Zhong Lin leaped forward, using the low buildings to rush into the distance.
On the distant city wall, a middle-aged man dressed in black stood atop it.
The man looked to be in his thirties, tall and imposing, with a cold and stern face, and a prominent hooked nose that gave him a sense of aloofness and intimidation.
He carried a weapon on his back, wrapped in cloth, and judging by its shape, it was clearly a large blade.
The recent Flying Stone was shot by him, and after being blocked by Zhong Lin, Qi Feihu was also beheaded with one strike.
Facing his own brother being beheaded, this person showed no sign of sorrow, not even a flicker of emotion on his face, as if that person was a complete stranger.
"Qi Feilong?"
Zhong Lin had seen a portrait of Qi Feilong; indeed, it was this person before him, though his expression seemed a bit off.
"Who are you?"
"Your brother has been beheaded."
"I saw, just a useless piece of trash, dead is dead," Qi Feilong replied coldly.
