Sure enough, the sound of horses galloping could be heard, but it wasn't from the east; it was from the west, which he had just come from.
A bad feeling crept into his mind, and Fang Heng almost immediately rushed back to the ancient village.
The chaotic scene before him made his eyes turn bloodshot.
The children who were just moments ago jumping around and riding brooms were now lying on the ground, their faces pale and lifeless.
A paper package rolled out of the girl's arms, revealing chunks of cold mutton inside.
The hungry nomad bent down, picked it up, and threw it into his mouth, chewing it with a crunching sound.
"It smells so good, really smells so good."
He commented that he kicked away the girl with braids who was blocking his way.
Fang Heng's eyes turned from bright red to blood red. He didn't remember how he drew the blade or how he slashed at it.
Even though he was facing seven or eight burly nomadic men, he was just a frail young boy.
All they know is chopping, sharp blades, breaking, and wounds.
All I could hear were the noisy shouts and angry curses of the nomads, which eventually turned into resentful eyes and cold corpses.
As the fight progressed, Fang Heng's strength rapidly depleted, and the nomadic tribe was reduced to only two strong men.
But they held long knives and grinned maliciously, clearly believing the outcome was already decided.
Fang Heng knelt on one knee, holding a knife in his right hand. His chest rose and fell slightly, as if he was recovering his strength, or as if he was exhausted and waiting to die.
Just as the two machetes were hanging overhead, about to fall.
Fang Heng's ears twitched slightly as he heard the sounds coming from afar.
It seems... the older brother, younger brother, and younger sister have arrived.
"Third Brother..."
Someone is calling out, like a hallucination before death.
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