The figure clad in a gray robe twisted its head around.
It was an old man with a weathered face and a red single horn growing between his brows, whose murky eyes were filled with mockery at this moment.
The dwarf dressed in green hide closed his mouth the moment he heard the old man's words.
His head hung low to hide the resentment in his eyes.
The horned elder knew all too well what these demonic children behind him were like, what they were thinking.
The one sitting here who wouldn't hesitate to kill their kin, slaughter cities, and refine souls for their own selfish gains, risk their lives to save the Sect Master? Don't make me laugh.
If it weren't for the uncertainty of danger before Divine Soldiers Valley, probably ninety percent of those present would have gone to chase away the old zombie and then personally take action against the Sect Master.
To think that after being suppressed by the Sect Master for a hundred years, they would hold no grudges.
