His mind really was fried.
Even though those four monsters had already fled, the mountaintop was still in chaos. From the summit to the foot of the mountain, cries of misery rang out everywhere. The scene was horrific, and it even brought out the worst in people: they slaughtered and robbed one another, and the situation was impossible to control.
In the aftermath, eleven indigenous tribes had suffered heavy casualties. Even their chieftains hadn't escaped unscathed: three had died on the spot, half of the highly respected elders were gone, and two wizards had disappeared, most likely ending up in the monsters' stomachs.
Kari, chieftain of the previously most courageous Taqila Tribe, had unexpectedly managed to survive.
Although one of the monsters had slapped him flying, sending him soaring fifty or sixty meters through the air, he had landed in a pond. The water and mud had saved the chieftain's life.
The guard who had flown out with him hadn't been so lucky. He had crashed hard into a boulder, his body torn apart, his guts spilling out. He was dead beyond any doubt.
The Chinese and American convoys had all their lights on as they carefully made their way down the bumpy mountain road, passing through the chaos and heading for the foot of the mountain.
When they saw the Chinese military jeeps, the dark-skinned locals—already unable to distinguish friend from foe and lost in a frenzy—still had some fear of the Chinese Tribe's wizards. They didn't dare make a move, allowing the convoy to descend the mountain without trouble.
The two vehicles that the monsters had slapped away like toys earlier were completely wrecked.
But not a single person inside had died on the spot. Their seat belts had saved their lives. They had suffered injuries of varying