Survival for all, my island is the last pure land on earth.

In a forest within the dungeon game 'Primitive Tribe,' a fan-shaped procession of messengers is slowly making its way forward.

Leading the way were mushroom-shaped figures bound by props, with thick hemp ropes wrapped around their necks. These figures were held in the hands of the messengers behind them and driven forward like livestock.

The mushroom people were covered in wounds and walked with difficulty. Their once brightly colored caps had turned white and even grayish. Some of them were clearly exhausted and had fallen a few steps behind their companions.

A whip lashed out from behind, whistling as it struck the mushroom-man. Immediately afterward, a vicious voice rang out: "Hurry up, stop dawdling. Du Chuan, which tribe is he from? Tell the brothers, it's time to bleed those old bastards dry."

"Coordinates (545, 82, 91) have been communicated."

The mushroom man's muddled thoughts instantly cleared. He quickened his pace, then turned back, pleading somewhat ingratiatingly, "I'm just a little tired, it wasn't intentional. Could you please not hurt the elders in the tribe?"

The man laughed loudly at his companion: "It's almost dead, and it's saying it's just a little tired."

Then he turned around, his expression instantly changing, and lashed out with the whip again: "You think I'm easy to fool, huh?"

The man called Watari shouted from behind, "Zuo Er's wounds have all scabbed over and stopped bleeding. Where is the person in charge? What kind of job are they doing?"

A somewhat short figure stepped forward and quickly slashed several times on the mushroom man on the left, followed by a muffled groan from the mushroom man.

Watari: "I'll emphasize again, the blood of these natives is a great way to attract mutated beasts. You need to keep them in a state of bleeding. If I find anyone slacking off or taking pity on these natives, I'll use your blood to attract the mutated beasts. Do you understand?"

The reprimanded "messenger of God" loudly replied, "I understand!"

Having received a satisfactory reply, Du Chuan walked to the man's side: "Why are you always targeting that native? You've almost killed it. Let me make this clear: if we don't have enough natives to get to the next tribe, and those three adults blame us, I won't be able to protect you."

Lanranxing Chen said impatiently, "I know, I'll just stop targeting it. Once this one dies, give me the new one you caught."

"What did that person do to offend you this time?"

"The way they looked at me annoyed me. What's with this local brute acting all high and mighty? He dared to glare at me. I can't stand it."

"..." Watari sighed, "I'll give you one last time. If you die again, you can go to the outer group to fight mutated beasts."

Lanranxing Chen waved his hand dismissively: "I know."

Only the chiefs of each tribe of the Mushroom People can understand the language of Earth. Even so, when they see their own chiefs humbly pleading for something, they understand that the demons are threatening them with their own family members.

They were angry, but there was nothing they could do.

They weren't oblivious; they knew that if they died, there was no way the elderly and children left behind in the tribe would survive. But what if...?

They silently prayed for the mercy of a faint, insignificant god, placing all their hopes on their incomparably brave chieftain, Elon, hoping that he would know of their plight and save the entire race from peril. Even if he couldn't save them, it would be good if he could save the elderly and children.

But their hopes were dashed the next moment. As another severely wounded mushroom man fell, their chieftain appeared among the bait.

The gods still refuse to forgive them.

Some mushroom-men broke down on the spot. Since Eloun had also been captured here, what was there to say? They were going to die anyway, so wouldn't it be more satisfying to take a few others down with them?

The mushroom people looked at each other, full of ambition and ready to fight to the death, but fell silent after meeting Eloin's gaze.

This commotion amused Lanranxing Chen, who shouted at Du Chuan, "It looks like those damned natives were about to rebel!"

Watari glanced at it but didn't pay any attention.

The tools carried by the natives can greatly limit their fighting ability. If they really can't understand and rebel, it's just a matter of one strike.

The group marched forward in a grand procession, with messengers flying overhead from time to time, patrolling and issuing warnings five meters above the ground.

The Father of God watched the occasional minor friction below with utter boredom. He held a cigarette between two fingers, a scarlet flame flickering between them, and pale blue smoke drifted up his cheeks before dissipating into the cool air.

After a long silence, he spoke, his voice brimming with undisguised arrogance: "These natives are so fragile, what if they all die? It's a real headache."

No one answered his question, which annoyed him. He turned to look at a woman standing at a higher position.

The woman's figure was nimble and graceful, possessing the suppleness and agility unique to felines.

She was dressed in a black night outfit, her long, black hair was braided into two cat ears and then hung down, with a few strands falling at her temples and swaying slightly in the breeze.

God the Father: "Demon cat, I'm talking to you."

The demon cat glanced sideways at her. The corners of her narrow eyes were slightly upturned, and her pupils were a clear, inky black. She was smiling, but she always gave off an arrogant feeling, with an inherent sense of aloofness.

The Father of God felt a chill run down his spine under the demon cat's gaze: "What's wrong with you now?"

Demon Cat: "Didn't I say that smoking is forbidden where I am? Do you want to die?"

The messenger of God looked somewhat uneasy, stubbed out his cigarette, and tossed it aside casually: "I forgot."

The demon cat's smile deepened: "Have you forgotten, or have your injuries healed?"

The assassin said impatiently, "If you can't control your mouth, go slap yourself a couple of times. Smoking in the forest, you'll just die a reckless death."

The Father of God, angered by the two men's insults, retorted, "What? Want to fight?"

The assassin pulled his cloak tighter, pulled up his hood, and vanished from their sight in an instant: "Want to give it a try?"

The demon cat withdrew its gaze: "Two things. First, if you, you stinky man, do anything I don't like in front of me again, I'll chop you up and feed you to the dogs."

"Second, I have a feeling that the fish we want to catch is coming soon."

The Father of God opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by the demon cat: "Don't doubt the intuition of a feline."

She leaped lightly to God the Father's side, her voice carrying a hint of seduction, but her words were icy cold: "Just as I said before, you are destined to die in this instance."

............