On a stretch of red earth near the coastline outside Sailport.
A dozen or so Velanders carried rifles, smoking as they watched the people digging pits in the distance.
There were men, women, elderly people, and even children who looked quite young.
Clearly, the Velanders had no intention of measuring their height by wheel. They had chosen the most impartial method instead.
Clutching shovels, they trembled and sobbed as they lowered their heads and dug into the blood-red soil.
Though most of them knew perfectly well whom these pits were for, not a single one dared to stop.
After all, cooperating meant they could live a little longer.
If they stopped, they would get a vicious beating before they died.
As for resisting...
These Velanders were practically hoping they would.
After all, shooting unarmed people still came with a certain amount of guilt.
"Work hard, mudbugs! The sooner you finish, the sooner you can lie down in there and rest! Hahaha!"
Pacing along the edge of the crowd, a fierce-looking Velander soldier cursed viciously with his rifle in hand, making no effort to conceal the humiliation in his words.
Hearing that curse from the depths of hell, the people with their heads lowered shuddered uncontrollably, and their muffled sobs became impossible to suppress.
At last, someone could no longer hold on. His vision went dark, and he collapsed to the ground.
Only when he saw the Velander soldier striding toward him did he, half-conscious, reveal a look of terror. He rolled over, knelt on the ground, and begged.
"Sir... I'm hungry... could you... let me eat something before I keep digging?"
"Hungry? Then eat." The soldier grabbed his head and pressed it into the ground like he was catching a loach, snarling, "It's all over the ground. You want me