'But even if he succeeds, he might not be able to carry all the silver coins from the Fishermen's Pier by himself…'
...
「The next morning.」
The light of dawn had yet to break through, and a thick fog blanketed the river.
The damp air, heavy with the stench of fish, drifted over, clinging to their clothes with a clammy chill.
Behind a dilapidated shack on higher ground, two figures wearing Ghost Face Masks stood motionless like a pair of hibernating beasts, coldly looking down at the Fishermen's Pier below.
It was Chu Fan and Zhao Tianxing.
At their feet, a bearded member of the Blood Saber Sect was already dead—his throat had been slit, and his blood had soaked into the soil, coagulating into a dark brown stain.
From this man, they had learned one thing clearly: the strongest expert guarding the pier was a chieftain at the Bone Tempering Realm.
Zhao Tianxing was a little nervous, his palms slick with sweat.
