Chapter 120

The light faded, revealing the scene in the arena.

Li Qingxuan's spear thrust was ultimately blocked by Ye Xiao.

Ye Xiao's burly body slid back several steps, leaving deep grooves in the frozen soil.

On his crossed arms' scale armor, there appeared a charred, sunken pit, the edges of the scales twisted and deformed, even showing traces of melting.

His arms trembled slightly; beneath the bronzed skin, veins bulged like earthworms, obviously also having endured a tremendous impact.

The terrifying metal vortex lost the support of continued force, countless scales scattered like a sudden rain with clinking sounds, losing their luster, most twisted and deformed, some even completely melted by lightning.

Ye Xiao slowly lowered his trembling arms, lifted his gaze to where Li Qingxuan had stood, a flash of blade light crossed his eyes, seeing Li Qingxuan now before him flick the blood from his Tang Sword, sheath it, then tilt his head and his head fell from his neck.

Blood spurted like a fountain from the severed neck, drawing a gruesome scarlet arc in the flickering firelight.

The head, covered in tangled short hair and with a ferocious knife scar on the left cheek, rolled several times on the frozen ground, smeared with mud and blood; the eyes that had once been as sharp as a hawk's stared wide, frozen in incredulous horror, eventually losing all luster, locked in place on the icy soil.

The headless, hulking body stiffened for a moment, like a beast whose spine had been ripped out, then collapsed heavily backward with a thunderous crash, hitting the frozen ground with a dull boom that kicked up a cloud of dust.

The remnant scales clinging to his arms and chest struck the ground, emitting sporadic clinks.

"Huff… this guy's tough to kill," Li Qingxuan exhaled; his violently heaving chest tugged at several deep wounds that exposed bone, especially the gash on his left shoulder blade torn by the scales, from which blood welled out, quickly staining half his collar red before freezing, a layer of ice crystals forming over the wound.

"Qingxuan!" Huang Rong swiftly finished off the last few bandits slumped on the ground, ashen-faced, her form turning into a gust of wind that instantly lunged to Li Qingxuan's side.

Seeing the new deep gashes on his body, especially the horrific wound at his shoulder blade that nearly crushed the bone, her heart felt as if clenched by an icy hand.

She quickly pulled a piece of clothing from her Backpack, tore it into strips, and hastily tied them together, preparing to bandage the wound.

When her fingertips touched the stiff, frozen edge of the cloth, she paused slightly, then resumed her work with even greater speed.

Li Qingxuan clenched his teeth, fine cold sweat beading on his forehead and mixing with dust and grime as it slid down, yet he made no sound, only his body trembling uncontrollably from the intense pain.

Huang Rong's heart clenched tighter; she could clearly feel the muscles beneath her hand spasming from pain, and the icy chill trying to spread along the wound into his body.

She wrapped the prepared strips tightly layer by layer over his shoulder and arm wounds, her motions swift and steady, yet deep in her eyes welled an unprecedented anxiety and anguish.

The firelight danced over his pallid face, revealing his bloodless lips from loss of blood and agony, and his eyes—still sharp but unable to hide their fatigue.

"It's fine… I won't die; with my Constitution, a day or two of rest will do." Li Qingxuan drew a breath, his voice hoarse and weak, the corners of his mouth turning up in a reassuring curve.

He tried to move his left arm a little, and the pain shot through him like an electric current, making him grunt and his body sway.

Huang Rong grabbed him, her voice trembling faintly: "Don't move! Your bones are broken!"

She quickly examined his other wounds sliced by the scales; fortunately they missed vital spots, but they were deep enough to show bone, with flesh turned over, likewise needing urgent care.

She tore at her already tattered clothing once more and swiftly finished bandaging.

At that moment, in the camp's dead silence, apart from the wind whining over the Ruins and the crackle of the fire, faint footsteps could be heard in the distance, drawing nearer.

Huang Rong drew her dagger, melted into the darkness, and felt her way toward the source of the sound.

Three figures approached the camp, seeing utter chaos within: the fire's embers flickered unevenly, casting light over the littered ground where several bandit corpses lay twisted, their blood congealing on the frozen earth into dark-red ice crystals.

A thick smell of scorched flesh mingled with the stench of blood, permeating the silent air.

The leader was fit, wearing tight leather armor, with two oddly shaped short blades hanging at his waist; his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's, and he swiftly scanned the entire battlefield.

As his gaze swept over the headless, hulking corpse—Ye Xiao's body, especially the head that had rolled aside, smeared with mud and blood—his pupils contracted sharply, the color draining from his face, a cold chill racing up his spine to the crown of his head.

"Old… boss?!" a short, stout man behind him cried out, his voice cracking from extreme shock, the hand gripping his wolf-tooth club shaking violently, almost dropping it.

The other, a tall, thin man, stared fixedly at Li Qingxuan, who stood blood-soaked beside Ye Xiao's corpse, ramrod straight; his Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty as he instinctively stepped back half a pace, gripping his spear tighter.

The fit man's shock quickly turned into a venomous, snake‑like coldness; he locked eyes with Li Qingxuan, his gaze like a poisoned Ice Spike, and squeezed out from between his teeth: "You… killed the boss?"

"Swish—swish—swish—"

Several tearing‑through‑the‑air sounds came; Huang Rong's silhouette silently appeared behind the three, throwing a flying dagger while thrusting her dagger forward with a "puff" that sank into the tall man's back.

The tall man lowered his head in disbelief, watching the dagger tip protrude from his chest as blood instantly soaked his leather armor.

His spear slipped from his grasp, clanging against the frozen ground, and his body slumped forward in a limp heap.

"You're asking for death!" the fit man reacted with startling speed, twisting aside as the flying dagger came; his two poisoned short blades shot out like snakes from a hole, one clanking and knocking the incoming dagger away toward his own throat, sparks flying.

The other turned into a cold arc of light, backhanded slashing at Huang Rong's wrist holding the dagger, so fast it left an afterimage!

Almost at the same moment, the short, stout man snapped out of his shock, seeing his companion's gruesome death; his eyes instantly blood‑red, he bellowed like a beast: "Die!"

The heavy spiked club whistled with a shrill wind, its brutal force capable of crushing bones, swinging from the side to smash hard at Huang Rong's waist and ribs.

The club's ferocious iron spikes gleamed with a bloodthirsty cold light in the dying embers of the bonfire.

Huang Rong's strike landed true; without pausing, she tapped her toe on the fallen lanky corpse, her body darting back like a swift swallow, barely escaping.

The sturdy man's vicious short blade almost grazed her cuff, snatching a tiny scrap of cloth.

And the heavy spiked club barely swept past where she had just stood, crashing into the frozen ground with a boom, sending up a spray of stone chips and ice.

She landed lightly, dagger held across her chest, eyes sharp as an eagle, fixed on the two furious attackers, her body slightly lowered in a poised stance ready to strike.

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