When Sanders saw that the oncoming werewolf dropped its weapon, he knew that this was no longer a battle, but a one-sided killing. So he did his best to order loudly: "All retreat, escape as much as you can, go back and report the situation here" the next words he was too busy to say. The reason why the werewolf dropped his weapon was simple, that kind of thing was only against armor and shield, now that this opponent has already given up his own defense, there is no weapon that is more flexible than his own claws, able to entangle the opponent and make him poor.

  The ogre avoided Saunders' interception and smoothly charged into the crowd, beginning an orgiastic feast of splattered flesh and blood.

  The two huge wolf tooth hammers didn't have any fancy variations or even fixed targets, only seeking to be able to hit a large amount of human bodies. Any defense was no different from a paper toy, and could not be the slightest defense against the power of these two horrible weapons. This center of blood, flesh and guts splattered everywhere, surprisingly, there was hardly a single cry of misery. Once contacted with the wielding wolf tooth hammer, the person who was still alive in the last moment immediately became a pile of weapons, armor, bones and muscles mixed into a pile of dead things.

  The ogre frantically swung its weapon, advancing, charging towards a crowded place, trampling, and then charging towards another crowded direction, just like a killing machine driven by a hellish demon, continuously crushing all the flesh and blood that it could reach into pieces and smashing them to smithereens.

  Sanders' orders were no longer relevant. When the ogres rushed into the crowd, there was nothing but hysterical terror in the soldiers' hearts. The soldiers surged wildly towards the mountain road junction, the vast majority of them were intercepted in the middle of the ogres, slaughtered, and turned into a blur of flesh and blood, while the werewolves and lizardmen sniped the ones that were able to escape with their superior agility. The two orcs guarding the intersection took out two smaller crossbows and fired them at the occasional person who managed to get close to the intersection, and the arrows were all straight through the head. Some of the soldiers jumped off the cliff in extreme fear, pulling out a very long scream and then stopping.

  Those on the other side of the hill could not even scream.

  When a man runs away from the fear of death, but knows that he will still be reduced to a puddle of flesh and blood, fear and despair will eat away all the strength and sanity to a trickle, and the only thing that remains is a kind of wailing wail. That is the kind of sound that those who have never heard can never feel by imagination.

  The ocean of wailing spread, the strange sound of bones breaking and muscles deforming, and the tones of weapons tearing through the air and flesh intermingled with each other, synthesizing a concerto that would never be forgotten once one heard it. A man who was just like himself was suddenly able to see the white bones tumbling out, the internal organs still pulsing but already pulled out of his body, the blood and flesh cheapened to garbage. Asa suddenly understood the exact meaning of the word 'hell'.

  The half-broken body of the soldier flew over and landed next to Asa and the lizardman, who were having a hard time killing each other. The body was pulled into two by a huge force below the abdomen, and the internal organs were scattered all the way to the lower half of the body, which was more than ten meters away.

  Asa remembered this soldier, who had moved against himself during the conscription check, the otherwise strong, once tangled arm with his own crushed like mud and set into his chest along with the iron shield in his hand.

  Fear mixed with sadness swarmed over him and immediately overshadowed all his fighting spirit. A few desperate slashes finally forced the lizardman to jump backward, and Asa seized this fleeting opportunity to turn and dart into the camp.

  Sanders also took the same action as Asa at almost the same time. After a few sharp sword attacks, a piece of scalp on his forehead was grabbed off as the werewolf stepped back. He was standing close to the intersection in front of him, the ogres and lizardmen both behind him, so he ran towards the intersection occupied by only two orcs and the cloaked figure.

  There was a loud gust of wind behind him as a wolfsbane hammer swept over his head and flew down the hill with a might that could have turned him into a puddle.

  Saunders glanced back as the only surviving soldier wrapped his arms around the ogre's head, causing him to throw the hammer slightly higher.

