Carl's head was buzzing. He could not believe that his Seven-Tailed Centipede had failed.

Andrew raised his foot and slammed it into Carl's chest. With a splatter, a large gush of blood burst from Carl's mouth as he flew back a few yards, crashing hard into a flower bed.

This impact finally knocked some sense into him. As he struggled to get up from the ground, his eyes bulged with rage.

"Andrew, this isn't over. Just you wait…" Carl let out a miserable scream through his blood-filled mouth.

He never imagined his usually foolproof poison attacks would fail. Even more unbelievable was that he, Mosby's senior apprentice—skilled in both medicine and martial arts—had been reduced to such a severely injured state.

The tearing pain on his face and the burning sensation in his chest with every slight breath made Carl realize how badly he was hurt. These injuries might even leave him with permanent damage.

With this thought, his murderous intent toward Andrew expanded endlessly. He