Ye Xuan picked up the short knife from the ground, walked over, grabbed the man with the hawk nose by the hair, and dragged him down like a dead dog.
Then, with the knife against the man's throat, Ye Xuan said indifferently, "I told you that this time you'd fall into my hands and even be wiped out! Now do you believe it?"
"Hmph, to the victor goes the spoils, there's nothing more to say—you got me today! Just make it quick!"
The man with the hawk nose had a bloodied face, yet his words were calm.
There wasn't a hint of fear, just a stoic acceptance of death. For someone like him, who constantly danced on the edge of the blade, death was always a close shave, and they lived with their lives hanging by a thread, so when death came, all they had was peace of mind.
"Heh, want to die? Did I let you die?"
