446, leave Capital City

Mo family patriarch, I trust you've been well.

A very bland remark, yet upon closer scrutiny, one could discern a mocking undertone.

Xuanyuan Shangchen's lips slightly curled, his facial features still concealed under the shadow of his hat brim, obscuring his true face.

Enveloped in a layer of snowlight, he seemed chilling to the core.

The black Manjushage was suffused with the scent of blood.

It symbolized slaughter, as much as it did redemption.

Mo Zhixuan still stood there in his sharp coldness, not angered by these words, his expression as if unchanged. Clad in a white shirt, he surprisingly blended into the darkness of the night.

He was like a Shura walking among men.

He lightly flicked his sword-like eyebrows, his gaze lowered to the ring spinning on his index finger, the ferocious mutant beast pattern shimmering with a bone-chilling shine under the moonlight.

His thin lips curved into a derisive arc, chillingly faint.