Xia Nan could kill tangible monsters, but he was powerless against the invisible monsters in the villagers' hearts.
Faced with the old village chief's death, and the Sacrifice Ritual that Aspen said was over forever, the villagers' reaction was something he had never anticipated.
They did not feel anger at their leader's death, nor did they show joy at being freed from the shackles called the "Sacrifice Ritual."
Time seemed to freeze.
The dense crowd pressed together like flock after flock of frightened lambs huddling tight, staring in shock at the elderly man who had served as village chief for decades but could now only twitch as he lay in a pool of blood, and at the experienced hunting captain who held a longbow and possessed considerable prestige in the village as well.
The first thing to sound was a short, sharp inhale.
But after the dead silence was broken, what followed was an even more suffocating panic, thick and sticky as a mire.
Xia Nan could feel the villagers' confusion and helplessness.
He also clearly sensed those almost instinctive reactions when they fully processed what had happened before their eyes:
An old woman suddenly yanked her bewildered granddaughter behind her, as if doing so could completely separate the child from the people in the field. A lean middle-aged man tightened his grip on the farming tool he was using as a weapon, his gaze wary, his slight steps backward seeming to draw a clear line between himself and Xia Nan's group—
Murmurs and whispers quietly spread through the crowd:
"They—killed the village chief—"
"The ritual wasn't completed. Will disaster—"
"Outsiders—should never have—"
There were no cheers, nor any thanks.
Born of fear, the deeply rooted, almost instinctive understanding of the Sacrifice Ritual that had been passed down through generations