Cheng Hong's gaze was as deep as a dark pool. Although it was only a fleeting exchange, Qin An could already understand the deep meaning within.
After a moment's thought, Qin An said nothing, merely sliding the Cold Star back into his belt.
As the Cold Star returned to its sheath, a trace of cold brilliance followed. Though the edge was sheathed, it still emanated an unwavering killing intent.
All around were broken walls and ruins, grotesque corpses strewn about, blood soaking into the green bricks. The air was thick with a metallic sweetness and the acrid scent of combustion, as if even the wind had stilled.
At this moment, steady footsteps came from amidst the rubble.
Dongfang Mo walked through the chaos, clasped his fists in salute, and said solemnly, "Thank you!"
He did not say much, but the two words fell like metal striking the ground, firm and resonant.
