The anger in this woman's eyes surged as she spoke, as if she had suffered many grievances at the hands of the Witch School.
Hearing the woman's words, an old woman playing with a purple-golden double-headed small snake in her hands asked coldly,
"Biao Ling, I know you have always been at odds with the Witch School and have suffered a lot at their hands."
"But you can't give up such a ready opportunity just because you suffered that one time!"
"If we're really talking about it, the overall strength of the Witch School is stronger than our Forest of Ten Thousand Snakes, and it's our Forest that is benefiting from the Witch School's influence."
The woman named Biao Ling, caressing the scar that ran from her cheek down to her collarbone, didn't feel her anger subside because of the old woman's words; instead, it intensified.
The losses she had incurred at the hands of those crafty witches from the Witch School were not due to personal vendettas.
