The young man's body fell limply.
The neck that was mercilessly broken was tilted, and the face looking up to the sky was like a delicate doll that had lost its soul.
Arthur Yan raised his hand and threw the young man's body towards the vines wrapped around the wheel saw.
Crackling wheel saws and green vines intertwined into a dense web of despair, from which spurts of tomato juice squeezed out.
A man holding a white umbrella appeared in the afterimage. He stood on tiptoes on the vines, as light as a butterfly.
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