Quick Transmigration: Learning Makes Me Improve

No sooner had he finished speaking than a series of muffled footsteps came from the darkness ahead.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

It makes people feel very depressed.

Xiong Wenwen involuntarily shrank back behind Yang Jian, muttering softly:

"What is this thing? It looks like it's carrying a coffin when it walks..."

Zhao Kaiming narrowed his eyes slightly.

At the end of the dark corridor, a tall silhouette gradually emerged.

It was a human-shaped figure, but it could no longer be called a "person".

He was extremely tall, at least two meters tall.

He was holding a wood-chopping knife.

He was not particularly robust; in fact, he appeared rather thin.

His face was obscured in the darkness; only his tattered clothes were vaguely visible.

The clothes looked like they were from the Republican era, so worn out that they were practically rotten and looked like a tattered rag hanging on his body.

He wasn't walking fast.

It was almost a leisurely pace.

But Zhao Kaiming noticed a detail.

The tall male corpse's gait was extremely strange.

Each step landed precisely on a specific spot on the carpet, without deviation, as if some unseen mark was guiding his path.

Those are footprints.

Rotten, foul-smelling footprints.

Even more bizarrely, every time he made a new footprint...

Some of the previous footprints will slowly disappear as if they had been wiped away by something, as if they had never existed.

"Is this the guardian you were talking about?" Yang Jian asked in a low voice.

Zhao Kaiming nodded.

As they were talking, the tall male corpse had already moved into the area where the light could reach.

Zhao Kaiming finally saw what he looked like.

It was a grayish-white face, expressionless, with features as stiff as a stone carving.

His skin was dry and wrinkled, like an old piece of cardboard pasted onto a skull.

The outline of the bone protruding from under the skin can be vaguely seen.

The strangest thing was his eyes.

His eyelids were half-closed, his eyes were cloudy and yellowish, unfocused, and he just stared blankly ahead.

No, to be precise, he wasn't "looking" at all; he was just facing that direction.

But he was indeed "sensing" something.

Zhao Kaiming noticed that the location where the tall male corpse appeared blocked the only path leading to the depths of the third floor.

He was like a wall, cutting the corridor in half.

But the real wall is his rules.

Zhao Kaiming glanced down at the red carpet beneath his feet.

In the very center of the carpet, there were several dark footprints.

The footprints looked as if they had been soaked in some corrosive liquid, deeply imprinted into the fibers, emitting a nauseating stench of decay.

The tall male corpse simply stood there, like a pre-written program, quietly waiting for the conditions to be triggered.

But Zhao Kaiming knew.

As soon as he steps onto that red carpet and into those rotten footprints, the woodcutter's axe will transcend all distances and strike him from afar.

"You all step back, I'll weigh him."

Zhao Kaiming said, and then he stepped onto the red carpet.

I stepped into that pile of rotten footprints.

moment.

The tall male corpse slowly raised his right hand.

That grayish-white, bony hand held an old wood-chopping knife.

The blade is jet black and shiny, with a faint dark red sheen visible on the edge.

It looks like the marks left after being soaked in blood countless times, or like the embodiment of some kind of supernatural power.

The machete hasn't been used yet.

Zhao Kaiming sensed an invisible sharpness.

It was as if something had already landed on him.

He looked down and saw that his clothes had silently torn open at the chest.

Even the skin cracked.

A shallow bloodstain stretched from the left shoulder to the right rib.

There was no blood on the wound.

But the crack is being eroded by a strange force, trying to spread deeper.

"Interesting." Zhao Kaiming licked his lips.

This is Li Qingzhi's wood-chopping knife.

Using footprints as a medium, disregarding distance, to kill from afar.

"Zhao Kaiming!" Yang Jian called out from behind.

"It's nothing." Zhao Kaiming waved his hand without turning his head.

His eyes were fixed on the wood-chopping knife in the tall male corpse's hand, and the dark red vortex in his pupils slowly swirled.

"I'll take this knife."