left with twenty less than before, the fifty or so number of players rested in the cabin surrounded by an air of solemnity.
Some leaned against the wall with their weapon in hand while others sat on the floor in a half awakened state.
A faint scent of iron permeated the interior from the wide injuries sustained from the players.
