"Whoa—"
Jiang Qiu reined in his horse, dismounted, and helped Xiong up from the ground. Twenty-some Warriors, holding Cold Iron Spears, formed a circle around the two of them, their heads tilted up as they warily watched the hundred or so members of the Demon Race circling in the sky.
The few Warriors who had been on the ground moments ago had already been dealt with by the Demon Race. Fortunately, Xiong was a little farther away, and the last demon moving to execute him hadn't been able to react in time.
"Uncle Xiong, are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
Xiong used Jiang Qiu's shoulder to pull himself up. His chest heaved violently, and large clouds of white breath billowed from his mouth and nose. He didn't look to be in good shape, but the muscles in his arms were still tensed.
'I never thought the one who came to save me would be Qiu...'
"Uncle Xiong, get on the horse first."
