With a swoosh,
the piled-up corpses suddenly rolled down.
The thick, nauseating stench of blood and the charred smell of flesh could almost make one vomit.
The sole surviving assassin screamed, trying to rush into the carriage, but in a blink of an eye, a pitch-black wooden sword pierced through his chest, lifting him up into the air like a torn sack.
Lu Bu'er casually tossed the corpse out of the window. In that moment, the howling wind tousled his bangs and his trench coat, his eyes shimmering with splintering electric light, "The train will arrive in five minutes, I'll continue to clear the path at the front. Until I fall, you all might as well pretend you're here on a vacation."
He exhaled a murky breath.
As if hot sweat was steaming off him, as if he had just done an aerobic workout.
Deathly silence fell inside the carriage.
The female soldiers who had come to watch the scene stood with their mouths agape in surprise.
