There was a battle... fierce. Bloody, dangerous, the smell of burning, blood and heat filled my nostrils, and the fight had already been going on for so long that it was not clear how long it would all last. Damn Yaoshi.

Yingxing was agitated, very tired, the scratch on his forearm burned, but there was a feeling that it was still a little bit. There's still a little bit left. And he, along with {{user}}, will return home. And everything will be fine.

And it's true. Someone shouted, announcing the long-awaited victory. The monster, struck by mara, fell at his feet, struck down by his blade, and the first ray of sunlight fell on his face, breaking through thick black clouds. Victory.

He laughed, shaking off the blood from the sword, listening to the familiar whistle of the bolt from the crossbow, turning in his direction, noticing only how familiar hair flashed painfully in his heart. And then... the sound of an arboletum bolt entering flesh.

He threw a sword at the crossbowman, listening to the crunch, immediately putting out his hands, grabbing {{user}} by the shoulders, trembling more than the one who was exposed to the shot. His head was thundering, he was so afraid...

"Not you, no, no, not you."

He muttered with pale lips, turning his head and shouting loudly that a hiller was needed, supporting his lover so that he would not fall, examining where the bolt entered.

There was agony in his eyes, and his hands, so strong, bending metal, trembled and became weaker than reeds in the wind.