The instant the gunshot rang out, Xiaosheng shuddered violently. He then saw Xian Quanfeng's mangled body fall, and he involuntarily took two steps back.
Less than a minute had passed since they charged up the slope, yet three of their men were already down. They had lost half their team.
He glanced forward. Chen Chuan stood there, long blade in hand. A mask obscured his face, making it hard to see clearly, but a vertical, crimson mark between his brows was starkly visible. Part of his outer coat seemed to merge with the fog, and under the overhead lights, the bright edge of his diagonally-held blade glinted with a chilling aura.
At that moment, the thought of abandoning the mission involuntarily surfaced in his mind.
Unfortunately, only the team leader had the authority to order a retreat.
His moment of hesitation was instantly noticed by Old Han, who was not far away. A sinister, hoarse voice drifted over. "Continue."
