The Dead Servant suddenly stopped moving, as if Lu Mingfei's act of pressing down the coffin lid had startled it.
The coffin fell silent, like a running machine whose power had suddenly been cut. Lu Mingfei froze for a moment, his fingers still pressed against the edge of the lid, feeling the brute force beneath it abruptly withdraw.
More than ten seconds passed.
It was long and agonizing.
Then that force returned—not little by little, but like floodwaters bursting through a dam, surging forth with a roar. The coffin lid shook violently, flinging Lu Mingfei's hand aside and numbing the web between his thumb and forefinger.
Boom!
The entire coffin seemed to explode from within like a landmine had gone off inside it. The heavy stone slab shot five or six meters into the air, spun several times, then crashed to the ground with a dull rush of wind. Stone fragments flew everywhere, dust rose like a curtain, and the whole circular arena trembled faintly.
Within the dust, a pair of golden eyes lit up.
The Dead Servant had not risen yet.
Its body was still half-curled atop the stone coffin's base, its crow-like wings half-folded. There seemed to be a trace of bewilderment in its calm eyes, as though it were saying: You attacked before I was ready?
Lu Mingfei, who had no intention of fighting fair, gave it no time to prepare. He sprang forward like a hunting cheetah, his claws hooking into the Dead Servant's right wing.
That wing was covered in crow-like feathers and felt thick and solid to the touch. He twisted and yanked with the force of his waist and abdomen, tearing off half the wing in one go. Red blood gushed out and splattered across Lu Mingfei's face.
Lu Mingfei quickly retreated, panting