The Sixteenth Game: Battle Royale 8

But compared to revenge, the more pressing matter was dealing with her wounds.

Wen Nannan sat down and took off her jacket and bulletproof vest. A bullet was embedded in the flesh of her shoulder back, and the skin around it had swollen badly.

She turned her head to look at the wound, then lit a lighter to sterilize the kitchen knife. Stuffing a piece of cloth into her mouth, she cut into the bulging skin with the knife and forcibly dug the bullet out of her flesh.

There was no anesthesia—just raw pain. The excruciating pain made the veins in her neck bulge.

As she pulled the bullet out, sweat the size of beans rolled down her forehead. Her shoulder back was left with a gruesome, slashed wound.

Blood continued to soak downwards, even the hemostatic powder couldn't stem the flow. Wen Nannan was forced to reach for the lighter once again.

Under the searing flame, the bleeding gradually began to clot—but the price was agony layered upon agony.