When Sanders saw the werewolf in front of him drop his weapon, he knew this was no longer a battle but a one-sided slaughter. So he shouted at the top of his lungs: "Everyone retreat! Those who can escape, get out and report back..." He didn't have time to finish what he was saying. The reason why the werewolf dropped its weapon was simple - that thing was originally meant for armor and shields, but now this opponent had abandoned defense, and there was no better weapon than his own claws, which were more agile and could entangle his opponent, leaving him helpless.

  The cannibal avoided Sanders' interception and charged into the crowd, starting a bloody and flesh-splattered carnival.

  Two massive war-hammers didn't have any fancy moves, nor did they have a fixed target, they just sought to hit as many human bodies as possible. Any armor was no different from paper-mache toys, unable to withstand the power of these two terrifying weapons. In this central area where flesh and internal organs were flying everywhere, there was almost no scream. Once in contact with those swinging war-hammers, a living person would instantly become a dead mass of mixed weapons, armor, bones, and muscles.

  The cannibalistic maniacs wildly swung their weapons, advancing, charging towards crowded areas, trampling, and then rushing towards another densely populated direction, like a killing machine driven by hellish demons, constantly crushing all the flesh that could be touched into pulp.

  Sanders' orders were irrelevant. When the ghouls charged into the crowd, the soldiers had nothing but hysterical terror in their minds. The soldiers rushed to the mountain pass, and most of them were intercepted, slaughtered, and turned into a blur of blood and flesh by the ghouls. The werewolves and lizardmen picked off those who managed to escape with their superior agility. The two beastmen guarding the pass took out two smaller crossbows and fired at anyone who occasionally got close to the pass, hitting their targets every time, piercing their foreheads. Some soldiers jumped off the cliff in extreme fear, letting out a long scream before falling silent.

  Those still on the mountain couldn't even cry out in despair.

  When a person faces the fear of death and runs away, but still knows that in the end they will still become a pool of blood and flesh, fear and despair will consume all their strength and spirit, leaving only a cry-like wail. It's a sound that people who have never experienced it can never imagine or feel.

  The mournful cries that spread across the ocean, the strange sounds of shattered bones and deformed flesh, the tearing of air and meat in discordant harmony, all blended into a symphony that would be etched in one's memory forever. A fellow being who was just like oneself mere moments before could suddenly have their white bones exposed, their internal organs still throbbing as they were pulled out of their body, blood and flesh cheaper than trash. Asa suddenly understood the true meaning of the word 'hell'.

  The corpse of a half-soldier flew over and fell beside Asa and the lizardman, who were in the midst of a fierce battle. The lower half of the corpse had been torn off by some massive force, with its entrails scattered all the way to the other half of its body more than ten meters away.

  Asa remembered the soldier, who had clashed with him during the conscription examination. The originally strong arm that had once entwined with his own was crushed like a lump of mud, and the iron shield in his hand was embedded into his chest.

  A mixture of sorrow and fear swarmed in, immediately covering all his fighting spirit. A few desperate knife attacks finally forced the lizardman to jump back, and Asa seized this fleeting opportunity to turn around and rush into the camp.

  Sanders also took the same action as Asa almost at the same time. After a few swift sword attacks, a piece of scalp was torn off from the werewolf's forehead as it retreated. His position was closer to the front intersection, with the man-eater and lizardman behind him, so he rushed towards the intersection occupied by only two beastmen and the figure in the cloak.

  A loud gust of wind came from behind, a wolf-toothed hammer flew over his head, carrying the momentum that could turn him into a puddle of mud flying down the mountain.

  Sanders glanced back and saw that the only surviving soldier had wrapped himself around the troll's head, causing its hammer to fly a little higher.

  "Captain, run..." The soldier yelled with his last remaining strength. His blood-soaked face was twisted in a grotesque grimace, a face that had been disfigured by countless scars, half of which had been caved in from being smashed by blunt weapons. This was a seasoned veteran who had probably pretended to be dead and then grabbed the ghoul's head when no one was paying attention.

  In this glimpse, he also saw the werewolf pick up an axe from the ground and throw it. The axe rotated rapidly in the air, forming a straight line that chased towards his back.

  He can no longer dodge and weave. Now he is running at full speed, and if he moves left or right, he can only roll on the spot, and the werewolves behind him will immediately catch up and wrap him around again.

  A loud roar of the man-eating devil, followed by a half scream and a very strange sound. It sounds like putting many dry twigs into a wet towel and twisting them hard, with dense cracking sounds and liquid seeping out mixed together.

  Sanders didn't have the leisure to look back, he put all his strength into his right leg and jumped forward violently, while putting the long sword on his back to protect his spine, gathering magic to prepare a healing spell.

  A dull thud. Saunders slid a short distance through the air before landing, stumbled several steps, spat out a mouthful of blood, and then charged back towards the intersection.

  Lucky, the axe just landed on the edge of the protective mirror close to my body, three ribs were broken and lungs were injured. The pre-prepared treatment spell immediately stopped bleeding and relieved pain, and will not affect movement for a short period of time.

  Only about ten meters away from the intersection, the fangs at the corners of the two half-orcs' mouths and the slightly panicked expressions on their faces were clearly visible. The figure in the middle with a cloak still had no reaction at all.

  As long as he rushed down the mountain and jumped into the Donau River, there was a chance to escape. Saunders concentrated all his remaining magical powers in his hands holding the sword.

  The cliff was right in front of him, and Asa remembered the position of the tree very clearly. He sprang into a jump.

