THUD—!
With the dull thud of impact, the bushy-bearded man was sent flying sideways as if struck by a giant hammer.
He crashed through three bowl-thick trees and tumbled across the ground seven or eight times before finally coming to a stop.
Blood sprayed from his mouth. The Broken Saber in his left hand had long since flown from his grasp. He collapsed to the ground, every bone in his body feeling as if it had come apart.
He struggled to get up, only to be met with a piercing pain in his right leg—the bone had snapped in the earlier collision.
Lifting his head, he saw the figure in the green robe standing about ten feet away, watching him quietly.
Those eyes were as calm as still water.
But it was this very calmness that filled the bushy-bearded man's heart with an unprecedented terror.
He looked at the young face, at the dark-green longsword, and finally understood—
today, there was no escape.
The battle in the mountain hollow was nearing its end.
