Yang Zhengshan looked down from above and said coldly, "You've lost!"
Although Yang Zhengshan's face looked cold and indifferent, in his heart he was still badly shaken.
Meow, he had nearly been split open and gutted.
If his reaction had been even a little slower, there would at least have been no small wound across his abdomen. With Mengtemu's strength, the mountain pattern armor on his body definitely would not have held.
Mengtemu's turbid eyes flickered, his face both deathly pale and gloomy.
He was still panting violently. The long battle had drained his physical strength terribly; after all, he was an old man past sixty.
But in his heart, he was still unwilling!
I cannot lose!
At that moment, there was only this one thought in his heart!
The next instant, he suddenly reached out, desiring to slap aside the spear before his chest, but the moment his hand touched the spearpoint, Yang Zhengshan did not hesitate to drive the spearhead into his chest.
Crack. The shaft was snapped by his slap, and the spearhead remained buried in his chest. Fresh red blood spurted out like spring water.
Cough, cough, cough~~
Mengtemu gave a burst of painful coughing. A sweet, bloody taste surged from the depths of his throat, filling the tip of his tongue, flowing down from the corners of his mouth, and dyeing his graying beard red.
"Why go that far!"
Yang Zhengshan's expression was cold as he withdrew the mangled spear shaft.
"Cough, cough. This old man can only die. I cannot lose!"
Mengtemu's face grew ever more ashen.
He was the prince of the East Sea Hu Tribe. If he lost, it would be a disgrace to the entire East Sea Hu Tribe.
Yang Zhengshan understood what he meant. Death and defeat were two different