"Kid."
The leader, a Fourth-Grade masked man, spoke. His voice was hoarse and dry, like scraping metal.
"We've taken a liking to what's in that box on your back. Put it down, leave your valuables, and we'll spare your life. Otherwise..."
He didn't finish, but his meaning was crystal clear: robbery and murder.
Fang Han was alone and had just won a valuable treasure at auction. In their eyes, he was a fat sheep waiting to be slaughtered.
"With just you lot?"
Fang Han stopped, his calm gaze sweeping all around him. In the darkness of the night, his eyes were profound, showing not a hint of panic.
He spoke, his voice quiet yet carrying clearly to each person's ears, tinged with a faint trace of mockery.
"Courting death!"
Another Fourth-Grade masked man, apparently with a worse temper, let out a low shout and was the first to charge.
