If the battlefield was only meant for killing, all the sacrifices would be meaningless.
But if killing was simply driven by interests, the bloodshed would seem too cold.
Lu Ping'an wielded his lance, with black death and crimson flames lingering around him.
The scorching heat was just the prelude, pitch-black withering evaporated all the water in the area, the aura of death flowed everywhere; merely by standing there, he had become a knight of destruction.
Lu Ping'an was killing or, perhaps, being killed.
"... Will it ever end?"
As far as he could see, there were all kinds of magic monsters. Some were unarmed, while others were fully armed.
Some had bloodthirsty desires on their faces, while others hesitated and wavered, searching for opportunities.
Intelligent beings? It made no difference, because in this area, there was only a relationship between killing and being killed.
"Boom!"
