"Move, move... hurry up!"
The crowd surged up the slope and saw that in the darkness, the Yemo was swaying unsteadily on the mountaintop, drenched in blood, looking utterly bedraggled.
Opposite him stood Long Yikong with his sword, trying to persuade him: "...Yemo, you've reached the end of the road..."
Swish, swish, swish...
The crowd crazily flew in on their swords.
At a time like this, what's there to say to the Yemo? Kill him quick and end this threat once and for all...
The play had reached this point; it was pretty much enough.
Fang Che burst out laughing, his laughter bleak and desolate: "A dead end, so what? I, the Yemo, have rampaged across the world, killed more people than I can count—this life has been worth it! Even if it's a dead end, if you want my life, you'll at least have to pay with a few lives in exchange!"
