A group of people slowly entered the small town.
The town was rather simple and not very large.
A path of bluestone more than four meters wide cut the whole town in half.
It was just getting dark, with smoke curling up from the town, and it was quite peaceful.
Fang Zhixing and his companions walked down the street, moving forward.
On both sides of the street ahead, a row of iron forks abruptly appeared, stuck into the ground.
Atop the iron forks were impaled corpses, skewered from their behinds and out their mouths.
There were a total of sixteen bodies, men and women, old and young, all stripped of their clothes, completely naked.
Some of the bodies were dripping with fresh blood, while others were already stinking, crawling with maggots.
Fang Zhixing glanced over and saw brands on the chest of the bodies.
The brand formed blurred writing that read: "Death to cultists!"
Fang Zhixing raised his eyebrows, curiously asking, "Does Qian State also have many cultists?"
"Yes!"
