Above the market, not a bird chirped. Every gaze turned in unison toward the sandy ground not far away. There, a battered figure was struggling to crawl to his feet.
Tuoba Kui was covered in blood. The beast-hide armor over his chest had long since shattered into countless fragments, exposing charred, festering flesh beneath. His right arm was twisted at a grotesque angle, clearly snapped clean by that punch. Flesh had split open around the broken bone, and blood dripped down his arm.
His face was smeared with sand and blood, his hair disheveled, and the Witch Clan totem on his forehead had dimmed without a trace of light. Where was even a shred of his previous arrogant, domineering bearing?
He staggered upright, his legs trembling faintly. Every movement sent piercing agony through his injuries. Yet compared to the pain in his body, the towering fury and humiliation in his heart were far harder to endure.
He—Tuoba Kui!
A top genius among the Witch Clan's younger generation, the Third Elder's own grandson, a Seventh-Rank Martial Venerable with pure Witch Clan blood flowing through him!
And yet now, before the entire tribe, he had actually lost to a human!
A human their Witch Clan had regarded as hereditary enemies for generation after generation, a weak and pathetic race!
What had been lost was not merely Tuoba Kui's face, but the face of the entire Tuoba Tribe! The face of the entire Witch Clan!
Tuoba Kui's chest heaved violently. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Lu Changsheng, who stood in the center of the battlefield, filled with fury and unwillingness.
The surrounding Tuoba Tribe members had also recovered from their shock, and a tide of discussion erupted around them.
"Tuoba Kui... actually lost?"
"He lost to that human? How could that be possible?!"