A huge ammo cache and the giant Thunderstorm stood quietly under the sunlight.
Qin Fen passed by it and stretched his hand, grabbing it. Time was life. In peacetime, ten seconds was a very short period of time. But now, as far as those swift and violent insect warriors were concerned, it was as slow as a century. They could wantonly finish a killing spree.
Looking at Qin Fen walking in large strides while carrying that heavy weapon, Yang Jiwu sighed in his heart once more. It was hard to say if he was ranked first among the East Asia young martial artists. But if it was among the new recruits of East Asia, Qin Fen could be designated as first.
Reluctant as Yang Jiwu was to admit it, Yang Jiwu had to. If he wanted to become Song Wendong's grandson-in-law, the current him was still far from enough. Even if he challenged Qin Fen, he would only bring disgrace upon himself.
