Chapter 267 The Revenge of the Celtic People!

In a house built purely of rough rocks, a dim light was only the size of a bean, burning quietly. Through the faint light, a thin figure could be seen kneeling in the middle of the room.

An unknown statue with a face covered in darkness, occupying most of the room, stood in front of the figure, with its fangs and claws bared, and its appearance was hideous. It was definitely not some kind of universal good god.

This room seemed to be deliberately created to create a dark environment. Although it was bright outside, there was still only a tiny light swaying in it. Suddenly, from outside the room, there were slight footsteps, and then there was a knock on the door.

"Elder, everything is ready!"

Someone whispered outside the door, and his throat was like swallowing a piece of red-hot coal, with an indescribable hoarseness and sharpness.

"Are those strangers telling the truth?"

The kneeling figure gave an old voice.

"It's true."

The answer came from outside the door.

"Can you give the world endless pain and torture?"

The figure trembled slightly.

"Swear to the Dark Mother, what they get is definitely more than they imagined, and even more cruel!"

The voice coming from outside the door seemed to be filled with countless resentment and hatred.

No more sound came from inside the door, but the person standing at the door just waited respectfully. Not long after, there was a sudden creak, the door opened, and an old man in a black robe walked out.

"So what are you waiting for? It's their turn to taste the suffering suffered by the Cyrene people now!"

The old man in the black robe raised his head, revealing a face full of scars and ulcers. One eye was black, and only the other brown eyeball seemed to be emitting a terrifying power all the time.

If you want to select the most lasting emotion in this world, then to the surprise of many people, it will not be love, not family affection, not gratitude, or even loyalty and honor.

But hatred!

It will even be passed down from generation to generation with blood. As time goes by, it will not fade, but like a fine wine buried deep underground, it will become more mellow and rich.

"Haha, that's mine!"

"Stop him, don't let him run away!"

"Come chase me, you can't catch me!"

"."

Towards dusk, in an ordinary village in Moros, children wearing ill-fitting dirty clothes and messy hair were playing happily, snatching some broken toys and running around.

This is a village of Tatars, with about hundreds of people. They are a wandering people from a small country next to the Glory Federation. They have migrated here for centuries due to wars. However, due to their **** system, they have a natural resistance to the assimilation of other civilizations.

When the Cels ruled Moros, the Tatars refused to give up their beliefs and independence, and were strongly suppressed by the Cels. However, the situation changed. After the Cels were overthrown and lost power, their revenge was particularly fierce and cruel.

Now the number of Moros Cels is not even one-tenth of the peak. In addition to the war, these Tatars have made great contributions. Therefore, in the minds of the Cels, the first target to be attacked is them.

Swish, swish, swish!

Outside the fence of the village, there were suddenly dense footsteps, followed by the rustling of grass leaves being touched. Some figures in black robes gradually approached, and their faces and expressions could not be seen under the hoods.

However, the children who were still fighting for toys were all alert and screamed. Some lay outside the fence and looked at these black-robed people, while others ran quickly towards the village.

In the war environment, even naive children were forced to hone their extraordinary vigilance, especially some children who relied on their small size and saw the faces hidden in the hoods from bottom to top, and then swarmed into the village.

"It's the Cyrans!"

"The Cyrans are attacking!"

The iconic brown eyes, slightly curly hair, and angular faces compared to other ethnic groups made these children immediately recognize their nemesis.

Ding Ding Ding!

The big bell in the village rang immediately, and then there was a sudden uproar. Countless men took their weapons, followed by women and the elderly. Almost all of them rushed to the place where the Cels were attacking. Many people still held guns and weapons in their hands. Although they were worn out, their power should not be underestimated.

Just as the Cels hated the Tatas, the Tatas also hated the Cels. This hatred did not end with their wanton bullying and slaughter. On the contrary, in order to prevent the Cels from rising again, the Tatas would target almost every Cel they saw.

Hatred is something that no one would let go of unless one side was completely destroyed from the body to the spirit.

The Cels gathered outside the village did not do anything except quietly surrounding them. They just watched the Tatas arrive. There was nothing to say. The two ethnic groups had a deep blood feud. The Tatas rushed out almost instantly and attacked them.

In comparison, the Cels, who numbered no more than a hundred, seemed much thinner, like wood, quietly waiting for the Tatas to approach.

Some Tata people had already sensed something strange and felt something was wrong, but they still rushed forward with all their might. It was not until the one in front of them was less than a hundred meters away from the Sel people that these Sel people moved.

They took their hands out of their black robes, holding the transparent glass bottles that had been prepared long ago, and raised their heads to swallow the dark red liquid that looked like liquid and mist.

Bang!

The next moment, the Sel people standing in the front were hit on the head by the Tata people who rushed in first, waving iron rods. With a muffled sound, they fell to the ground, and blood and even brain matter flowed out of their eyes and noses.

"It's an old guy?"

The hood fell off, and the Tata people saw the old face and sparse gray hair underneath. His companions were like wolves and tigers, jumping over him and rushing towards other Sel people.

There was no begging for mercy, no screaming, these Sel people were like wooden stakes, allowing them to kill, so that in the end, the Tata people who were full of murderous intent and anger felt their hearts frightened, and their enthusiasm quickly cooled.

"This is a woman!"

"The same here!"

"They are all old people and women, and some disabled people!"

The exclamations kept coming out. The Tata people who were standing among the corpses and checking found that the Cyrans in black robes in front of them were all old people and women, and they looked at each other in surprise.

"Are these Cyrans crazy? Are they here to die?"

Someone in the crowd whispered softly, and suddenly his eyes lit up and found a corpse not far away, with his hands and feet twitching unnaturally.

"Great, there is another person pretending to be dead here!"

He took a steel fork and took two steps forward without hesitation, stabbing it into the other person's chest. Only then did someone around him react and complained: "You should have spared his life first and asked what happened!"

"In the end, you still have to kill him."

The man pulled out the steel fork carelessly, and suddenly he was stunned to find that his weapon was shiny and shiny. Obviously, it was well maintained, but this was not the point. The point was why there was no blood on the steel fork?

He suddenly remembered that in such a scene, the pungent smell of blood would make him unable to eat for several days after returning home, but today, he didn't smell anything!