Tired.
So tired.
The Scarlet Cloud Spear in Xue Ying's hands had long ago become an afterimage, either sweeping left and right, stabbing forward, furiously thrashing, or thrusting into a point, as Xue Ying ardulently endured under the besiegement of the eighteen black people.
The number of enemies on the Battle Stage had become more and more, and their strength had become greater and greater. Xue Ying had long ago completely burst forth with the strength of his body, and his spear techniques and secret skills had long ago been displayed to the limit, and the black men were now so strong, that he was already unable to kill them! When six black men had simultaneously besieged him, Xue Ying had felt that he would lose.
However, he was unreconciled, unwilling to easily give up.
