The rainstorm raged on. In front of the brightly lit clubhouse, there was a dead silence.
The subordinate who had gone to scout the situation staggered back, face deathly pale. He looked at the anxious Ling Shuo, opened his mouth, trembling, yet no sound came out.
"Speak! Turn mute, have you?!"
Ling Shuo flew into a rage.
"All… all… every last one…"
The subordinate panted, desperately trying to wake himself from the Corpse Mountain and sea of blood: "All dead, every—everyone… no, I mean not quite everyone. The unrelated people are pretty much fine, but everyone who came to the meeting is…"
Ling Shuo didn't wait for him to finish. He shoved him away and led people in, breaking into the blood‑stained clubhouse.
Very quickly, faint retching sounded from behind.
In the warm air, the stench of death intertwined with cloying perfume, all the more nauseating.
And everything shattered before their eyes had already left everyone speechless.
