Blood poured from the hollow of Zhang Tie's shoulder where the lance had pierced through, streaming down in torrents and staining his entire body red. He looked grievously wounded, utterly miserable.
Had the lance that pierced his shoulder shifted another foot upward and to the right, or dipped slightly lower, it would have gone through Zhang Tie's chest or heart—vital, fatal points. Any knight could sense just how perilous that had been. Zhang Tie's recent battle had merely been a "narrow victory."
Though Zhang Tie's injuries looked severe, they were not actually that serious.
Zhang Tie could have blocked or dodged the lance piercing his left shoulder, but he had not. Instead, he calmly took the blow. The instant the lance entered his shoulder, he had made the muscles and blood vessels inside his body contract automatically, clearing a path for the lance and minimizing the damage it caused. More than half of the blood that had flowed out had been forced out by Zhang Tie himself.
As for the blood Zhang Tie spat after exchanging that final head-on blow with the Phantom Winged Devil, he had likewise used his cultivation to force it out through his mouth.
The battle had been real, but its outcome contained a trace of "performance." Zhang Tie's awakened Theatrical Mask talent made his act flawless at such times. Even the most worthless ancestral bloodline or ability could yield tremendous value if used in the right place.
If he did not shed some blood, suffer some wounds, and make himself look a little more hard-pressed and miserable—if he did not let Abyss Lord Sagus see the hope of a Phantom killing him—then how could he lure Abyss Lord Sagus and the Devil Race's Phantom Knights in step by step?
That was a gambler's mindset. Whether