Under the pale moonlight, the war horse carried Tang Zheng, its four hooves performing a splendid dressage step as it elegantly trotted to a point thirty meters from the camping ground. No trace of dust was stirred in its wake.
The indigenous people crowded around in chaos, their eyes gleaming fiercely as they stared at Arthur, with some already too impatient to make their move and catch someone in exchange for a can of lunch meat.
"Was it you who raided my tribe?" Arthur slapped the ground with his right hand, and his body eerily floated up before he took a gulp of red wine and smashed the bottle onto the ground, "Since you're here, there's no need to leave."
"You sure talk big," Tang Zheng, holding the reins, glanced over at the other two Conquerors, "If you're severely injured, you should just focus on healing. Don't waste your life energy trying to intimidate. Hasn't your experience taught you that provoking a stronger adversary will only lead to a quicker death?"
