Realizing that staying alive would better divert attention, Boneblade abandoned thoughts of martyrdom. Pursued by two third-stage extraordinary beings, he fought and fled, eventually reaching the wasteland over ten kilometers away from Dispute Fortress.
By this point, he was at the end of his rope.
"Why don't you keep running?"
The sorcerer in a robe swung his staff, a fireball deliberately landing before Boneblade in a mocking gesture. He raised his chin and sneered, "We were planning to enjoy watching you scramble like a stray dog a bit longer. Hahaha."
"Hey, want a couple of potions to drink?" another adventurer jeered, "Torturing a cripple is no fun."
With all ten fingers severed, one eye gouged out, his nose entirely cut off, and his tattered cloak stained dark from the soaked blood, Boneblade, whose body was almost entirely covered in wounds, panted heavily, barely able to stand.
