However, his usual twin sabers were now useless, which made William Carter feel quite distressed. For a martial artist like him, weapons were life itself; losing his twin sabers was like losing half his life.

He looked around, picked up a broken tree branch from the ground, skillfully snapped off the smaller twigs, and fashioned it into a wooden stick. In this unfamiliar forest, danger lurked everywhere, so having a stick at least counted as a life-saving weapon.

Next, he used the snapped-off twigs to weave a ring, hooked it around his waist, and used it to cover his body.

Once everything was ready, William Carter casually swung the stick, gritted his teeth, and said, “If I ever find out who did this, I’ll never let him off!”

He judged the general direction by the position of the sun, thought for a moment, and then strode north.

He had no idea which direction would get him out of the forest fastest; he was going entirely by instinct.

This forest seemed endless. William Carter walked from dawn until noon and was still deep within the woods. At the same time, he grew more and more confused—where did such a vast forest come from? The whole situation was hard to understand. Who would go to such great lengths to bring him here? He had far too many questions in his heart.

Just as he was about to climb a tree to get his bearings, he suddenly heard a series of roars coming from ahead. The sound was faint and muffled due to the distance. William Carter was instantly alert, paused for a moment, gripped his stick tightly, and dashed toward the source of the noise.

The closer he ran, the clearer the sounds became, and the more chaotic. There were the clangs of metal clashing, shouts, and even blood-curdling screams...

So many sounds mixed together that it was impossible to tell how many there were. This made William Carter feel as if he were approaching a large battlefield. But thinking about it, it was rather ridiculous—who would fight a battle in the forest? And with cold weapons, no less. If it were the mafia, that would be even more absurd—what would they be fighting for in such a desolate place?

Gradually, the trees in the forest thinned out, and large patches of grassland appeared. Sensing he was getting close to the source of the chaos, William Carter slowed down and instinctively crouched, carefully approaching.

His attention was focused ahead when suddenly his foot slipped on something soft. William Carter lost his balance and fell headlong to the ground. Luckily, it was grass, so the fall didn’t hurt. He cursed under his breath, got up, turned around, and was startled to see that what had tripped him was a person—a person covered in blood, lying motionless on the ground.

William Carter gasped, frowning as he stared at the man.

The man was dressed in a black robe, with a leather breastplate smeared with black paint, boots on his feet, and a long spear gripped tightly in his hand. Looking up, he wore a steel helmet forged from black iron. Judging by his outfit, he looked almost exactly like an ancient soldier.

Is this a movie shoot? William Carter couldn’t help but laugh, glancing around, his ears filled with the sounds of battle, but there was no camera in sight. Clearly, there was no filming going on here. Was this actor playing dead just being extremely dedicated? Thinking this, he poked the man with his stick and said, “Get up, brother, your scene is over!”

The man on the ground didn’t react at all, not even breathing, his face pale and ashen, looking no different from a real corpse.

William Carter raised his eyebrows, slowly withdrew his stick, and saw that the tip was stained with the man’s blood. He touched it with his finger—it was sticky. He bent down and sniffed; there was a sweet, metallic smell. With his experience, William Carter immediately realized this was real blood, not fake. His eyes widened as he leaned in closer and felt the man’s neck—ice cold, with no pulse at all.

Yikes! William Carter was shocked. This was a real corpse, not a fake one. That meant this wasn’t a movie shoot, but a real fight! But it was strange—who still wore clothes like this nowadays? William Carter sprang to his feet, wanting to get out of the forest and see what was going on outside. After a couple of steps, he stopped, looked down at his body covered only by a ring of twigs, and realized he looked even more bizarre than the dead man.

He sighed, glanced back at the corpse, then walked over and muttered, “Sorry, friend, but your clothes are more useful on me than on you!” As he spoke, he stripped the corpse of its clothes and quickly put them on. At this moment, William Carter had no idea that putting on these clothes would mark a complete turning point in his life.

William Carter was of average build, so as long as the clothes weren’t an odd size, he could wear them. Though the sticky blood made him uncomfortable, it was still much better than being naked. Finally, he picked up the leather armor, weighed it in his hand—it felt heavy—so he tossed it aside, but he did pull the spear from the corpse’s hand and carried it with him. In case of danger, a spear was much more useful than the stick he’d made earlier.

Now clothed and armed, William Carter glanced at the corpse on the ground, let out a wicked chuckle, then took a deep breath and hunched over, slipping out of the woods.