They didn't even realize how they gradually walked from the Land of Freedom into this encirclement.
As expected, most of the giants had reached the valley's center, where thirteen rolling "soup pots" were heaped.
They swung their clubs wildly, crazily fighting for them. Many individuals bit and tore at each other, and even a blue-eyed, thick-armored type was knocked over by two fellow tribesmen by the pot, its head crushed into the stone ground.
The red-striped giant at the center roared in madness, stomping a slightly smaller fellow to death with one foot.
Then it sat down by the soup pot, audaciously reaching out to stuff the searing meatballs by the pot into its mouth, ignoring the hot oil dripping down its chin.
Just right… almost there.
On the cliff, Louis slowly raised his right hand, gloved in black.
The flag bearer stood behind him, the deep red command flag in hand unmoving.
In the next moment, Louis clenched his five fingers.
Swish—
