"Ahhh—!"
Meng Zhao let out a piercing shriek. His body flew backward like a kite with a snapped string, crashing heavily onto the ground several zhang away and tumbling a few more times before coming to a stop.
The gruesome wound on his chest was still gushing blood, staining the earth beneath him a dark red.
He struggled to raise his head, his gaze fixed on the sight of Fang Han standing there, sword in hand.
His once-composed face was now a mask of absolute terror and disbelief.
'Escape!'
'I have to escape!'
It was the only thought left in Meng Zhao's mind.
Fighting through the intense pain in his chest, he slammed a palm on the ground, using the force to propel himself backward in a desperate retreat, trying to flee into the depths of the pine forest.
But how could Fang Han possibly give him that chance?
Grievously wounded, his speed was more than just a step slower.
