In a somewhat desolate little village, a party of several dozen people rested. The bonfire burned brightly, driving away the cold.
Ji Rulin, accompanied by his personal warriors, had raced without pause all the way here with the Heavenly Evil Battle Casket in hand. At last, he returned the casket to Meng Zhao. The way he looked at Meng Zhao now could only be described as revering him like a god.
It couldn't be helped. In his own words, this brother-in-law of his could now kill people—even powerful experts—without lifting a finger. A single weapon could do it all. What the hell was anyone else supposed to play at?
This was no longer merely a matter of martial arts. It was an astonishing double manifestation of fate and fortune. They were not even on the same level anymore.
Meng Zhao accepted the battle casket and asked about the situation in the military camp. After hearing the report, he sighed.
"Mo Li has too many petty tricks and not enough real wisdom. If he had been willing to explain everything that day, I would certainly have given him a chance. After all, he was a capable Innate Master and could lead troops into battle. What a pity."
Meng Zhao was not talking nonsense. He truly thought so. Talented people were hard to come by, and he could generously forgive certain acts born of helplessness.
In truth, based on Meng Zhao's understanding of Mo Li's character, he guessed that Mo Li had most likely served Commander Bai because he was being controlled and constrained, forced to do another's bidding. In other words, Commander Bai had something on him—most likely he had been poisoned. If he refused to obey, he would die.
Had Mo Li laid everything out that day and pleaded guilty