With a large hand gripping the braid on the head, Zhao Zun, like carrying a lantern, held Alpi's head in his hand, exuding a murderous aura.
Blood dripped from the lower part of the head, dripping drop by drop, as Zhao Zun surveyed the trusted aides around him who were still fending off the Turkic soldiers. Their figures appeared both heroic and poignant in the firelight.
Holding Alpi's head, he strode to Ma Cheng's corpse and slammed the head onto the grass, producing a dull thud.
Zhao Zun stepped on Alpi's head, slowly squatting down, his gaze fixed on the arrow still firmly lodged in Ma Cheng's neck, his eyes filled with sorrow and guilt.
He shouldn't have, shouldn't have agreed to Ma Cheng's request to fight, shouldn't have let him take part in this mission!
"Brother, it was I who caused your demise!"
Zhao Zun's voice was low and hoarse, painfully closing his crimson eyes, his mind filled with scenes of him and Ma Cheng fighting side by side.
