Chapter 200 Reunion again

What was shown on the big screen was a battle, one man against dozens of others. It looked like an unexpected encounter.

Quesanti wiped his forehead, his bloody fingers wiping away a handful of sweat and mud. He hunched his back slightly, his fresh wounds burning, but his tall stature still dwarfed the dozen or so attackers around him. At his feet, corpses were scattered and roasted in the scorching sun on the sand of Shurima. These were all fanatical followers of an Ascended One, and the demigod they believed in had been trying to kill Quesanti.

Several remnants raised their swords. Quesanti saw the reflection on the blades. He knew the sun was watching all this from above, staring, waiting for his move. He imagined himself dying here in his mind and spat on the ground. This was a simple ambush. He was not honored to be Nazumang to die in a place like this. Besides, his ancestors had defeated more powerful enemies on this grassland. These were at most a group of robbers - robbers who were bewitched by a crazy wizard and thought they could create a great cause.

The thugs rushed forward, shouting, trampling the tall grass. Quesanti watched their movements. No strategy—just bloodlust. He gritted his teeth. Although his legs were cut and bruised, his chest was bruised, and his mouth was bloody, he still mustered the strength to steady himself.

There was a loud clang of steel colliding. Quesanti blocked a fatal blow with his dual axes. He growled and pushed the opponent's blade away, the weight of the weapon giving him a huge advantage. Quesanti had taken this into consideration when making this weapon. The heavy, angular weapons were made of the hide of the python beast - one of the strongest materials in Shurima.

A madman rushed forward and scratched Quesanti's cheek with a sword. He groaned and pushed the axe hard. The enemy he was fighting was knocked to the ground. Then he swung his arms and knocked down the madman who scratched his cheek. He laughed easily. It was a little incredible. He thought that killing Bakay was easy. In comparison, the rounds of attacks in front of him were more difficult.

"Kill that heretic!" the enemy shouted, "His Highness Wu Ling has given the order!"

Quesanti had many personal opinions about Xerath, but it was a waste of words to talk to this group of witch spirit followers. They would soon lie on the ground like the others, and there was no way they could help him pass on a message. Moreover, he hoped to tell the witch spirit in person that he had killed the Bakay. Thinking of this, thinking of the witch spirit who called himself "God" creating a python lion beast to kill innocent people...

Quesanti felt sick. His people and his culture were his pride. Unfortunately for these followers of the witch spirit, this pride was the fuel he depended on to survive. He looked at them with a sharp gaze, tightened his grip on the weapon, and prepared for another attack from the enemy.

The thugs rushed forward from all directions. How many people were there? Four, five, six? His vision was blurry and clear, perhaps because of the heat, perhaps because of fatigue. He took a step forward, but his right knee suddenly stumbled. He swung his two axes, keeping his balance while resisting the attacks from above and below. Now all the enemies were on top of him. They must have thought he couldn't hold on.

how is this possible.

He roared, knocked down all the enemies, and stood up again. But before he could launch a counterattack, three arrows fell from the sky and hit the throats of the three people. Quesanti looked at the three people in front of him in shock as they struggled to breathe and finally fell to the ground.

"Take them down!" a voice commanded.

Quesanti turned around and saw a tall figure in armor holding a bow, followed by three other archers, each nocking three new arrows. Their robes were decorated with gold and green patterns, and the leader was wearing a mask with patterns covering his face.

"Don't worry, visitors from Nazumang," the leader said, "We are not friends of the Ascended."

Quesanti glanced at the arrow feathers on the madman's body and said, "I can see it."

The leader laughed out loud. His voice was warm, steady, and indescribably familiar. Although Quesanti couldn't see the man's face, he felt relieved.

The madmen launched another charge, and the reinforcements from Quesanti also assembled. "Are you ready, Nazumang people?" asked the leader.

"of course."

Quesanti smashed the two axes into the ground. The ground cracked forward, dust and debris erupted upward along the cracks, and the enemy closest to Quesanti was pushed back several steps. The outer layer of the axe also broke off. The core of the weapon was exposed to the sun, and a pair of obsidian blades appeared. Quesanti reversed the handles and pointed the blades forward. He knew that he had limited time. It would not take long for the defensive shell of the weapon to repair itself.

Quesanti leaped forward. Using all his strength, he spun in the air, lifted his legs, and delivered a spinning kick that hit three of his enemies hard. As they tumbled backwards, he landed on his feet and slashed at their torsos with both axes, slicing through armor and flesh.

The fanatics screamed.

Quesanti's allies cheered.

A hail of arrows fell around him, blocking the flanking attack.

"Leave no one alive!" the leader shouted.

Quesanti nodded. Red ran down his face - it was unclear whether it was his own blood or the enemy's. He gritted his teeth and tensed his whole body, stepped forward, and plunged the blade into the enemy's heart. They fell one by one.

When the dust settled, the maniacs lay motionless, finally as quiet as the rest of their companions.

"It's over." The leader said with satisfaction.

"Yes," said Quesanti, "it's over now." He stood up, but just doing that took all his strength. His face and body were all red, his eyes still on the corpses, and the two axes in his hands had begun to repair themselves.

"You haven't changed at all, Quesanti," the leader said.

Quesanti looked up. The mask was now off, and a smile returned his gaze. Quesanti had thought he would never see that smile again, on the face of this person - Tupe.

"You must have a lot of questions. But wait, follow me." Tupe pointed to the distance and said, "Our camp is nearby. You look exhausted."

Quesanti couldn't calm his trembling breath. Although he was still undecided, the thought of resting for a while was irresistible to him. Quesanti nodded slowly and took a step, but in an instant the world began to spin. He collapsed to the ground.

(End of this chapter)