The male supporting role was captured by the protagonist after his rebirth

When that voice sounded, Zhang Yi thought he must have been injured too badly and was hallucinating again.

How could Deng Shentong come to save him at this time? This was too wonderful, too wonderful to be true.

Blood slid down his forehead into his eyes, staining his vision. Everything in front of him became blurred, but he still tried in vain to focus his eyes on the white rose beside him.

"Zhang Yi!"

However, the next second, a touch of pure white broke into his already blurry vision. He could not see clearly, nor hear clearly, but he could smell the cool fragrance that belonged to one person alone.

It’s Deng Shentong.

It really is Deng Shentong.

Zhang Yi felt as if he had had a long dream, in which there was endless darkness and pain, but now he finally saw the light.

"How are you? Where are you hurt..."

He vaguely felt that the man squatted down, a cold finger fell on his face, and the soft fingertips gently wiped the bloody wound.

"Does it hurt?"

He heard Deng Shentong speak in a rare soft voice.

Zhang Yi wanted to tell him that it hurt, but at the same time, his heart didn't hurt anymore.

He used up almost all his strength, raised his hand and tugged at the corner of Deng Shentong's clothes, then he completely lost consciousness and fell into a coma.

Deng Shentong looked at the person in his arms. He gently stroked Zhang Yi's cheek, feeling the cold temperature under his hands.

Zhang Yi's face was pale from excessive blood loss, his eyes were closed, and his lips were bloodless, as if he would die at any time.

Deng Shentong lowered his eyebrows, his expression seemed to be compassionate and pity, but if someone could see his eyes through his thick black eyelashes, they would be shocked by the indifference in them.

Like the snow that never melts on the snowfield outside Blizzard City all year round.

The gentle voice sounded again, a gentle smile appeared on his lips, and he said in a voice that only he could hear: "It's better to feel pain... Only when it hurts can you remember it."

Then, he slowly stood up, looking calmly at the panicked killers in front of him, with his head slightly tilted, his silver hair slid softly across his cheeks and gently fell on both sides of his shoulders.

Deng Shentong smiled slightly, narrowed his eyes, and said softly: "My little flower garden is so lively that it attracts you to rush in one after another?"

The killers looked at Deng Shentong with horror. They never expected that he would suddenly appear at this time.

In fact, when they heard Deng Shentong's voice, they had already had the idea of ​​escaping in their hearts, but the pressure from Ipsilon was like a heavy mountain pressing on them, making them unable to move.

Ordinary humans have almost no power to resist such pressure.

Their legs felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead, their bodies were stiff, and only their teeth were chattering in extreme fear.

Deng Shentong's eyes flashed with a cold light, but he still had a smile on his face. He still stood there without moving, but the people in front of him felt that their lives were already counting down.

"Why did you sneak in if you like my flower garden so much? You could have come and asked me."

Deng Shentong sat down casually on the white bench in the middle of the flower bed. He was surrounded by roses that had been broken due to the fight. The scattered white petals were crushed in the soil, looking so desolate.

He bent down to pick up a broken flower bud, gently blew away the dust on it, and a trace of displeasure flashed across his beautiful face.

One of the killers said tremblingly: "Deng, Deng Shentong... We are also doing this for money, please let us go..."

Deng Shentong raised his face slightly, smiling even more brightly: "Oh? Business...what business?"

The killer who was speaking shuddered, with cold sweat dripping down his forehead: "Yes, yes..."

His voice was cut off as his throat was suddenly cut, and blood spurted out and splashed on the ground.

It turned out that the leading killer had quietly approached the other killer while they were talking and cut his throat with the long knife in his hand.

The leading killer looked at his fallen companion with indifference and gave a look to the rest of the people.

The others immediately understood what he meant, drew their weapons, and rushed towards Deng Shentong.

Deng Shentong chuckled, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes. He gently turned sideways to dodge the oncoming knife, and then a silver light flashed in his hand, and a deep scar appeared on the killer's chest.

He attacked with great speed and his movements were as graceful as dancing, and each attack accurately hit the enemy's vital points.

Seeing that the situation was not good, the other assassins drew their knives from their waists and rushed towards Deng Shentong. However, Deng Shentong was extremely agile. He easily avoided all attacks and counterattacked every enemy with amazing speed.

In fact, they knew in their hearts that this was just a last-ditch struggle, and they just wanted to try out the feeling of fighting with Ipsilon before they died.

The killers were horrified to find that they could not touch the corner of Deng Shentong's clothes at all, and they were easily killed by Deng Shentong.

In just a moment, all the killers were lying on the ground, and no one could stand up again.

At this time, only the leading killer was still standing there. His face was frighteningly gloomy, and his eyes were full of anger and unwillingness.

Deng Shentong slowly walked up to him and looked down at him with cold eyes: "Why, do you have any last words?"

The leading assassin said nothing, but just stared at Deng Shentong silently for a while, and then a trace of black blood suddenly flowed from the corner of his mouth. His body began to tremble slightly, and finally fell backwards slowly, completely losing any signs of life.

The ground was littered with corpses, blood gushing out of them like a fountain, gathering into a sea of ​​blood, dyeing the ground beneath their feet red. A few snow-white roses stood alone in this bloody land, their petals soaked in blood, showing a bright red color, as if they had merged with death.

Deng Shentong stood quietly in a pool of blood, like a Shura walking out of the depths of hell, but his face was as handsome as an angel.

He had a blank expression and cold eyes, as if he felt nothing about the tragic scene before him, as if all this was just a trivial farce.

Deng Shentong lowered his head and his eyes fell on the weapon in his hand. It was an extremely sharp pair of pruning shears. The blade was flashing with cold light and was covered with blood. Drops of blood slid down the blade and dripped onto the ground under his feet, splashing tiny blood flowers.

He did not draw his sword. The blood of these people was not worthy of tainting the Griffith in his hand.

"There are always people who rush to make fertilizer for my flowers."