Blood spilled from the Wanderer's lips as he tried to prop himself up from the ground.
A pained hiss escaped his lips when he realized that his right arm was broken, rendering it useless in a fight.
The searing ache made him momentarily blank out, unable to think of what to do next.
Suddenly, he saw something from the corner of his eye.
Looking in that direction, he stared in disbelief as his comrade, who was also watching the battle a while ago, was about to deal him the killing blow.
"Sorry not sorry," the young man, whose eyes were similar to that of a hawk, swung his blade toward his "crippled friend" without mercy.
"Traitor!" the Wanderer cried out in shock, disbelief, and frustration.
Although he'd admit that he would have done the same if their circumstances were switched, he was still feeling bitter. After all, the one on the receiving end of the killing blow was him, not someone else.
