The patched linen, propped up high by two wooden sticks, had rows of translucent bladders of Asura young beasts tied up with fine hemp ropes, all fully inflated and swollen like gourds. Without even seeing how Nedved aimed, the old, tattered black cloth with Asura beasts tied to the other end burst into pieces with a crackling sound.
The owner of this shooting game booth was a Beamon from the Wolf Tribe, and by now, his expression had stiffened like a mahjong tile.
