Unfortunately, before feelings of irreparable regret could rise in their hearts, Death's blade had already harvested their souls clean.
The jungle, deathly silent only moments ago, instantly turned into a clamorous, bloody slaughterhouse.
Dozens of ratfolk warriors were decapitated or even torn limb from limb at the first instant, ripped into bloody chunks by dire wolves.
Even more ratfolk warriors suffered snapped tendons and shattered bones, blood spraying wildly as the arms clutching their blades were severed from their bodies and flung high into the air.
More importantly, their carefully disguised formation was utterly smashed apart by the Wolf Clan elite descending from the sky.
Everyone fell into the desperate plight of fighting alone, scattered like loose sand.
Of course, these ratfolk warriors who faced death without flinching were unwilling to meet their Rat God empty-handed.
The enormous amount of slaughtering information forcibly implanted deep into their brains last night now played a crucial role.
Many ratfolk warriors' minds were still immersed in the endless dream, unable to extricate themselves from over a hundred brutal battles.
One consequence of their brain cells running at overload was that they could no longer distinguish dreams from reality, or even survival from death.
The thick stench of blood activated a "switch" deep in their minds, making them hazily believe that everything before them was merely another nightmare.
Then, just as in the hundreds of nightmares they had endured last night, they would become demons within the nightmare and slaughter to their hearts' content!
With that thought, the ratfolk warriors quickly came to their senses, shaking off the fear brought by the wolf howls. Their eyes turned crimson, foam spilled from their mouths, and waves of hot air gushed from their nostrils. Like killing machines on the verge of exploding, they pounced at the