  Fortunately, he twisted his body in mid-air and looked back to see a lizard man pulling out a small crossbow from behind him. He lowered his head, bent his waist, and flipped forward, feeling the arrow grazing his skin as it passed by. His body then flew completely off the cliff, plummeting straight down. The lizard man following closely behind stared wide-eyed at the edge of the cliff as he snapped a tree branch in mid-air with his foot, using his knife to insert himself into another branch, completely alleviating his downward momentum before safely entering the water.

  As Asa looked back at the mountain for the last time, he saw a white light illuminating the entire mountain as if it were daytime.

  The sword in Sanders' hand emitted a sharp edge comparable to the sun. All magical powers had been infused into the sword body.

  The blood streaming down his forehead had turned everything he saw in his left eye a deep crimson, Sanders felt nothing, all his spirit and will were concentrated in the sword that was about to be swung.

  Two goblins covered their eyes and dodged to the side under the intense light, while the figure in the middle with a cloak still didn't move. Under the strong light emitted by the long sword, the face under the cloak could be seen clearly.

  That was a human face, slightly thin and pale, with sharp facial bones like a sculpture, also as quiet as a sculpture. Under the long eyelashes, the black pupils were like a bottomless deep pool that had been stagnant for a thousand years, without any ripples, quietly reflecting the dazzling sword light coming from the front.

  There are still ten steps away, and that person has not shown any intention of avoiding it. The expression on his face has not changed at all, and there is no movement in his body. It's as if he were a stone statue standing there since the beginning of the world, and will remain motionless until the next beginning of the world.

  There are eight steps, seven steps, six steps, five steps, four steps, three steps. Sanders advances with a forward thrusting step and turns 360 degrees to draw his sword. The counterforce from the tip of the foot on the ground is transmitted through the calf, thigh, waist, chest, shoulder, and wrist to the sword body. Every muscle in the body adds up its strength without reservation and transmits it to the swing of this sword.

  It's not the person wielding the sword, but the sword manipulating the person. Every subtle movement is to pour out its sharpness and magical power that can be triggered by a single touch along the most perfect trajectory without leaving any margin. All the beastmen stopped moving, completely shocked and attracted by this sword.

  The sword's gleam turned into a sheet of light as it spun, extending rapidly forward with the momentum that could tear open the entire night sky. There was no sound whatsoever, but all the beastmen felt as if they were about to hear the mountain being torn in two with a deafening crash.

  All the speed, power, magic, will, spirit, and every tiny existence in life are all merged into this sword and burst out with unprecedented sparks. Sanders no longer had fear, anger, or even hope for escape in his heart. Like a singer who has sung to the climax of an aria, he was only intoxicated with dissolving his own soul and bursting forth. He was about to split that fleshly body in front of him into two like splitting an imaginary concept with the highest note...

  That dazzling light screen, which seemed to be able to continue to the end of the world and emit a earth-shattering roar, suddenly disappeared, and was restored by a hand into a motionless sword.

  This is a very clean and slender hand. The fingers are long, each joint is symmetrical, and the protrusions are beautiful, making people naturally associate with all elegant words and actions when they see it.

  This elegant hand grasped the sword's blade with an equally elegant gesture, as if pinching a butterfly dancing in mid-air.

  All the feelings of being on a roll and in the zone suddenly came to an abrupt halt. Sanders first felt a sense of loss, the kind that comes when a singer's most beautiful note is about to be sung but is instead cut short at the throat. Then came the pain and fear.

  He must have felt the other hand, just as elegant, which he couldn't see. It had already sunk into his chest, and he could even feel the four fingers protruding from his back, equally slender and well-proportioned.

  Sanders opened his mouth, wanting to let out a moan, but found that all the sounds were drowned in blood in his throat. It seemed that all the blood in his body was pulled into his throat, and from the trachea and esophagus, they rushed out in a frantic scramble. The hand in his chest cavity withdrew, and the blood had a better outlet, immediately happily and comfortably exiting from his throat and changing direction.

  Sanders clearly felt his strength, will and spirit, everything that had been surging inside him just now, all gushing out with the blood as the hand was pulled out of his body. Those things that were once so real, full, and made up his entire life flowed out from the big hole in his chest, no matter how unwilling he was, without even a thread of chance to retrieve them. Finally, even the strength to support his feet standing upright dissipated in his body, and he fell down with a thud.

  The gleam of the long sword rapidly faded away, then with a light crackling sound it shattered into countless small thin pieces that scattered over its master's corpse.

  A gust of wind blew by, and the human man's cloak was torn into tattered strips under the mountain breeze, witnessing the unmatched sword aura just now.

  The man lifted the hand that grasped the long sword, and looked at it in the moonlight. A faint bloodstain crossed the center of his palm, like a newly born palm line. The man's face remained as still as a sculpture.

  The werewolf and the lizardman rummaged through the pile of corpses, even the relatively intact ones had to be stabbed a few more times until they became a lump of flesh that couldn't possibly have any vitality left. The lizardman who fought Asa came over and reported the situation in a language dominated by consonants.

  The man pointed to a werewolf at the river below the mountain and waved his hand. The werewolf immediately ran down the mountain and disappeared into the night.

  An owl perched on a withered branch beside the camp, staring blankly at the bloody flesh all over the ground with its big round eyes, making very timely hooting sounds.

  The man suddenly kicked a small stone into the air, and with a thud, the owl on the branch was smashed to pieces like rotten cotton. The remains of the owl fell to the ground, exuding a black liquid, and a strong stench overpowered the bloody smell that filled the mountain. The half-beast and wolf-man let out a strange cry, hastily covering their noses. The man looked at the smelly black fragments on the ground, furrowed his brow, and for the first time, his stone-like face showed a hint of concern.

  In the dimly lit chamber, the red-robed mage gently stroked the crystal ball that had suddenly gone dark, and sighed: "So many fresh corpses, Sandru must be heartbroken."