The ground halfway up the mountain was littered with corpses.
Some had been beheaded outright, while others had bled to death with limbs missing. Every corpse presented itself before Chu Han in the most brutal state of death.
They lay scattered without any pattern. Clearly, the killers had had no time to clean up, and the air was thick with the stench of blood.
Counting them carefully, they all belonged to that unknown faction's force, and the total number of dead had actually exceeded a thousand!
That meant that since Chu Han had set off alone in pursuit, more than five hundred enemy soldiers had been killed by individuals or small squads along the way.
Chu Han hurried upward, climbing across the rugged terrain. Above him stood a massive boulder, conspicuously rooted halfway up the mountain.
But before he could climb up—
Slap!
A corpse suddenly fell from above, drenched in blood. Even its face was too mangled to identify. Clearly, it had died after exhausting all its strength.
Chu Han's heart tightened as he looked upward.
Atop the enormous boulder stood a figure with his back ramrod straight. Scarlet blood streamed down his face, staining even his eyes red.
At his feet lay incomplete corpses—some already dead, others still barely clinging to life—stacked three layers high!
Countless wounds of varying sizes covered the standing man's body, blood constantly flowing from them. With Chu Han's senses, he could already tell that the bleeding was slowing.
What that meant went without saying.
Yet the man's eyes held a madness even greater than that of the lunatics in the Feather Slayer Squad. His right hand tightly gripped a black dagger, while the sleeve on his left side hung empty. His arm had clearly been severed!
"Xiao Kun..." Chu Han breathed in shock.