In fact, she had already been accidentally injured several times before: bumped into by someone, struck with weapons.
This time, she had been hit by a bullet.
Zhao Yi clutched her left arm, her face somewhat pale.
She picked up a rifle that had fallen to the ground, then bent down and carefully skirted around the melee, finding a small, deserted slope outside the highway to hide behind.
Subsequently, she gritted her teeth against the excruciating pain, set up the rifle in her hands, aimed at a battle group a few dozen meters away, and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
This shot missed the target.
There was no helping it; aiming in the midst of a chaotic battle was difficult, and martial artists moved very fast. Although Zhao Yi had practiced marksmanship, she hadn't reached the divine level of mastery where she could hit the target without closing in for a proper aim.
