Since all these rules and superstitions are outdated, what's wrong with me indulging in some me

The mist slowly wafted through the alleyway, like countless lazy tongues licking every inch of the bluestone slabs.

Kevin and Mark moved quickly, one after the other, close to the wall.

Are you sure you saw it?

Kevin's voice was low, his gaze fixed on the fog ahead.

"I'm sure." Mark gripped the dagger tightly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "I'd recognize that face even if it were burned to ashes."

That boy.

He looked to be fourteen or fifteen years old, wearing patched coarse cloth clothes. His face was a little dirty, but his eyes were very bright—it was those eyes that led them into the bamboo forest and then disappeared without a trace.

It was because of him that Mark's arm was poisoned, and he almost died.

"His arm..." Mark paused, his brow furrowing, "...it looks like it's ruined."

Kevin did not answer.

He saw it too.

As the boy flashed past the alleyway entrance, his right arm hung at an unnatural angle, as if it were broken.

If An Zhiyu were here, she would definitely know that the boy Mark and Kevin are currently following is the same villager she had captured before.

Kevin and Mark exchanged a glance, but did not stop walking.

The boy's figure was faintly visible in the mist ahead, walking slowly, as if he were waiting for them.

"He's leading us."

Mark noticed it too, and his voice tightened.

"Um."

Kevin certainly knew.

But he didn't stop.

That boy is the key clue; the answer must lie within him.

"Be careful," Kevin whispered. "Stay close to me."

His hand was already on his waist.

The fog is getting thicker and thicker.

The boy turned into a narrower alley.

Kevin and Mark followed them inside.

The alleyway is flanked by high earthen walls covered with moss, and the ground is made of slippery bluestone slabs.

The boy's figure appeared and disappeared in front of them.

Then--

He stopped.

He stood in the middle of the alley, his back to them, motionless.

Kevin stopped in his tracks and placed his right hand on the gun handle at his lower back.

Mark gripped the dagger tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"Feed—" Mark began, his voice muffled in the mist, "You fucking—"

He hadn't finished speaking.

Suddenly, a whooshing sound came from behind!

Kevin reacted extremely quickly, instantly turning to the side. A dark shadow brushed past his shoulder, accompanied by a sharp gust of wind!

That is--

A shovel.

It was held in the hand of an exceptionally tall and robust villager.

Before he could think further, more figures emerged from the fog.

From both ends of the alley, from the shadows of the earthen walls on both sides, and from behind those half-open doors—one villager after another emerged.

Their movements were slow and silent.

A dozen or so.

More than twenty.

more and more.

Kevin's pupils contracted sharply.

"run!"

He let out a low growl and drew the gun from his waist!

"Bang!"

Gunshots rang out in the narrow alley, making people's eardrums ache!

A cloud of blood erupted from the chest of the burly villager at the very front, but then the next villager followed.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Kevin fired three shots, each hitting a villager precisely.

"Damn it! What are these things?!"

Mark's voice trembled as he swung his dagger with all his might, killing one of the approaching villagers.

But there were too many people.

New figures kept emerging from the fog, surrounding them completely.

Kevin's gun spat fire, and the sound of spent cartridges hitting the ground was swallowed up by footsteps and panting.

His marksmanship was extremely accurate; every shot hit the vital points of those at the front—between the eyebrows, the heart, and the throat.

This is the professional quality of a top-notch marksman.

But it didn't work.

No matter how fast Kevin changed magazines, he couldn't outrun their approaching footsteps.

Most importantly, the gun was a reward from the previous dungeon, but the bullets were not. Each bullet had to be redeemed in the system shop, which required a lot of points.

But there were too many villagers.

There are too many to kill.

Meanwhile, a dark figure silently approached Mark from his side and rear.

Mark was completely unaware that the dagger had pierced a villager.

"Be careful!"

Kevin's roar hadn't even finished—

"Bang!"

A heavy blow landed squarely on the back of Mark's head!

Mark's body stiffened abruptly, his eyes widened, and his pupils dilated instantly. He didn't even have time to turn around and see who had done it before he fell forward and crashed heavily onto the wet, slippery flagstones.

The dagger slipped from his hand with a crisp "clink".

Kevin's eyes instantly became bloodshot:

"mark!!"

He tried frantically to rush over, but it was too late.

"Well--!"

Mark let out a suppressed, painful groan—even in his unconscious state, the pain still made him make a sound.

Kevin felt as if his heart was being squeezed tightly.

Mark lay in a pool of blood, his left arm missing below the elbow.

The cut was a bloody mess, with dark red blood gushing out from the torn flesh.

The boy who had led the way stood beside them, holding a blood-stained machete in his left hand.

He looked down at the severed arm on the ground, his face expressionless.

Then he looked up at Kevin.

His right arm hung at an unnatural angle—it was truly useless.

But he still has his left hand.

The left hand held a knife, the tip of which was still dripping blood.

"you--!"

Kevin's eyes instantly filled with blood, and he pointed the gun at the boy's head!

"Bang!"

Gunshots rang out!

But the bullet missed.

Because a hand reached out from the side, precisely grasped Kevin's wrist, and lifted it upwards—

The bullet grazed the boy's scalp, struck the earthen wall behind him, and kicked up a cloud of dust.

Kevin turned his head abruptly.

An aged face appeared in the mist.

A face as cold as stone appeared in the mist.

He wore a dark blue Zhongshan suit, his back was straight, and his face was as cold as frost, without any expression.

village head.

Chen Shan.

He stood right next to Kevin, his hand still holding Kevin's wrist.

The force was astonishing, like an iron clamp, rendering Kevin unable to move.

"open!"

Kevin roared, his other hand already reaching for the spare dagger at his waist.

But the village chief did not let up.

He simply stared at Kevin, his cold eyes devoid of any emotion.

"Guest," his voice was flat and cold, as if stating a trivial fact, "put down your gun."

"Put it down?!" Kevin's voice was practically squeezed out through clenched teeth. "Are you looking for death?"

The villagers stood a few steps away, watching quietly.

No one stepped forward.

No one left.

Just watching.

Like a flock of silent vultures, waiting for their prey to breathe its last.

"Guest," the village chief said expressionlessly, looking at Mark on the ground and then coldly glancing at the surrounding villagers, "if you don't want your companion to die, then stop."