In a flash of lightning, the girl saw the short blade in Meng Xiaolou's hand.
She gasped, then clamped both hands over her mouth.
The scene before her was beyond anything she could have imagined. It was horrifying.
In his agony, Ma Yidao, the senior disciple, tried to leap up... but the dying old man held him fast.
He let his youngest disciple stab him in the neck again and again, watching as his eldest disciple's neck was nearly severed. Only after the last thrust plunged into Ma Yidao's chest
did he finally release his grip, weakly. Seeing the blood splattered across the great vanguard's face, he wore a relieved smile.
Lying in a pool of blood, Ma Yidao clutched his neck and stared wide-eyed at his junior brother, who had suddenly turned on him.
He had suffered a truly unjust death—one he couldn't accept even as he died.
Meng Xiaolou, however, kept muttering as he searched his senior brother from head to toe, looking for treasures, counting his gold coins, checking for gemstones.
In the end, he pulled out a bloodstained scroll, but his face twisted with disdain.
The old man's voice was tinged with age and a hint of mockery.
He gave Meng Xiaolou a bitter smile. "Your senior brother really made something of himself. He lived up to his name as my eldest disciple, the Old Devil. He barely learned a few moves of swordsmanship, yet he joined outsiders in tricking his own master."
"Master..."
Clinging to the old man, Meng Xiaolou trembled from head to toe. This was the first time he had ever killed someone, and he was terrified.
If the girl before him hadn't been quietly watching,
Meng Xiaolou would probably have collapsed on the ground and vomited. After all, this was murder, not