This shout was particularly abrupt in the noisy grand hall.
The general on the warhorse, who was just about to witness the heads of the monks roll, seemed to sense something and his eye twitched sharply.
He turned his head, looking in the direction the soldier's spear was pointing.
His gaze cut through the dancing flames, landing directly on the tall, imposing figure of a man.
In those eyes hidden under the shadow of the helmet, there was a tangible, intense killing intent.
Fang Cheng stood there calmly, his figure motionless, completely ignoring the shout.
The soldier, being ignored, showed a fierce light in his eyes, and a low growl erupted from his throat.
He gripped the white wax wood spear tightly with both hands, suddenly thrusting it forward.
The sharp spear tip aimed straight for Fang Cheng's heart, the fierce wind rushing towards him.
Just at the moment when the spear tip was only an inch away from his chest.
