The ancient sword in He Ao's hand had weathered many years, and the patches of rust suggested it should have been placed on a collector's shelf, not used on the battlefield.
However, He Ao carried within his mind the recent memory of Nell in combat; despite the rust, the sword remained sharp. The corrosion had not penetrated the blade's core, maintaining its resilience, ensuring it wouldn't break upon force.
The slow footsteps were getting closer.
He Ao gripped the short sword, glanced left and right, tip-toed, and headed deeper into the alley on the right.
In the direction he was heading, three men clad in cotton overcoats, holding firearms, cautiously moved forward on ice-covered ground.
"Boss, that guy got shot in the chest. He can't be alive. Do we need to be this careful?"
The man on the far left spoke softly.
"Until we see the body, any assumption is just that—an assumption."
