In the desolate Ancient Battlefield, two tall figures supported each other as they moved slowly forward.
Their bodies appeared somewhat bedraggled, their clothes tattered and torn, and their hair terribly tousled.
"Let's take a break." Ji Yaohua finally couldn't help but say to Ying Ze as he saw a black stone in front of them.
Ying Ze pressed his lips tightly, looked at the black stone, and nodded.
The two headed towards the black stone, a short distance that felt as far as a journey through mountains and rivers. Finally, they reached the black stone.
Hands that had been supporting each other released their grip, and the two tall and handsome men, their legs weakening, fell to the ground, leaning against the black stone.
"Ah—! Finally, a chance to rest." Ji Yaohua sighed.
His hands, covered in blood and dirt, still gripped tightly onto a dagger.
Ying Ze sat beside him, not speaking, but sharing the same sentiment as Ji Yaohua.
