The Strategist caught his breath for a moment.
He raised one hand. "All of you, get out of the way. Leave this old bastard to me!"
The other four heard that and immediately retreated as a group.
The Strategist was dumbfounded.
What the hell!?
They agreed that easily?
The other four had long since had enough. Even idiots had realized something was off. They could not figure out exactly what was wrong, but something was definitely wrong.
Thus, the Strategist and Martial Uncle had a friendly exchange.
The moment the Strategist made his move, Ming Disha cried out in alarm, "Can you be any faster!?"
The Strategist smiled. "Old man, the real hunt begins now. Are you... ready?"
Ming Disha roared in grief and fury, "Go away! I don't want to fight you!"
The Strategist snorted coldly. "Sorry, but at this point, it's no longer up to you. Die!"
As he thrust down, Ming Disha barely and dangerously dodged at the very last second. His small, thin body slipped aside, revealing a wooden spike propped upright behind him.
The Strategist had put too much force into the strike and could not pull back in time. The spike pierced his wrist.
Ming Disha clutched his head and fled to one side, patting his chest. "That was close, that was close."
Gritting his teeth, the Strategist pulled the wood from his wrist, picking splinters from the wound as he said resentfully, "You old bastard, you sure have good luck."
Ming Disha turned and ran. The Strategist swiftly chased after him, and just as he was about to catch up, Ming Disha's foot slipped and he fell flat on the ground.
The instant he fell, he pressed the bar latch on the truck's rear door. The door flew open with a smack, and