The cut-open flesh.

It wasn't Shen Cong's flesh.

In a flash of lightning and flint—

Shen Cong, as though he'd grown eyes in the back of his head, gave a twist of his body, the short blade in his hand instantly sweeping across Liang Weilong—whose guard had been thrown wide open by the need to thrust the dagger.

The throat.

The dagger was a single finger's length from Shen Cong, yet could advance no further. Then, a clatter—the dagger dropped. Liang Weilong clutched his own neck, gaze vacant as he looked at Shen Cong. "You..."

The words weren't finished.

Thud—he pitched over onto the ground.

"You know nothing about power." Shen Cong said it without joy or sorrow, his hand not stopping, adding a blade square to Liang Weilong's head.

Even having turned his head, so what? Under the Third Eye's coverage, within several hundred meters all around, not a blade of grass stirring in the wind could escape his perception.

Not to mention, this had been a flaw Shen Cong sold him in the first place.

The wind blew past.

It lifted the hem of Liang Weilong's clothing, revealing rows upon rows of tubes within.

His hulking, burly exterior was in large part precisely because his body was wound all over with these tubes. Shen Cong didn't know what the tubes were called, so he gave them a name himself—Mushroom tubes, the detonator-caps within a Mushroom Cannon. Back then, he'd been hit by exactly such an ultimate move from Bruce Li, which had nearly blown the Hell Plant Armor to death.

So when he'd seen Liang Weilong surrender, hand clutching his belly, he'd instantly thought of Bruce Li, pulling the Mushroom tubes' cord in the moment before death.

Thinking this, Shen Cong had deliberately turned his head.

To lure Liang Weilong into abandoning the idea of self-detonation, and switching instead to a sneak attack on him.

And this fellow really had launched the sneak attack.

So tragedy was fated.

The short blade flicked open the cord binding the Mushroom tubes, and Shen Cong drew out the great mass of…