Mo Ling felt a little embarrassed by the little person's words.
He hadn't really done anything. Compared to the races that had struggled on the island for two thousand two hundred years, all he had done was use his permissions to delete a few accounts.
Everything had simply fallen into place.
"The Chali Race won't interfere with the development of the new Fishmen anymore, will they?"
"Of course not."
Mo Ling shook his head helplessly. The new Fishmen were the greatest victims of the island's conflicts.
The fate of their entire race had been manipulated by others.
Both the fish swarm and the Chali Race had been using the new Fishmen to achieve their own plans.
Suffering always befalls the weak.
Day after day, they were trapped on this island, unaware that their lives were merely part of someone else's plan, unaware of the two crushing burdens hanging over their heads.
"What do you plan to do about the new Fishmen?" Mo Ling asked curiously.
