"And the so-called heroes," they tell those people that this world is gentle, to blind them from the true nature of this world, to strip them from the instincts of fighting for their lives."
"You, you're killing them!"
The youth was half-kneeling on the ground, his palm bracing against the rain-soaked earth.
Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, blending with the rain to stain his reflection with a blurred menace while the corpse beside him stared blankly at him.
The innkeeper spoke, Sword in hand, stepping forward slowly.
He stopped in front of Wang Anfeng, his thin sword raised in his palm, resting on Wang Anfeng's neck.
Yet Wang Anfeng made not a single move.
The innkeeper chuckled coldly and took a deep breath, thinking to himself:
A hero is better off the more he faces death.