Chapter 472: Legion of the 60th Floor 2
A blood-soaked man galloped across the plains on horseback. His mount had a long gash across its hindquarters, likely grazed by the large arrows shot by Orc Longbowmen. The horse kept running, bleeding profusely until it finally collapsed sideways.
The man rolled across the grassy ground, covered in what might have been horse's blood or his own. Covered in blood, dirt, and grass clippings, he looked like a walking grass doll - or rather a gory horror mannequin. Yet even with twisted and broken legs, he wouldn't stop moving.
Running, rolling, falling, crawling - his appearance was awful. Broken arrow shafts protruded from his body; he must not have had time to pull them out when he was hit.
"What, what is this?!"
"Brother, did you say Demon Lord?!"
Fortunately, this was in front of the gate on floor 60. A priest from a passing adventurer party rushed over, followed by a group of priests who had come to pray using the supply caravan's wagons.
Irene reached out in shock, her inefficient heal softly enveloping the man's wounds. Though weak individually, the overwhelming brute force of holy power was supplemented by the other priests who had emerged at the commotion, carefully healing his injuries.
His face remained deathly pale - the blood lost on the plains couldn't be instantly restored. Still refusing to stop despite receiving treatment and support from the priests, the man approached us.
Or rather, approached the hero.