The dim room echoed with the sound of screams.
Mu Ziqing leaned against the relatively clean bed, combing her golden hair, her snow-white long legs dangling idly. She regarded the blood pooling on the floor without a flicker of emotion.
"Yan Feng."
Yan Ye crossed his arms, his pristine white suit spotless as he leaned against the doorframe, saying coolly, "Hurry it up."
"Understood, brother."
Yan Feng smiled faintly and, with a backhand motion, plunged the dagger in his hand downward.
A sharp crack rang out, and blood sprayed everywhere.
A young man drenched in blood was pinned against the wall by a flaming spear.
His left eye was pierced clean through by a dagger.
"I'm guessing he's out of intel by now?"
From the rear, someone gloated, "He's said everything he could say."
