In the dark forest, a group of people were moving forward at a brisk pace.
"I'll kill you, I'm going to kill you!"
After a loud roar, Arlo suddenly sat up from the stretcher.
Spurt!
Her wound burst open, and she couldn't help spitting out a large mouthful of fresh blood.
"Miss Arlo, mind your injuries,"
a voice came through. For some reason, this voice was always filled with cautious flattery on any other day, but now, to Arlo's ears, it seemed to carry a hint of faint mockery.
Mockery, whom was he mocking?
"You're feeling quite pleased with yourself, aren't you, Joseph?"
Arlo's voice was low, "Do you think if I died, the teacher would take you on as his disciple?"
"Don't delude yourself; with your status, you have no chance."
"What about Roger? Bring me his head!"
She seemed to want to turn around, but the violent movement tore her wound further, and she winced in pain, reluctantly stopping.
