After a moment, a carriage emerged from the rain curtain outside the village. An elderly man in a straw raincoat was driving the vehicle. His fingers were covered in calluses, his temples bulged high, and his gaze was sharp—evidently, he was a master of martial arts.
He lashed the whip hard, and the horses neighed, splashing up muddy water as they sped forward.
The ground was rugged and the carriage rocked violently, yet the old man sat as steady as a mountain, his sharp eyes vigilantly scanning his surroundings.
Chapter 1570