The nearby jungle looked all the more dark and profound against the backdrop of the night. A gust of wind blew, causing the hazy branches to sway gently as if countless people with countless pairs of eyes were staring fixedly at Hu Yihui.
Hu Yihui's pupils dilated into a bloody crimson, his dagger raised in mid-air, yet he could not bring himself to strike. A voice screamed in his heart: "Why? Why?"
Though he was no cold-blooded demon who killed without blinking, the wronged souls that had perished by his hands numbered in the thousands. Now, with just a slight exertion of force, a gentle thrust forward of the dagger would easily end the life of the person before him. Why, why had it come to this?
Chapter 47