The game has become a real alternate world

Gray Mountain Range.

Somewhere in the northern mid-mountain forests.

Eric rode his War Sheep, leading his team on a patrol.

"Previously, a sentry reported seeing Goblin traces here," said a Dwarf.

Hearing this, Eric couldn't muster any enthusiasm, and said irritably and helplessly, "It's too boring, those Goblins, they're too weak.

There's no meaning in fighting, it's just slaughter, sigh.

Forget it, let's go in and clean up first. When we return, I have to find someone to take my place, I'm about to be sick of killing these Goblins."

No one among the surrounding Dwarves refuted Eric's complaints; instead, they all nodded in agreement.

They couldn't help it; they shared the same feelings.

Killing Goblins always ended in screams and fleeing Goblins. And the Goblins' counterattacks were so feeble, they couldn't feel any fighting passion, not even any emotional fluctuation.

They were like workers clearing weeds, waving their scythes mercilessly. How could it be interesting over time? Only emptiness and boredom were left.

What they wanted was battle, passionate battle.

However, as they sat on their War Sheep, the moment they charged in, all the Dwarves almost simultaneously pulled on the reins, halting all the sheep abruptly.

As the War Sheep stopped, the Dwarves on them all wore solemn expressions, looking serious.

"The scent of blood, such a strong scent of blood, it's those damned Goblins," Eric said solemnly.

There was nothing they could do; during this period of Goblin clearing, they were almost soaked in Goblin blood.

They definitely wouldn't mistake this smell, much less such a strong one.

Although Goblins' blood has a distinct difference from fresh blood, the smell of blood itself doesn't differ much; it's that same scent, only more easily recognizable.

All the Dwarves alerted themselves and dismounted, leading their War Sheep as they cautiously moved toward the direction the blood scent came from.

As they walked deeper into the forest, the bloody scent became more intense.

Intense enough to make one nauseous.

When they got close and saw the scene ahead, even these Dwarves couldn't help but widen their eyes in shock at the sight before them.

Their War Sheep, being led, also began uneasily pawing at the ground with their hooves, occasionally tugging on the reins.

As if urging these Dwarves to leave quickly.

These War Sheep were already brave creatures.

Eric soothed his War Sheep, crouching down with it.

All the Dwarves did the same, given their height, it was easy for them to hide among the surrounding weed heaps.

Not far away, there were traces of a Goblin Tribe, and around, you could see those plant and thatched huts the Goblins had just moved into and built.

However, at this moment, it had already turned into a scene of Purgatory inside.

Even to the Dwarves, it was something that could be called a Purgatory.

Bodies hung from branches, so many that the trees bent under their weight.

From the shape of these bodies, it seemed they had once been Goblins.

But now their Goblin form couldn't be seen because their skins had been completely flayed off, revealing the grayish-white and blood-streaked flesh beneath.

They were like flayed frogs, hanging upside down from trees.

From the smoothness of the skin, you could tell these people had an extremely skilled method, just like butchers proficient in their craft.

These Goblins were slashed with wounds, these wounds seemed to align with their vascular patterns.

Causing the special slightly green-tinged blood of Goblins to drip down their flayed bodies.

The dripping blood fell from the neck area, hitting the ground.

Because the bodies ended only with their necks.

All the bodies were headless.

Slightly shifted vision.

In the center of the Goblin Tribe.

All the Goblins' heads were neatly arranged into a small mountain.

The carefully placed heads had all their facial expressions facing outward.

Even from the ugly faces of Goblins, you could see their agony and fear.

Pain and fear had even twisted their faces.

This was a scene, even for Eric and the Dwarves who had been continuously clearing Goblins, that shocked them at heart.

Although they had slaughtered far more Goblins, they had never tortured Goblins like this.

They simply killed them in one strike during battle, then piled up the bodies and burned them in one swoop.

This was war, a life-or-death war.

But now? Before them lay the scene of a slaughterhouse.

The Goblins seemed to have been thrown into a factory specially designed for butchering livestock.

Every Goblin had been meticulously handled.

But Goblins, though an evil race, still had intelligence, and were not livestock, nor animals.

This scene sank deeply into Eric and the Dwarves' iron pores, forcing a chill through their hard-skinned bodies.

One of the Dwarves even shivered from the chill, wiping the sweat from his forehead.