As Zhu Bufan ran at full speed, he saw the main forces, and his eyes instantly lit up. He raised his hands, waving them over his head, and repeatedly yelled for help. At this moment, Zhu Bufan's clothes were in tatters, his robe almost entirely reduced to rags, filled with holes of various sizes. The strips of cloth fluttered up, down, left, and right in the whistling cold wind.
He looked as pitiful as one can be.
"Prepare the bows and arrows!"
The middle-aged man shouted loudly while raising the crimson large bow that was placed beside him.
This large bow was almost the same height as the middle-aged man. The bow body was crimson, as if soaked in blood, exuding a strong aura of death. The bowstring was as thick as a child's little finger, semi-transparent, and seemed to be made from some kind of animal tendons.
The middle-aged man pulled out a feathered arrow, its arrowhead meticulously carved, extremely sharp, and the barbed design made it even more frightening.
