Upon hearing they could leave, the Conquerors couldn't keep calm anymore. The brief confrontation had already made them realize the British wielded strong power. Continuing to fight would only lead to injuries with no benefits to their side. As for Tang Zheng's life or death, they couldn't care less.
"You can leave now, I promise not to pursue you," shouted the British again, trying to pressure and entice them. "Destroying the dark altar will yield substantial rewards. If you go too late, you won't even get a sip of soup."
"Come up with an idea quickly!" Fang Zhiwen panicked, knowing that if these people left, their side would be doomed.
Finally, someone couldn't hold out any longer. A five-member squad crawled out from their hiding place in the ruins, retreating backward. But they didn't walk far before a young man in the group collapsed onto the ground, his face contorted and body convulsing. Within just a few seconds, he stopped breathing.
