A waning moon hung in the dark sky, like a curved blade that caused the wind to scream. That wind kicked up the scattered bits of snow on the ground and bent the red grass of the Crimson Wilds.

Fresh blood splashed here and there as Xu Qing walked forward like a specter. His dagger gleamed in the darkness as it slashed through one criminal after another. The evil in that blood did not qualify to melt the coldness, nor was it capable of warming the snowy wind. Even the red grass seemed to despise it, bending over so the blood dropped to the ground.

One corpse after another fell within the cold wind.

Xu Qing’s dagger became the last light they would ever see. With every step, he killed. When his dagger slashed through the neck of the final scavenger, the terror in the man’s eyes faded into darkness. Then Xu Qing stood there surrounded by the fallen corpses.

Every person died from a single slash.

Every wound was in the throat.

Slitting the throat was the most convenient and quickest way to kill someone. That said, it involved a lot of blood, and Xu Qing frowned at...