Winter.
Night,
arrived earlier and faster than usual.
As nightfall approached, the atmosphere was already dim, and the streets were long deserted.
Only a sense of foreboding filled the air.
The long spear in the person's hand, though not a three or four-meter-long pole-arm, was still eight feet long, and the black shaft was barely visible in the night.
"Swish!"
The spear tip thrust forward with incredible speed.
Fang Zheng's eyes narrowed, the spearhead reflected in his pupils.
Unlike ordinary spears with a wooden shaft connecting the spearhead,
this was an entirely steel spear, heavy, with a sharp needle-like tip, and both edges were sharpened.
The whole spear exuded a sense of weight and oppression.
Though there was only one person, Fang Zheng felt as though he was on a battlefield, facing a massive army, a thick killing intent piercing towards him.
"Good!"
