Liao Ping was covered in knife marks, still struggling to protect the teammates who had drawn in close.
Yes.
This team had reached a dead end, surrounded by the Four-armed Race from all directions, with no chance to escape.
Six Fourth-Grade.
26 Third-Grade.
The aliens sneered disdainfully.
Facing this group of lowly Second-Grade Wuwen Race, they could slaughter them like chickens, killing everyone.
"Liao Ping, can't you lift the seal yet?"
A Second-Grade Martial Artist shouted anxiously.
His throat was nearly torn apart.
Not only the Second-Grade Martial Artist, even the Fourth-Grade captain was staring at Liao Ping anxiously.
Though pushed to the brink, there was not much despair on their faces.
There was still one last hope in everyone's heart.
Yes!
It was Liao Ping.
Liao Ping, with his foolish parted hair, wearing even sillier glasses.
Liao Ji looked at Liao Ping with a complex expression.
