Wang Fengyang barely managed to take a few more steps forward, but he collapsed to the ground with a "thud" like a drunkard, feeling in his limbs fading rapidly, and his blood beginning to cool at an alarming speed.
His eyes, close to the ground, saw clearly the scene in the distance.
On the road he came from, Martial Artists lay fallen all over the place.
Almost everyone had collapsed on this path, near or far.
And at an even further distance, at the exit, stood a bald muscular man brandishing a sword and shield.
The bald muscular man swiftly slaughtered the Martial Artists who barely escaped to the exit, his methods as ruthless as slaughtering chickens.
Wang Fengyang's eyes rolled unwillingly, wanting to see more clearly.
He knew he had fallen.
But he was not reconciled.
At the very least, he wanted to see clearly, he wanted to die with his eyes closed.
And suddenly, those rolling eyeballs stopped.
