This is the ancient nest of Yan Xiao, marked on the map as "The Forest of Hanging Skulls".
Those skulls hung silently on the trees, their hollow eye sockets seemingly observing every visitor.
This silence, this hopelessness, had persisted for hundreds of years.
The four of them spread out.
Qing Qishu walked in the front with his shield, his expression more solemn than ever.
From now on, he was to fulfill his responsibility.
Any danger targeting the Dragon God's envoy, he as a warrior of the Holy Tribe, had to bear the brunt first.
For Jiang Wang and the others, it was an adventure, a gamble of seeking gains amidst danger.
But for the warriors of the Senhai Holy Clan, it was a struggle against a grim fate.
It was the divide between darkness and light.
Qing Qishu didn't even bring his sword, fearing that his instinctive counterattack might hurt Yan Xiao and thus trigger Yan Xiao's revival condition.
