"Rumble!"
Above Rigra, thunder boomed like drums, and silver Snakes dissolved into clouds.
Rigra's rainy season had arrived.
The eagerly awaited season of Ten Thousand Pigs Crossing the River had also been underway for half a month.
All of Zhubala reeked of blood.
Even rain pouring down like a waterfall could not mask the bloody stench that saturated the land.
Blood had returned to this soil.
The mother had once again received the blood of her descendants.
She began to awaken.
The blood-soaked earth grew uncanny.
Rigra's true nature resurfaced.
All of Zhubala—no, all of Rigra—had become utterly uncanny under the soaking rain and blood. Even the shadows had come alive.
Rigra had become a living thing.
It began to reveal its true, man-eating nature.
Looking outward from here, one could see Rigra's boundaries beginning to writhe.
They kept pressing inward.
Fifth Uncle said to the Westerner's corpse on the ground, "Rigra is returning to its true form."
Like a grotesquely bloated pitcher.
It had eaten too much to digest.
Whether this change was good or bad...
"What a shame, what a shame. My nephew could have seen this too. Too bad he isn't here with me."
He took a puff of Cigar.
These past days, Fifth Uncle had sat coldly in the Stilt House, watching the slaughter below.
People killed wild pigs.
Wild pigs ate people.
Iron traps clamped down on the legs of Long-haired Warthogs weighing hundreds of pounds.
People whose innards had been eaten by wild pigs were not quite dead yet, and kept convulsing.
The wild pigs' bones were broken.
People died just as easily.
He watched wild pigs trample his banana and Rubber Plantation into ruins, destroying his property in one fell swoop.
Fifth Uncle felt no heartache over it. With no other choice, he