Whoosh!
A greatsword mercilessly chopped down.
In an instant, heads rolled, smashing onto the ground.
Blood gushed forth like a fountain, spurting from the severed necks.
Zhang Xiuwen's movements were swift; beneath the cold gleam of the Crescent Moon Blade, there was no trace of life to be spared.
Upon witnessing this scene, Qin Zheng's pupils shrank sharply.
The action of beheading was all too familiar to Qin Zheng.
But when he saw that the greatsword was severing the heads of innocent people, of people he knew well,
Qin Zheng felt his blood rush through his veins with a surge of fervor reaching his head.
The soldier who has just been beheaded was the one who would praise his swordsmanship for being sharp, who reminded him to remember to collect his pay.
He lunged forward violently, poised to vault over the city wall and plunge down.