The Meaning of Survival

"Bastards! Are you all dead?"

Yuezi Xiaolang had been thrashed black and blue by Xiong Wanjin, so badly that he had not recovered his senses for quite some time. By the time Xiong Wanjin had pinned him to the ground and was beating him mercilessly, he finally spat out the token in his mouth. Without even having time to look at the writing and patterns on it, he immediately let out a furious roar.

The cavalrymen and infantrymen around them drew their weapons one after another and closed in on Lin Qi's group.

Lin Qi raised his eyelids slightly and gave a cold laugh. His hands formed a spell seal, and a flicker of purple light suddenly flashed between his brows. The soul secret art, Great Terror Technique, activated without a sound, planting a seed of terror in the hearts of these soldiers.

In the blink of an eye, that seed took root and flourished. The soldiers' bodies abruptly froze. It was as though they were children left alone at home. Outside was a dim, gray night, and there were no lights in the house. Gray mist slowly rolled in from the ground toward them. Within that thick, slick fog, a twisted shadow gradually appeared. That was... that was... that was the most deeply buried nightmare in their hearts, suddenly appearing before them.

Shrill cries rang out as several thousand soldiers threw down their weapons and fled wildly in every direction, shouting in panic.

Their faces were pale with terror, their eyes vacant, their bodies rigid as they scattered blindly. Those who could still run away were considered strong-willed. Others simply sat on their mounts or stood rooted to the ground without moving an inch, white foam spilling from their mouths. Those were the unlucky ones who had been scared