As Xu Yunfan crouched on the roof of a supply wagon wiping the handle of his hammer, he casually slipped two bags of hemostatic powder into the bundle of a timid boy who was passing by, gathering scattered grain. The boy's shoulders, raw from carrying arrow crates, reminded him of the refugee who had died from the Incense and Candle Sect's poison pills outside Dingbei City in Wuzhou.
He had personally hammered the man to death.
From the thick smoke of a still-burning supply wagon in the distance, the sharp sound of heavy scale armor scraping together suddenly rang out.
Xu Yunfan wiped the rain from his face. The downpour was growing heavier, showing no signs of stopping.
He slowly stood up, the gilded handle of his Thunderfire Qilin Hammer growing faintly warm in his palm.
