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Bam!
Xue Qiming’s fist slammed into Old Eight’s chest, sending him flying with a wretched scream.
Zhang Dongyun panted heavily, one knee on the ground, supporting himself with his sword. He glanced at Old Eight lying motionless, uncertain whether his brother was dead or alive, yet powerless to help. He was unable to save even himself at this point. Now, that blood-soaked youth had fixed his gaze upon him.
Zhang Dongyun now felt the bitter taste of defeat but had no way to voice it. From their first skirmish in the front courtyard, he had repeatedly confirmed that the bloody boy looming over him had no real combat training. That brat was only standing due to his body's strength.
Nevertheless, this brute strength was something they couldn't overcome. After a grueling battle, the boy had endured blade after blade, trading wound for wound until every one of Zhang’s men had been crippled. Any...
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