The forest floor was already painted red.
Four bodies lay scattered across the mossy clearing. Three of them groaned, clutching ribs, holding broken arms, spitting teeth into the dirt. The fourth was still standing. His sword, a mid-grade spirit blade with a faint blue edge, dripped blood onto the ferns. His chest heaved. His knuckles were split. A cut above his left eyebrow leaked a thin line of red down his cheek, curving along his jaw, dripping from his chin.
Xu Ran was nineteen years old and he had never lost a fight in his life.
