Ma Fei's eyes brimmed with unwillingness. His lips moved again, but he choked out a stream of hot blood. Clutching his throat with both hands, he staggered backward as though deflated and drained of strength.
Lian Youming glanced at the hole in his right palm. With a slight thought, his muscles wriggled and squeezed, slowly closing it.
"The man you picked wasn't up to much!"
Without so much as looking at Ma Fei struggling on the brink of death beside him, he quickly retrieved the two pistols, then sat facing the cell door.
"Ah, it can't be helped. When a man gets old, he loses his edge, all the more so in a cage that never sees daylight. Still, he really wasn't up to much. He could have faced you fair and square with the supreme arts of his true lineage, yet he insisted on taking an unorthodox approach with that damned Soft-Bone Skill. Using it was one thing, but he even deliberately exposed his weakness..."
Mr. Corpse had not come in, yet he seemed to have witnessed the fight just now, answering in an unhurried tone.
By the end, however, he seemed at a loss for how to describe Ma Fei's stupidity.
He had actually shown his opponent the wounds on his body before their fight to the death.
Had he not exposed the old scars left by the Pulse Gate Nails, Lian Youming could not have turned the situation around so quickly.
"You were right. His heart truly wasn't devoted to the Martial Way, and his death was certainly no injustice."
Regulating his breathing, Lian Youming sneered. "And yours is?"
Mr. Corpse seemed to be sitting just outside the door. He sighed. "We have endured in this world for so many years. Is that not proof enough of