The wind howled coldly, its moan like a dreary and desolate lamentation, as though a funeral song started in advance.
"It's over, it's truly over now," Mu Yunshui murmured to himself, cradling his broken arm with a pale face.
"Bold scoundrels, how dare you offend the Mu Family!" Just then, a furious shout rang out, and dozens of middle-aged men and women, clad in tight outfits with swords as cold as snow, swiftly flew towards the group of Death Soldiers and Zhou Xingbang and others like a torrent.
"Zijing, Zirong, how have they returned?" the Great Elder cried out in shock.
These people were the second-generation elites from the different industries of the Mu Family, led by his eldest son, Mu Zijing.
"It's because someone had foreseen today's event and made arrangements; they had actually returned to the Mu Family long ago, merely waiting for the Zhao Family to reveal their final move," the Third Elder said with a long laugh, stroking his beard.
