Before Meng Chao could figure out a way to sneak into the abandoned sewage pipes,
the battlefield gradually shifted toward the Slums.
All the ratfolk huddled in the Slums ran out.
Clan Warriors possessed a kind of self-righteous sense of honor.
Under normal circumstances, they would not directly slaughter ratfolk for amusement.
Especially not in a grand competition like Brave Man's Game, held to honor the ancestral spirits and steeped in ritual.
Clan Warriors would not proactively, directly, deliberately target ratfolk.
Lest they be mocked by others and punished by the ancestral spirits.
But clearly, neither would they make a point of avoiding ratfolk or care whether any particular ratfolk lived or died.
In the eyes of Clan Warriors, their blood boiling and Battle Intent soaring wildly, ratfolk were little more than obstacles like crumbling walls or garbage bins.
They could also be grabbed and hurled at opponents as flying projectiles.
The ratfolk living in this area had originally been curled up inside cramped, crude shacks, trembling in fear.
But their thin walls, leaking wind from every side, were merely fences plastered with mud.
Some did not even have mud, only scraps of cloth barely covering them.
They obviously could not withstand the flashing blades, clashing weapons, and sweeping killing intent of the Clan Warriors.
Whether Boar People or Minotaurs, they were terrifying beings over two meters tall and weighing more than three hundred jin.
If they also carried some Brute Elephant Tribe blood, growing beyond four or five meters and nearing a ton in weight was nothing unusual.
Even if such behemoths truly bore no "malice," a light brush against something would be enough to send the ratfolk shacks crashing down, smashing the ratfolk within until their tendons snapped, bones broke, and flesh turned to pulp.
It had to