As Zhou Feng sprinted rapidly, his eyes lit up when he saw the large troop. He raised his hands, waving frantically above his head, shouting for help. At this moment, Zhou Feng's clothes were in tatters, almost entirely transformed into rags, full of holes of various sizes. Pieces of cloth fluttered wildly in the fierce wind.
He looked as disheveled as possible.
"Prepare the bows and arrows!"
The middle-aged man shouted loudly and simultaneously picked up a large vermilion bow placed beside him.
This large bow was almost as tall as the middle-aged man. The bow body was vermilion as if it had been soaked in blood, exuding a strong murderous aura. The bowstring was as thick as a child's pinky finger, semi-transparent, seemingly made from the tendons of some kind of animal.
The middle-aged man drew a feathered arrow, its tip finely carved, exceedingly sharp, with a barbed design that sent chills through one's heart.
