A warm trickle of blood slid down the burly man's face, the sharp blade leaving a shallow, crimson line across his cheek.
He maintained his stance, holding his saber high in the air, terrified to make even the slightest movement. Beads of sweat the size of soybeans dripped from his forehead as his legs trembled uncontrollably. He stared at Shen Haoran in absolute horror. A foul stench wafted from his crotch; he had actually wet his pants in pure terror.
Seeing the brute's pathetic state, the Martial Artists in the tavern burst into laughter. For a dignified Martial Artist to literally piss himself in fear was an absolute disgrace.
The burly man ignored the mocking crowd. His bloodshot eyes remained fixed on Haoran, looking as though he were enduring some unfathomable, crushing pressure.
