Meng Zhao's heart rippled as well. His martial path was still far from complete—if he got entangled in a conspiracy, how should he choose?
Still, it was not beyond the scope of his abilities. At worst, he could ride the current and turn the tide, countering each move as it came. With his adaptability and his concealed martial skill, he had a fair degree of confidence.
Su Dingyu had walked all the way here, while Meng Zhao had killed all the way here.
Anyone they encountered—men or women, old or young, regardless of status—had their throats sealed by a single stroke of his sword. There had not been a single exception.
By the end, even Su Dingyu felt a chill in his heart. It was not that he feared Meng Zhao; rather, he increasingly felt that this country bumpkin named Meng Zhao was a ruthless man among ruthless men. Even if they needed him to offer a pledge of loyalty, even if they needed him to leave behind leverage, such overwhelming bloodlust was still rare.
Later, Su Dingyu stopped letting Meng Zhao act and did it himself.
Thus, they walked and killed all the way, finally following the marks Su Dinglun had left behind to a side room within this residence.
Inside the spacious room stood three banquet tables. Scattered around them lay more than a dozen people, every one of them broad-shouldered and powerful, with traces of vicious Killing Intent still lingering between their brows.
These people were the true guards watching over this batch of gold. Yet, like those outside, they had been plied with wine until they were dead drunk and unconscious—or rather, drugged into insensibility.
Su Dinglun was calmly prying up a floorboard. From beneath the floor, he carried out wooden boxes one after another, each