"Wrong answers!"
The voice was low and cold, with sinister killing intent that filled the kneeling traitors' hearts with bone-deep fear.
"Tell me where your camp is."
With two examples made, the remaining traitors didn't dare answer directly. They buried their heads in the sand, shaking like leaves.
Carlos impatiently waved his hand.
"Crack!"
Blood splattered, and another head rolled to the ground, scaring these traitors into panicked pleas for mercy:
"My lord, spare us! I really don't know!"
"Every time the boss leads us in blindfolded!"
"My lord, please spare my life!"
"..."
Carlos was getting ticked off. This group of small fry knew nothing. He kept waving his hand.
"Crack!"
"Crack!"
One bloody head after another rolled to the ground. Hot blood soaked into the sand, giving off a thick smell of blood under the sun's rays.
The temperature gradually rose, but the chill in the remaining people's hearts only got worse.
