VingadorVVX

  Fang Mo was surprised by how resolute the merchant was. Despite the heavy financial loss he stood to suffer from the bandit attack, he still chose to flee at the first sign of danger, abandoning all his merchandise. Most people would hesitate and cling to hope, only to lose their chance to escape entirely.

  As for the merchant’s morals in using his passengers as shields, Fang Mo wasted no time judging the fat man’s actions. His own escape pn was no better. Just two meters ahead, a woman y dead with an arrow embedded in her head. Beside her corpse, a boy of about eleven sobbed uncontrolbly.

  His cries were soon silenced by another arrow pnted directly into his neck. His death was neither quick nor painless, he choked on his own blood before finally dying. The boy was clearly well-fed and didn’t look like he came from a humble family. One might even wonder why this pair of mother and son was risking their lives to travel through a war zone. Like Fang Mo, were they also on the run?

  But Fang Mo didn’t care about their circumstances. As soon as the boy died, he kicked off the ground and dashed toward the body. With all the strength he could muster, he lifted the corpse and raised it high without stopping running. Three arrows flew in his direction, but he was prepared.

  With hurried but precise movements, he used the boy's body as a shield. The excessive fat absorbed the impact, trapping the arrows in his belly. Blood spttered across Fang Mo’s face, but his body remained uninjured. After blocking the shots, Fang Mo tossed the body aside and sprinted away from the carriage, heading toward a nearby forest.

  More than ten bloodied corpses of passengers lined the path. The number would have been even higher if the bandits had started their ambush at the rear of the convoy instead of the front, where most of the guards were stationed.

  The fat merchant had a head start, but running was not his forte. Less than ten seconds passed before Fang Mo was nearly overtaking him. From behind, he saw the merchant drenched in sweat, his round belly bouncing with every desperate step. It would be comical—if it weren’t for the bloodied people chasing after them.

  "Kill them!" one of the bandits shouted and ran after the fugitives. Three others followed close behind.

  Even worse was the sound Fang Mo heard next—barking. Damn it, of course they have dogs.

  Fang Mo ran up beside the merchant and whispered, "Thanks for the help, pal." Before the merchant could make sense of the words, a fsh of silver slipped from beneath Fang Mo’s robes and sliced across the man’s leg.

  Fang Mo wasn’t strong, but he was precise. With one ssh, he severed the femoral artery. Blood spurted out like a fountain, spshing the nearby trees and making the merchant stumble.

  "You son of a bi—" The curse died on his lips as a dog the size of a German Shepherd lunged and cmped down on his throat, ending his life in an instant.

  Fang Mo didn’t look back. He kept running. His skinny, nimble body allowed him to pass several others up ahead. When being chased by a beast, you didn’t have to outrun the beast. You only had to outrun the person next to you.

  He had already stored his knife in his satchel and pulled out a gss fsk filled with poison. Fortunately, he didn’t have to use it; the bandits only had two dogs, and they were busy tearing into other bodies.

  Still, the screams behind him made it clear the bandits were in pursuit, so he didn’t dare to stop. Since when do bandits kill everyone? Shouldn’t they just take the money and get the hell out? Fang Mo cursed his luck.

  “Going somewhere, kid?” A two-meter-tall giant with no front teeth blocked his path, a short sword gleaming in his hand.

  Fang Mo didn’t waste time wondering how the man got ahead of him. He barely had time to run, let alone chat. Without hesitation, he hurled the fsk in his hand. The bandit reacted quickly but not wisely; he sshed the fsk with his sword instead of dodging.

  The liquid spshed onto his face, and a grin spread across Fang Mo’s lips. His grin angered the brute. “What are you smiling at? You’re about to die—”

  He cut himself off as weakness overtook him. His stomach churned, and he dropped his sword. Blood spilled from his mouth, staining the ground. “W-What did you do...?”

  Fang Mo’s answer came in the form of steel. He drove his knife straight into the man’s eye, piercing his brain from one side to another. Having worked as a medic, he’d seen more than his share of blood and gruesome wounds. The man’s death didn’t even make him blink. He pulled out his knife and kept running.

  “He killed Brother Wei! After that little bastard, I want him alive!” A shout ced with fury rang out from many meters behind, and the sound of barking grew louder by the second.

  Fang Mo knew that if he kept running through the forest, it was only a matter of time before the dogs caught up. Their sharp sense of smell made escape nearly impossible. He couldn’t outrun them either, and his stamina was absolute garbage. He had been running for less than two minutes, but he was already panting heavily.

  He wasn’t running aimlessly, though. With every step, the sound of rushing water grew louder. If he could jump into a river, the dogs would lose his scent, giving him a real chance to escape, especially if the current was strong enough.

  The trees began to thin, and in front of him, his chance at survival appeared: a cliff.

  From below, the roar of rushing water confirmed the river’s location. Judging by the strength and crity of the sound, the cliff wasn’t too high, and the water seemed deep enough. He didn’t have the luxury of confirming his assumptions. If he were wrong, the fall would kill him; if he were right, he had a chance to live. At least dying like that was still better than being torn apart by dogs and tortured by bandits.

  Fang Mo stepped onto the cliff’s edge and prepared to jump. Just then, an arrow flew through the air and struck his right shoulder. Pain exploded in his mind, clouding his focus and disrupting his movement. Instead of jumping, he stumbled and fell.

  Mid-air, he opened his eyes. Based on his trajectory, he would hit the water—but only after smming into a rock embedded in the cliffside. His body screamed in protest from the exhaustive run and the arrow wound, but he forced himself to act. He kicked against the cliff wall, shifting his fall just enough to avoid the stone.

  His effort paid off. If he had been even a split second slower, the rock would have crushed his skull. His battered body plunged into the river. Blood spilled from his shoulder, staining the water red. The current was too strong to resist and swept him away, along with the blood and pain.

  Within moments, exhaustion and injuries overwhelmed him. His vision blurred, and then everything went dark.