A bright moon hung in the sky, illuminating the night. The bustling Tooth Tribe had also fallen quiet, with most people asleep while a few stood guard around the perimeter.
A group of people silently crept nearby, each dressed in black hooded robes like ghosts, an unnerving sight to behold.
After glancing around and confirming the situation, they began their assassinations.
Black shadows appeared before each guard. The daggers in their hands slit the guards' throats directly. The guards died without making a sound. Once the guards had been dealt with, shadow after shadow appeared, swiftly slipping into the tents.
Looking at the people sleeping soundly inside, the shadows showed no mercy. They used their daggers to cut their throats—men, women, young, old, not a single one was spared.
Blood spattered endlessly, some of it spraying directly onto the tents, while the stench of blood spread through the air. Some people noticed that something was wrong. The tribe had become far too quiet, and the smell of blood was thick in the air. They rushed out of their tents.
What they saw were people in black hooded robes, their daggers and sleeve swords drenched in blood. The tents had all fallen deathly silent, blood flowed from within, and splashes of blood stained the canvas. There was no need to say what had happened.
They stared in terror, unable to understand what was happening. Just as they tried to scream, black shadows lunged at them with lightning speed. Before a cry could leave their mouths, they were already dead.
When someone infiltrated the ugly man's tent, he jolted awake and sent that person flying with a punch before grabbing his axe and rushing outside.
The sight before him startled him, and he could not understand what had happened.
At that moment,