Chapter 117: The Works of the Locals

Standing alone in the living room,

Ronald could faintly smell the aroma of roasted meat that emanated from the corpse in front of him.

Under the relentless assault of "brutal" force, the will-less blacksmith had been roasted through and through, dead beyond any doubt.

Ronald calmed his mind and carefully sensed the situation.

Without a doubt, there was one more suffering soul in the River of Blood.

However, this event didn't bring any immediate increase in strength to him; rather, it felt like a natural progression.

To put it in an analogy, it was like a person who had stockpiled plenty of food in a warehouse; only in an emergency would the stored goods reveal their irreplaceable function.

In normal times, there was no special feeling at all.

"Ah—"

Ronald sighed and carelessly tossed the chair he was holding onto the ground.

Crack—

The pitiful wooden chair shattered on impact, completely falling apart.