Refugee camp.
A large pot was bubbling with steam, the enticing aroma spreading, making the eyes of the refugees standing nearby glow green.
Most of the refugees guarding the pot were men. Though not exactly strong and robust, their faces had a bit of color, and their eyes were fairly bright, unlike those other refugees who were on the verge of death.
Despite their longing at this moment, none of these men dared to move recklessly, rather they occasionally cast frightened glances at one person.
This was a man with a scarred face and cold, sinister eyes.
At his waist hung a short knife, somewhat rusty, yet the sharp blade still screamed danger.
Scarface was devouring a sack of dry food voraciously.
In his haste to eat, some crumbs occasionally fell from the corners of his mouth.
Many refugees, seeing this, almost had fire spouting from their eyes.
Many among them hadn’t eaten proper food in a very long time.
Bark, grass roots, even algae from puddles, as long as it could be swallowed, they wouldn’t skip over it.
So when they saw Scarface brazenly eating flatbread, even deliberately wasting it, one could imagine their feelings.
Yet Scarface didn’t care at all, after finishing another piece of flatbread, he sighed with satisfaction, shook off the crumbs from his body, and walked to the stove.
A person lay here.
A skeleton-thin woman.
But at this moment, her face was unrecognizable, her body covered with scars.
Even so, she remained conscious, staring blankly at the sky.
Seeing this, Scarface sneered, lifted his leg, and kicked her.
"Damn, you can still hold on, in this state, haven’t died yet. What are you waiting for? Can’t be hoping to taste the meat soup, huh? Hahaha!"
At the end, Scarface laughed, seemingly pleased with his own wit.
The woman didn’t speak; in truth, she couldn’t open her mouth.
Only a tear slowly seeped from the corner of her eye and silently slid down.
Scarface grew even more frenzied, reached into the pot with a ladle, and scooped out some hot soup.
"Come on, don’t you want to eat? I’ll feed you a taste."
He said, holding the ladle to pour the scalding soup into her mouth.
Just then, an arrow shadow flashed by, nailing his arm.
The ladle fell, spilling the soup everywhere.
Scarface clutched his arm and screamed in pain.
"Who’s there?"
"Someone here to end you!"
Accompanied by a voice cold as ice, a figure appeared before everyone.
Scarface’s pupils instantly shrank, for he sensed the boiling fire-like Qi Blood emanating from this man.
"Quick, rush him and kill him!"
Scarface immediately shouted, commanding the refugees to charge at him, while he turned and fled.
But Zhao Ya wouldn’t let him escape.
Knife in hand, Zhao Ya sliced through, those people fell like wheat under a scythe.
No hindrance at all, Zhao Ya reached Scarface, and slashed across diagonally.
In the midst of his sprint, Scarface suddenly felt his legs lighten, then he uncontrollably fell to the ground.
Looking back, his legs stood intact in front of him.
Scarface realized his legs had been cut off, unable to hold back another scream.
"Ahhh, spare me, spare me!"
Though he said this, his remaining hand quietly gripped the short knife at his waist, planning a surprise attack when the man in black approached.
But soon, his plan fell through.
His little trick couldn’t fool Zhao Ya, who kicked his arm, the short knife clattered to the ground.
Then Zhao Ya grabbed his arm and twisted it violently.
With a series of cracking sounds, Scarface’s arm was forcibly twisted off.
Scarface almost fainted from the pain.
Yet Zhao Ya’s anger was far from quelled.
He had witnessed the entire scene just now, especially the woman’s plight, which made even Zhao Ya horrified.
So towards the perpetrator, Zhao Ya would naturally show no mercy.
"Was the flatbread tasty?" Zhao Ya asked coldly.
Scarface finally understood why this murderous spirit had appeared, filled with regret.
If he’d known this outcome, he’d never have touched that woman.
But it was too late now.
Scarface’s ferocity surged, and he grinned.
"Delicious, extremely delicious, but nothing as good as meat!"
With a challenging gaze, he watched Zhao Ya, hoping to anger him into killing him quickly.
Sure enough, Scarface noticed the fleeting anger in the eyes of the man in black.
But it was quickly hidden, as Zhao Ya began to smile.
"It seems you love meat!"
"That’s right, I especially love meat, I’ve eaten over thirty or so recently, the taste... tsk, even better than lamb."
Zhao Ya nodded, "Since you do, I’ll let you eat your fill!"
With that, Zhao Ya picked up the large pot and approached Scarface.
"What... what are you doing?"
"Doing? Didn’t you want meat? I’m going to feed you now!"
Saying this, Zhao Ya began pouring the hot soup onto Scarface.
Scarface screamed in agony, first cursing loudly, then begging softly, but soon he couldn’t speak, only emitted unconscious moans.
After pouring it all, he looked at Scarface, who was now well and truly dead.
Zhao Ya dropped the pot, turned, and went to the woman.
She was still breathing faintly, especially upon seeing Zhao Ya, her eyes seemed a bit brighter.
Zhao Ya was silent for a moment, then said slowly, "The one who killed your child is now dead."
The woman suddenly became agitated, emitting sounds from her throat, tears flowing continuously.
Zhao Ya understood her meaning, she wanted to be released.
Then Zhao Ya nodded.
"Close your eyes!"
The woman obeyed and closed her eyes, Zhao Ya stabbed a knife into her throat.
Her body stiffened, then relaxed, her lips subtly curling up as if smiling.
Zhao Ya withdrew the knife, turned to the other refugees.
Wherever his eyes roamed, none dared lift their heads.
The gruesome death of Scarface had scarred these people deeply.
Zhao Ya had thought his anger would drive him to kill everyone present, but looking at these emaciated people covered in wounds, Zhao Ya suddenly felt it meaningless.