THUD!
A heavy weight suddenly collapsed onto Zhao Yan's body.
He had been so certain—so very certain—that death had come for him. The blade had gleamed in the night, already descending. There had been no time to move, no room to parry.
But instead of steel piercing through flesh, he heard a soft clang—a sound so clean it made his ears ring—and the enemy's blade clattered uselessly to the ground!
And then came the body.
Zhao Yan blinked in absolute shock as the man who had meant to kill him fell forward like a puppet whose strings had been cut, crashing heavily onto his chest!
Blood. Warm, sticky blood seeped through the man's clothes and stained Zhao Yan's own, oozing with a pungent metallic scent that made his stomach churn.
Disgusted, Zhao Yan shoved the corpse away with all the strength he could muster.
The man rolled off limply, his head tilting just enough for Zhao Yan to see it—
An arrow!
Right in the center of the forehead!
