"Break!"

Otniel Harsh thrust out with his spear!

Bang!

In the air, the white dragon phantom exploded!

Directly scattering raindrops around!

In an instant!

A spear suddenly appeared as if dozens, hundreds of spears!

Thrusting out simultaneously!

"Ah!" Andrew roared, charging with all his might!

Every strike of his crashed onto Otniel Harsh's spear, sparks flying incessantly!

The point of impact turned red from the heat!

Raindrops falling on it instantly became steam!

Andrew, as if unafraid of death, struck out eighty-one times in succession!

In merely five seconds!

Eighty-one strikes!

Clang!

He knelt on one knee, his spear embedded in the mud beneath his feet.

Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Andrew's hands slid down continuously.

He could no longer hold his spear.

Whump!

Otniel Harsh spat out a mouthful of blood, his face unnaturally pale.

"If I weren't injured, you wouldn't be a match for me." Andrew knelt on the ground, laughed heartily. "With my martial arts skills, alas born at the wrong time! If you gave me more time, you'd all be dead!"

Unwillingness.

He was unwilling!

But, there was no way out.

Things had come to this point, a dead end.

"Emperor, you can come out now." Andrew laughed miserably: "Knowing your character, you'd definitely want revenge personally. Come, I am the Alliance Hierarch, the Alliance Hierarch of your Seven Veins! I'll wait for you to kill me with your own hands, bearing the shame for eternity!"

He looked up.

Saw Grace River in phoenix robes amidst the torrential rain.

"Andrew." Grace River stood ten meters away from Andrew, spoke without any emotion: "Today, I will kill you."

"How did you track my whereabouts!" Andrew raised his head, his right hand slowly moved behind his waist.

Raindrops trickled down his face, mingled with blood.

All along, Andrew hid his tracks.

Yet this time, the imperial lineage tracked him down here within just half a day.

And set an ambush.

Highly unreasonable.

"Since you're dying, I can tell you one thing." Grace River extended a slender finger, pointing at Andrew.

The fingernail bore a decorative nail full of gold lacquer and diamonds.

A regal aura surged forth.

"The West Tower of Moon Estate is the Holy Lord."

Grace River spoke calmly.

"What?" Andrew's eyes widened, incredulous!

A long pause.

"Hahahaha! Darrell Percival, you've killed me! You've killed me!"

He threw his head back, laughing amidst tears.

Such is time, such is fate.

He accepted it.

Andrew lowered his head, no longer struggling.

Shrrk!

Grace River drew her longsword, stepping towards him.

"Andrew, today we end this. Your death is fated." Grace River raised her sword, standing over Andrew. "It's over."

"It's not over yet!" Andrew's body suddenly surged with power!

He lifted his head, eyes filled with fanaticism!

His left hand drew out a pitch-black sword from behind his waist!

It was this very sword that once broke Grace River's Martial Abernathy aura!

Now, Andrew was taking a desperate gamble!

Thunk!

But before he could stand!

An arrow shot through his back!

Andrew's body trembled, the blade in his hand fell to the ground.

Behind him, the emperor's sister with bow in hand, expressionless.

"Heh..." Andrew lowered his head, looking at the bloody arrow shaft in his chest.

Grace River swung the sword down!

A head rolled into the muddy water, mingled with blood.

Thud!

Andrew's headless body fell.

The nearly invincible spear shattered instantly!

Falling into a pile of dust beside Andrew.

"Emperor, should we still head to Moon Estate?" Otniel Harsh inquired.

His chest still ached faintly.

"No more."

Grace River shook her head, her face emotionless. "I need to kill someone, for him, and for myself."

"Who?" Otniel Harsh asked.

"Eliezer Pine." Grace River shrugged off the royal robe, raindrops scattering.

From the warhorse, the emperor's sister slowly drew a heavy sword, looking at the remaining Pendleton remnants before her. "Leave none alive."

"Spare us, Lady! We're innocent! We're willing to surrender, give us a chance!"

The remaining Pendleton people wailed incessantly.

With Andrew's death, leaderless!

"In this world, no one is innocent." The emperor's sister, riding the warhorse, swept past them!

A single swing!

Killed seven!

The raindrops continuously washed over the ground as if to cleanse the blood from the soil.

But it was mostly in vain.

The underworld is a muddy pool, once you're in, say goodbye to dignity.

...

Boulevard Mountain.

Military Camp.

The commander was a close associate of Han Caldwell's.

In fact, if Julius Reed hadn't volunteered, and combined with the Martial Artists wanting to oppose Han Caldwell, except for those personally overseen by Han Caldwell, the remaining two routes would all be held by his confidants.

Now, Larkin Davenport sat in the tent, at a loss.

The order was to avoid battle and to align with the Dusty Platform.

This command had the Martial Artists up in arms.

They joined Boulevard Mountain, hoping to achieve something great.

Now, no battles?

Wouldn't that mean the blood spilled before was for nothing?

More strangely, Han Caldwell's orders were completely different from before.

And the calls they made were mostly answered by Forest Severance.

Even a fool could tell Han Caldwell had an issue.

As Han Caldwell's close associate, Larkin Davenport was anxious but had no choice but to quietly wait.

"Commander, someone outside seeks an audience."

A member of the Undead Tribe knocked, speaking from outside.

"Who? I'm bothered, won't meet! Won't meet!" Larkin Davenport cursed, impatient.

Currently, he was like an ant on a hot pan.

Wanting to find out the truth but also facing the dissatisfaction from the Martial Artists below.

Very challenging!

At this time, who wants an audience!

"The person outside said, by seniority, you don't even qualify to be her grandson! She stated if you don't see her, she'll flay you in the future!"

The messenger outside relayed every word without daring to hide anything.

If there was a delay, he'd be the one in trouble.

After all, it's normal for the temp workers to take the fall.

"Bring her in!" Larkin Davenport listened to the tone of the speaker and felt something was off.

Such arrogance, either a madman or truly of high status.

However...

Madness would be noticed by his subordinates.

When Larkin Davenport walked into the main hall, Dorian Cook was sitting in a chair, legs crossed, drinking tea.

The tea was very fragrant and sweet, better than the outside stuff.

"You are..." Larkin Davenport scrutinized but couldn't recognize her identity.

"This, recognize it?" Dorian Cook pointed to a pattern on her arm.

"Oh! You are..." Larkin Davenport's heart skipped a beat.

That symbol, he'd seen it on Sutton!

Han Caldwell had once instructed, upon encountering someone with this status, show respect!

Because it signified they were a war general under the Emperor's command!

Distinguished status, not to be offended!

"A war general under the Emperor's command, Dorian Cook." Dorian Cook waved at Larkin Davenport. "Come."

"Alright!" Larkin Davenport wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, quickly approaching Dorian Cook.

"General Dorian, what are your instructions?" Though skeptical, he maintained respect.

"This letter is for you, what to do next is clearly written in the letter." Dorian Cook produced a letter from Julius Reed, handing it to Larkin Davenport. "The person who gave you the letter asked me to convey a message. Four words, no error allowed."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.