Death of the Curse Warrior

In fact, before Sif's spear even left her hand, the Curse Warrior had already realized something was wrong. After all, Sif had openly made her preparations in midair, and the principle behind this move was very simple. As long as one wasn't blind, it was easy to see what she intended.

If it had been like last time, just a straightforward spear thrust, the Curse Warrior would not have been afraid in the slightest. He might even have welcomed it. Wasn't it just getting stabbed? What was the big deal? And once the spear went in, he could clamp down with his body and confiscate the weapon.

But could he still withstand this kind of attack with his body? If he took a hit from this, bad luck meant amputation below the head; better luck still meant being cut in half at the waist on the spot!

The Curse Warrior was seething inside. Why was his boss so stingy? Fine, no personal flight device—that was something they had developed themselves. But as the strongest unit in the whole army, shouldn't he at least have been given some equipment? Instead, he had been sent into battle bare-handed and bare-chested!

And his demands weren't even high. Even an ordinary rifle used by regular soldiers would have done. Otherwise, he would not have been fighting so passively right now.

But it was useless to talk about that now. The Curse Warrior stared intently at the spear in Sif's hand, crouched down, and drove both hands deep into the ground.

Piercing Rakshasa's Immortality!

Now!

The instant the rapidly spinning spear left Sif's hand, the Curse Warrior exerted tremendous force through the hands buried in the ground, forcibly flipping a huge slab of earth into the air. It collided with Bloodfall in midair.

However, expecting