Under the cover of night, a dozen elders gathered together, thirteen corpses laid out on the ground before them. Any one of these individuals, in their own right, could have stirred up storms and reshaped the world. Yet, now, all thirteen were dead and gone. Seeing this, the surviving Grand Masters could not help but feel a chilling sense of "the fox mourning the death of the hare."
"Sword Slave is so formidable, I fear we are no match for her!"
"Why don't we just honestly retreat into seclusion? Shall we wait until Sword Slave dies of old age?"
Chapter 611