Steward Old Zhu looked like a dead dog now, utterly stripped of the arrogance and haughty, standoffish air he'd had before.
All around him lay the castle warriors who had held their ground, sprawled in disarray. Even the leaders of the guard force lay dead before him, their bodies horribly mutilated.
The scene was a wasteland, with blood flowing like a river. The despair and terror on the dead men's faces were horrifying to behold. Steward Old Zhu, the one who had somehow survived, trembled with fear, his entire body shaking like a leaf.
How could he not tremble? The sight was simply too terrifying. Steward Old Zhu had lived a life of comfort and privilege; he had never suffered like this or witnessed such a brutal scene.
There were battles at the castle from time to time, but most involved wiping out bandits from small valleys. It was like a lion hunting a rabbit—an effortless victory, with no challenge at all.
Only now did he understand that battle could be so brutal. The castle guards had fought to the very limit. Every man who had fallen was a true hero. In fact, they had all shown more courage than he, Steward Old Zhu, ever could.
And the man who had survived by clinging to life, Steward Old Zhu, was actually the most useless coward of them all.
Lie Chi was drenched in blood. Two or three dozen arrows were embedded in his armor, and blood seeped from every wound. He looked utterly heroic.
But none of the arrows seemed to have struck a vital spot. The reason Lie Chi hadn't let his men pull them out was clearly that he was waiting for Master Hu to arrive.
Master Hu had to see such a heroic sight. Only then would