Xu Xiaoyou glanced at the blue-haired girl whose chest was slightly heaving; she hadn't expected Tang Xin to act so decisively just now.
"It's the Puppet Master," Xu Xiaoyou immediately judged.
Reflecting on the girl's earlier words and linking them with the strange sensation felt upon entering the settlement, it was just as she initially thought; most of the refugees here have likely become puppets.
A windstorm swirled dark clouds, the gloomy and dusky layers roiled endlessly, a dazzling lightning bolt erupted on the horizon, illuminating the scene outside the house, making Tang Xin instinctively take a step back.
Outside the house stood the silhouettes of countless refugees, who at some point had appeared. Most looked no different than usual, with peculiar smiles on their faces, holding various sharp tools like sharp axes, machetes, and flat-bladed sickles.
