It had all happened too quickly, too brutally.
Even Zhao Qinghuo hadn't been able to react in time to save him.
By the time he came to his senses, Zhao Qingshui had already died in agony. More than two hundred pieces of flesh had been sliced from his body, leaving only stark white bone. Crimson blood stained the ground, and chunks of flesh lay scattered about, pieced together to form the large character for 'death'—a hair-raising sight.
"My brother…"
Zhao Qinghuo's eyes were bloodshot as he let out a hysterical, furious roar.
He and Zhao Qingshui were blood brothers, born of the same mother. Yet, right before his very eyes, his own brother had been sliced to death by Jiang Chen, one sword strike at a time—death by a thousand cuts.
This drove Zhao Qinghuo to the brink of fury. He gnashed his teeth, his eyes filled with a chilling, venomous hatred. "Jiang Chen… you killed my brother, you ended my bloodline! If I don't tear you to pieces today, I'll renounce my name!"
