Lowell Camp.
The recent heavy rain had washed the bloodstains lingering in the mud into puddles by the roadside, with the fragrance of earth carrying an undispersing scent of blood.
However, the people here seemed to have long been accustomed to death, to the point where the blood that stained the streets appeared almost trivial.
In front of the gate blasted open by the 100mm cannon, a crowd of poor onlookers had gathered thickly.
Among them were residents from the nearby streets, newly-rescued slaves, and the militias of the First Corps of the Avengers Alliance standing guard at the camp's entrance.
At this moment, at the center of the crowd, stood ten militiamen.
Their arms were tied with white gauze to identify them, and their hands were bound behind their backs with plastic strips. However, their facial expressions varied greatly—some showed anger, others indifference, some defiance, and others a nervous hesitation, sensing imminent disaster.
