In that instant, the entire stronghold seemed shrouded in an invisible yet heavy fog of slaughter; the air was thick with a hair-raising tension, every strand of it infused with the stench of death.
A shocking, blood-soaked, cruel battle was like a volcano on the verge of eruption, molten rock surging and roaring beneath the earth, ready to burst forth at the slightest touch.
The surrounding cliffs seemed to sense this dense killing intent as well; under the dim moonlight they cast eerie shadows, as if holding a silent requiem for the slaughter about to descend.
Xie Zhichuan turned his body slightly and knelt; in this grim, sinister place, his eyes nonetheless held an unabashed trace of disdain and mockery, like a cutting north wind in a winter night, piercing straight into the heart. As for such despicable, shameless conduct as Zhong Renwang's, he had long since seen too much of it, and his heart was filled with contempt.