  "Captain, run," the soldier shouted wildly with what strength he had left. There was something grim about the bloodstained face, a face distorted by countless wounds, half of which had once been dented by the shattering of a hammer-type weapon. It was a seasoned veteran, and presumably he fell to the ground and played dead, taking advantage of the lack of attention before wrapping his arms around the ogre's head.

  It was in this glimpse that he also saw the werewolf pick up an axe on the ground and throw it. The axe spun sharply through the air and drew a straight line after his back.

  He could no longer dodge from side to side. He was now running at full speed, and once he moved from side to side he could only roll on the ground, and the werewolf behind him would immediately catch up and rewrap him.

  There came an ogre's growl, followed by a half scream and a very strange sound. It was as if a lot of dead branches had been put into a wet towel and twisted hard, the dense sound of snapping mixed with the sound of liquid oozing out.

  Sanders didn't have another spare moment to look backward, he used all his strength on his right leg to lunge out forward, at the same time bringing his longsword to his back to protect his spine and gathering his magic in preparation for a healing spell.

  There was a muffled sound. Sanders slid some distance in the air and landed, staggering a few steps and spewing a mouthful of blood before re-dashing towards the intersection.

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  As luck would have it, the axe threw just over the edge of the close-fitting heartguard, breaking three ribs and injuring a lung. The pre-prepared healing spell immediately stops the bleeding and analgesia, and won't have any effect on movement in a short time.

  Only about ten meters away from the intersection, the fangs at the corners of the two Orcs' mouths and the slightly panicked looks on their faces were clearly visible. The cloaked figure in the center still didn't have the slightest reaction.

  As long as he rushed down the hill and jumped into the Dono River, he would have a chance of escape. Sanders gathered all his remaining magical power into the hands that held his sword.

  The cliff was right in front of him, and the tree's position Asa remembered well as he leapt up.

  Luckily he twisted his body in mid-air to look over his shoulder as the lizardman fished out a small crossbow from behind him and shot it at him. He bent low in the air and flipped forward, feeling the crossbow graze his skin before his body flew completely off the cliff and straight down. The lizardmen who followed him watched from the edge of the cliff as he stepped off a branch in mid-air and plunged his knife into another branch, completely easing his fall and then safely entering the water.

  Looking back at the hill afterward, Asa saw a white light illuminating the entire hill as if it were day.

  The sword in Sanders' hand was emitting a glare comparable to that of the sun. All the magical power had been injected into the sword.

  The blood flowing from his forehead had turned everything he saw in his left eye blood red, Sanders had no feeling at all, all his mental will was in the sword he was about to swing.

  The two Orcs covered their eyes under the intense light and dodged to the side, the figure in the center with the cloak still didn't move. Under the strong light from the long sword, the face under the cloak could be seen clearly.

  It was a human face. Slightly thin, pale, sculpted and angular, it was also as calm and silent as a sculpture. Under the long eyelashes, the dark eyes were like a bottomless deep pool that had been stuck for a thousand years, unable to cause any fluctuations, only quietly reflecting the dazzling sword light that was coming towards them.

  There are still ten steps away, that person still does not have the slightest intention to avoid, the expression on his face does not have the slightest change, and his whole body does not have any movement. As if it was a stone statue that had stood there since the beginning of the world, it would remain motionless until the beginning of the next world.

  There are also eight steps, seven steps, six steps, five steps, four steps, three steps Sanders forward stepping step three hundred and sixty degrees turn out of the sword. The reaction force of the ground on the tip of his foot traveled through his calf thigh waist to his chest then up his shoulder to his wrist straight to his sword. Every muscle in his body transmitted its power all the way to this sword swing without any reservation.

  This was not a person swinging a sword, but a sword manipulating a person. Every tiny movement was designed to pour out its own sharpness and the magic power in it at the touch of a button according to a perfect track without leaving a single trace. All the orcs stopped moving, completely shocked and captivated by the sword.

