Wan Shou's expression twisted with barely restrained fury.
"That fucking fatty, why is he the only one still breathing after dragging entire squads into battle?" he snarled.
"Kill him now. Tell someone to kill that unlucky bastard! And where the hell is Sha Qi?!"
Zu Min relayed the order without hesitation, though his gaze lingered on the battlefield a moment longer.
After reviewing the flow of combat, Zu Min's brow creased.
That fat demon wasn't just surviving.
He was consistently surviving.
Every march, every clash, everyone around him died, yet he remained, bruised at worst.
Lucky? No.
Unlucky? Also no.
That fatty was surviving in a way that felt… deliberate.
'This bastard can't even control his subordinates,' Zu Min thought coldly, instinctively pinning the blame on Wan Shou. After all, if anyone here deserved the title of most black-hearted, it wasn't the fatty.
It was Wan Shou.
The fatty's identity was… solid.
