The slender figure running dared not even glance back at this mont.
Under the stars, what had he just seen!
The Black Wood Cannon Beasts were severed at the waist one after another, the blood splashing several ters high.
The sound of bodies hitting the ground heavily entered his ears like a demonic lody, involuntarily painting his mind with those extrely bloody scenes.
And what had he seen with his astonishing eyesight right after that?!
The Udan Spearman’s guardian threw their spears three tis in succession... annihilated!
All that could be heard were faint and abruptly halted screams.
From start to finish, he hadn’t seen who the enemy was, whether it was a single person or a team that attacked that hill.
But what was certain was that the enemy’s strength was unimaginably powerful!
The enemy’s thods were equally unimaginably bizarre!
Can’t watch anymore... can’t watch.
He had a premonition that if he didn’t escape faster, he would probably be targeted next.
He, Basham, didn’t want to die... he still had many ambitions to be achieved through the Young Clan Chief.
The information here, once revealed to Izewende, would be a massive rit.
Heavily panting...
His chest heaved violently like a bellows, Basham’s nimble body moved through the dense grass like a graceful night cat.
Rustle... rustle...
A faint sound entered his eardrums.
At first, Basham didn’t pay it any mind, thinking it was the sound of his own running.
But just a second later, all his hair stood on end!
No, this wasn’t his own footsteps at all.
In the mont he pondered, a black shadow suddenly flashed from his side.
The speed was so fast that he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been completely focused.
But in that instant, Basham made a decision, twisting his waist and lunging to the left.
[Rapid Avoidance].
This sudden change of direction was even more agile than a leopard.
At this mont, Basham had none of the dominance he had in the White Armor Tribe.
Just from this escape thod, one would hardly believe that he casually caught a punch from the White Armor Clan’s Clan Leader Isaiah.
The dominance he once showcased in the tribal leader’s tent was utterly gone.
"Leaving just like that... without even saying goodbye?"
With a thud, Basham drove his right foot spike into the mud, abruptly stopping, looking forward with a face full of horror.
About five ters in front of him, a figure was standing with the right arm extended horizontally.
The stance completely indicated a leisurely wait for him.
His excellent night vision allowed him to see the exquisite dark gold patterns on the opponent’s armor.
Those complex yet violently beautiful patterns must belong to so ancient totem.
The joint jewels, like night pearls, constantly exuding a ghostly green luster, only amplified this sense of mystery infinitely.
Only a pair of emotionless cold eyes were exposed under the icy face armor.
The words, half mocking, half taunting, ca from within the opponent’s face armor.
[He... didn’t even realize how the opponent appeared.]
Chewing on this realization, Basham’s face turned increasingly grim.
The opponent’s concealnt surpassed even those Udan Spearman who moved like wild cats.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"I’m just trying to get by, must you make it difficult for ?" Basham suddenly spoke coldly.
Mu Fan’s eyes finally moved... narrowing slightly.
Basham’s left hand, which was behind his back, clenched and unclenched, his entire body tense, yet the opponent didn’t launch an attack.
This was a comparatively good signal.
At least the other party didn’t seem intent on killing him for sure.
He was undergoing a fierce internal conflict.
Firstly, evaluating the opponent’s strength, perpetually speculating on the outco of their confrontation.
Secondly, planning his escape route.
Basham’s eyes were locked onto Mu Fan’s, but the corners of his eyes continued to bring the surrounding scenes into his field of vision.
Eagle-like eyes were naturally stronger than those of other creatures.
"You’re the only one left in your team, right?"
Mu Fan had barely spoken when it shocked Basham into nearly acting.
But his mustache twitched repeatedly, and he forcibly suppressed the urge to strike.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about! If you don’t move, I’ll attack!" Basham spoke sternly, while his left hand on his waist drew out a white bone scimitar with a blood groove.
From confrontation to speaking, Basham’s actions remained consistently steady.
Or more accurately, this was what he had prepared to do all along.
Everything was laying the groundwork for the final strike.
Mu Fan blinked, looking calmly at Basham. The suddenly still air made the hair on Basham’s arms stand uncontrollably.
"What, you want to..."
"Oh." Mu Fan interrupted Basham casually, then turned his ear as if listening to the surrounding noises. "So, you’re the last one."
Last one?
Are you even listening to ?
What does this irrelevant response an?
However, Mu Fan offered no further explanation.
In an instant, Basham felt the hair on the back of his head rise.
For a mont, he even sensed the breath of death.
Not good, the opponent is about to strike!
Basham quickly swung forward the white bone scimitar his left hand had pulled out.
Swift as a hare, rapid as thunder.
These were the best words to describe Basham in this mont. Even Isaiah hadn’t expected such explosive power hidden within Basham’s slender body.
The white bone scimitar sliced through the air without a sound, but a faint shockwave could be seen spreading outward.
The warriors on this planet possessed strength far surpassing those of the Galaxy Federation’s Martial Artists.
At the mont of swinging the blade, the curved blade had already reached the face.
I can kill him...
Just as this thought arose in his mind, Mu Fan moved.
Mu Fan’s eyelids lifted again.
Then, in Basham’s frightened gaze, the armored figure before him distorted and faded into the air.
Whoosh!
The scimitar sliced through the air, but hit nothing.
Basham’s eyes widened.
He had anticipated all possible scenes, even imagined the opponent breaking his arm with a club.
But he had never imagined this scenario.
Where’s the enemy?
To the left!?
Basham turned his head sharply.
No one...
To the right!?
No one either...
Then could it possibly be...
Crunch.
Suddenly, a crisp cracking sound erupted.
Followed imdiately by a piercing pain shooting to his brain.
Basham looked forward in terror.
You saw a hand encased in dark gold armor gripping his wrist.
A figure stood clearly right in front of him.
Clearly, where he had just sliced through thin air... now there was soone there...
He wanted to question, but the excruciating pain made him open his mouth only to unleash an agonizing howl: "———Ah!"
Mu Fan’s fingers were like daggers, gripping fiercely.
Bone pierced skin, blood exploded in his palm.
Basham’s left wrist was instantly crushed!
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