Clack...
The Mo Dao struck the ground with a sharp crack. Blood dripped down its bright silver blade, staining the fine hemp cord wrapped around its grip red and making it slippery.
Blood was an excellent lubricant, and Black-and-White Bear did not particularly enjoy being covered in it.
He loved combat and was obsessed with fighting in full armor, but he disliked blood.
So, moments after he finished cutting people down, before the Bohemians had retreated very far, Black-and-White Bear impatiently waved behind him.
His attendant had been hiding behind the hill, waiting for a long time... Little Langduo had waited ages, and the moment he saw his master wave, he ran over.
"Hot water, my lord."
Little Langduo's hands trembled as he held the copper basin. Rising steam blurred the freshly scabbed wound at his temple.
There were so many corpses on this battlefield. Enemies, players-nearly a thousand dead lay scattered across it.
If Little Langduo could see the Grim Reaper, he would have seen him swinging his scythe until it smoked.
And those killed by cold steel had died gruesome deaths.
Severed limbs lay strewn across the scorched earth like rag dolls torn apart by a naughty child.
The fingers of a headless corpse were still dug into the soil, as though it had tried to crawl out of this slaughterhouse until its final breath. Little Langduo stepped on a length of intestine, and the slippery sensation beneath his boot made his stomach cramp.
Black-and-White Bear seemed oblivious to it all. He took the basin, sat on a seat made from three stacked corpses, and leisurely wiped his Mo Dao clean.
Hot water washed over the blade, turning the blood into thin, pale red streams that seeped into the cracked soil.
He suddenly stopped. Half a fingernail was