  The light of the sword spun into a curtain of light, extending forward with a might that could cut open the entire night. There wasn't the slightest sound, but all the orcs felt that they were about to hear the sound of the mountain being split in two.

  All the speed, strength, magic, will, spirit, life in any small bit of existence in this sword are all fused into one again and again bloomed and splashed out unprecedented sparks. Sanders heart has no more fear, anger, even the ** escape also lost. Like a singer who sings to the ** of the whole aria, just indulge in melting his soul, bursting out. He was about to split the flesh and blood body in front of him in two like a fictionalized imagination with a high note.

  The curtain of light that was so brilliant that it seemed to continue until the hair of the world made a great sound of the opening of the heavens suddenly disappeared, and was reduced by a hand to a still, motionless sword.

  It was a very clean, slender hand. The fingers were long, and every bone was well-proportioned and jutted out beautifully, causing one to naturally associate all elegant words and movements at first sight.

  With a graceful gesture to match, this elegant hand cupped the blade of the sword like a butterfly fluttering in the air.

  All the sensations of a single breath drenching the blade suddenly came to a halt with it. The first thing Sanders felt was loss, the loss of a singer's throat suddenly cut just as she was about to marvel at her beautiful notes. Then came the pain and fear.

  The other hand, which must have been just as graceful, he could not see, only feel. That had gone the whole way into his chest, and he even felt the four fingers protruding from his back as well that were equally as long and well boned.

  Saunders opened his mouth and tried to make a moan, but found all sound throatily drowned out by the blood. It seemed as if all the blood in his body had been ripped from his throat, scrambling outward from his trachea, his esophagus, and swarming outward. The hand in his chest withdrew and the blood had a good outlet, immediately exiting his throat in a joyful and soothing reroute.

  Sanders clearly felt his strength, will, spirit, everything that had been surging inside him just a moment ago, along with the blood, cascade outward from his body with the withdrawal of the hand. Those things that were originally so solid, abundant, and constituted the entirety of his life just flowed out from the large hole in his chest, flowed out, no matter how much he didn't want to, he didn't even have the slightest bit of room for redemption. Finally, even the strength to stand on his feet dissipated from his body, and he collapsed.

  The light of the longsword faded rapidly, and then with a soft snap it shattered into a myriad of tiny flakes, scattering over its owner's body.

  A gust of wind blew by, and the human man's cloak turned into strands of tattered cloth falling under the whipping of the mountain wind, bearing witness to the matchless sword aura from earlier.

  The man lifted the hand that had cupped the longsword and looked at it against the moonlight. A bloodstain, if any, crossed the center of the palm, like a palm print that had just been born. The man's face remained like a statue without the slightest fluctuation.

  The pile of werewolf and lizardman corpses was carefully rummaged through, even the more intact ones being patched up a few more times until they were a mass of flesh and blood that couldn't possibly still have any life left in it. The lizardman who had fought Asa came over and reported the situation in the lizardman language, which had a majority of consonants.

  The man pointed to a werewolf to the river at the bottom of the hill and waved his hand, the werewolf immediately ran down the hill and disappeared into the night.

  An owl rested on a dead branch next to the campsite, staring blankly with two large eyes at the blood and flesh all over the ground, making a well-timed cooing sound.

  The man suddenly kicked a small rock, and with a punt, the owl on the branch was smashed and scattered by the rock like a pile of **cotton**. The remains of the owl fell, from which a black liquid leached out, a strong stench overpowering the blood that filled the mountain. The Orcs and Lycans let out a strange scream and busily covered their noses. The man looked at the black pieces on the ground that emitted a stench and frowned a little, his stone-like face finally had a hint of fluctuation, slightly revealing a worried look.

  Inside the dimly lit fighting room, the red-robed mage reached out and gently touched the crystal ball whose image had abruptly gone out, and sighed, "With so many fresh corpses, it must be heartbreaking for Sandru to see them."