Yi Zewen De's face gradually returned to normal, and his split mouth reverted to its original shape. He became that sinister figure once more.
Lowering his head to look at the corpse on the ground, Yi Zewen De smiled. "You got it right. How could I possibly be one of you natives?"
Stepping over the corpse, Yi Zewen De clasped his hands behind his back and walked out of the hall.
Two warriors holding spears bowed at the same time. "Young Clan Leader."
"Jie Lie abandoned his clansmen and fled back alone. He has already been executed. Go inside and clean up the body. Scrub away every trace of blood. My Council Hall does not permit the blood of cowards."
Yi Zewen De glanced arrogantly to the side and gave the order in a cold voice.
"Yes, Young Clan Leader."
The two guards hurried into the hall to clean up.
Yi Zewen De raised his head and narrowed his eyes at the sky, perpetually shrouded in night. A sneer curled at the corner of his mouth, and wearing that smile, he leisurely walked away.
As for hearing in the tent just now how many people had died, even that Imposter Echworth had died, he felt neither anger nor sorrow. He only despised those useless fools.
The reason was simple: he was not Yi Zewen De...
Yet he had been living quite comfortably here under Yi Zewen De's name and in Yi Zewen De's body.
The real Yi Zewen De, the Young Clan Leader of the Red Stone Tribe—a frail, violent, lustful fellow—had been completely replaced by him two years ago.
For a dignified High Purity Person of the Saint Luo Race to carry out a complete, one-hundred-percent parasitic takeover of a frail native piece of trash was a humiliating experience