The night was deep and the surroundings were silent.
In the forest, there were four figures.
"General, there's a traitor in the alliance who sold me out." Devlin leaned against a tree, took out a blood-stained cigarette from his pocket, and slowly lit it.
The bright flame of the cigarette was incredibly glaring against the backdrop of the night.
The sky was clearing a bit, allowing the moon to cast some light.
Making this dark night less unpleasant.
"Give me one..."
With a barely audible voice, Dorian Cook spoke, confirming she was still alive.
Pain!
She dared not move.
Her body felt utterly broken, thoroughly damaged.
"You smoke?" Devlin was somewhat surprised.
It seemed that no one he knew from the Undead Tribe smoked.
But suddenly, Devlin laughed.
He himself was now part of the Undead Tribe.
However, Devlin didn't give Dorian Cook a cigarette but glanced at Sutton to seek this General's opinion.
