Hualala——
The villagers poured water on the last fire spot, and the carbonized beams made a puff and steamed slightly pungent white smoke.
However, compared with the strong smell of blood around...
It doesn't matter whether it's pungent or not.
The atrocities of the Apostle of Lacquer Ice have ended, and the survivors have gathered again near the altar. There are almost no wounded because Mr. Ken has healed them all with his "secret technique".
The cold wind blew up the fur and ear hooks.
The rows of corpses were placed on the winter pines, and the firewood piles formed a certain pattern, which was said to guide the souls of the dead to the arms of the Winter Mother.
The villagers took off the clothes of the dead.
According to the old custom of the Sandonkaya people, they would bury them together with the ashes in the graves at the foot of the mountain.
Kuima sat there with his eyes blank, his weapon was placed at his side, he propped up one leg, put his elbow on it, and stared blankly.
At the huge funeral, a vigorous and powerful fire was ignited.
The flames gathered into a tornado, circling high into the sky. The heat waves washed the air and brushed past everyone. The light even faintly overwintered the late winter sun, casting shadows on people's tired faces.
With the end of the attack, the villagers should have started to rebuild and clean up.
But now, there are less than twenty Sandonkaya people gathered here, and there are no more complete houses around.
Migrate...
Refuge...
Leave forever...
Embark on a journey of escape...
Various sounds came into his ears, and Kuima wanted to avoid them, but his mood became heavier, so that he had to actively drive his lungs to breathe.
Da, da, da.
The short roar beasts were loaded with goods and ran along the already damaged village road.
The Hanqi brothers got off the car one by one. The vicious long-haired tribe saw the occasion clearly and did not make some extreme remarks that would infuriate both people and gods, but also expressed regret appropriately.
The crowd looked at each other.
They are now quite sensitive. This panic is not only about strangers, but also about the confusion of the future.
The tribal warrior stood up and stepped forward, and the ladies stepped back and hugged subconsciously.
"It's okay," Kuima blocked the crowd. When he left with the Hanqi brothers, he felt an inexplicable sense of relief from escaping, and said with a wry smile. "I thought you had left."
"Oh my God, your words are really harsh. The Wasteland Porters have always been an honest and trustworthy large business association."
Han returned to his nature after the funeral.
Although the villagers were far away from the cargo box, everyone's eyes were focused on the giant named "Qi".
To be precise, they all looked eagerly at the corpse of the Bamenro wild boar.
The women and children looked hungry, and everyone couldn't scrape out much fat in their stomachs. After such a high-pressure and terrifying night, hunger became a demon in front of them.
Two tribal warriors approached Kuima and interrupted their conversation.
"This, this prey... Gudong."
He was halfway through his speech when his saliva almost flowed out. He pretended to cough twice and turned his head to hide his embarrassment.
These people are all Kuima's elders.
"Take it off first, but please don't touch it first." Kuima said, "To be honest, this prey belongs to Mr. Ken, including the deer and the damned Cangcuo snake..."
The villagers who were listening were horrified.
Several warriors and hunters thought of Ken's bravery last night and felt that they could understand it. Soon, only awe remained in their hearts.
Han was silent.
Except for the children hiding behind the legs of adults, no one noticed him. In comparison, the honest and simple Qi was more eye-catching.
He glanced at the crowd and asked, "Why didn't I see Mr. Ken?"
...
South side of Santonkaya Village, near the fishing ground.
Ken sat at the entrance of the cave. The morning breeze blew up the snow and sand on the sea surface that had been frozen for many years. The cliffs at the estuary were hidden in the fog that never dissipated.
Seabirds and flying monsters cast shadows from time to time.
"The funeral is almost over."
He closed his eyes and looked up, speaking in a flat tone.
The wind was stronger, and the ends of his hair were flying.
Not far behind Ken, Joan was leaning against the wall. Her red eyes were dull and dull. After hearing this, they became moist again.
She had seen the bodies after the altar was dedicated.
But no matter what, the pile of "debris" placed in the middle of the firewood still deeply hurt her heart.
"Joan, listen." Ken continued. "I believe those ladies must have told you that this village should be completely abandoned."
He paused and heard a movement from behind.
Without looking back, you can imagine how Joan buried her head and hugged herself.
"Must we go?"
Her voice was a little muffled, hidden in her clothes, and she tried to make it clear.
"Maybe."
Ken looked into the distance, nodded, and his eyes were deeply immersed in the snow and fog.
Below the horizon, a storm might be brewing on the invisible sea.
"The village is underpopulated, and there is not enough labor for repairs." His tone was still very calm, as if he had never been emotional in front of others.
"Last night was just an outpost, and we don't know how many people there are in this lacquered ice apostle. When the other party finds a problem, they will sweep along the route at any time."
He relayed all the difficulties he could think of.
Every word was like a sharp spear, blocking the future of Sandon Kaya. The pressure of leaving home fell like an avalanche, and no one could breathe.
"Every time, I survived."
Qiong spoke in a low voice, not a rebuttal, but more like talking to herself.
"There is no one in the Sandon Kaya tribe who can complete the sacrifice."
Mother Winter seemed to have lost the right to come here.
This is what Ken felt himself. In Palotus, where the faith is complex, if the old gods cannot respond to prayers, this place will completely become a "no man's land".
"Jon."
He turned sideways, with no joy or sadness in his amber pupils.
"You are not from the North. If you really embark on the migration, this kind of southern face is not very popular."
Ken seemed to have thought it through long ago.
"There is a driver in the village now. I can take you to the camp under the high wall and find a job that can last."
He said it a little far away, trying to give this poor child some hope.
"Whether you settle there or want to continue to go south to the countries, it will be more suitable than staying in the North."
"What about you? I mean, what are your plans."
Jon looked up to show respect, but her face was really bad. She smiled tiredly and asked: "Where do you want to go, what kind of person do you want to be, and what kind of life do you want to shoulder?"
Ken was a little speechless.
He suddenly realized the reason why he was so calm—he had no ties, no memories, no burdens and no goals.
"I haven't thought about it yet."
"Okay, but it will be great. You are brave, but I am different..." Joan's tone also became calm, and she reached out to brush away her slightly rough hair due to malnutrition.
She patted the mud on the farmer's skirt and murmured to herself: "I sincerely wish you a good future."
"But I will stay here."