The three people from Xuantie Sect looked indifferently at Liu Haizhu, who was surrounded and silent in the middle. The scars on his body were eye-catching, yet Liu Haizhu still hunkered down, lugging a folding stool and darting left and right, not to mention begging for mercy, he didn't even cry out in pain.
Liu Haizhu, whose throat was swollen from a whip strike, wanted to graze the Xuantie Sect's horses.
They really are a bunch of beastly things.
Liu Haizhu gritted his teeth, reached out to tear off the Mystic Iron Shards stuck to his forearm, bringing with them slices of flesh flying off. He tossed aside the folding stool in his hand, and a Round Shield appeared in his grasp.
He needed to defend.
