"Who is it!" There were footsteps all around, very chaotic.
It sounded like someone was trying to hide their tracks, but the noise was not hidden at all.
It was akin to tiptoeing with big leaps.
Old Mand's face changed slightly, and he glared at Loves White Silk, "Ronin's men?"
It was no wonder he was quick to determine it.
Because he could think of no other possibility for the exposure.
He should have understood earlier, the ugly man before him was no fool; he feared no torture, seemed unable to bear the slightest torment, always screaming to the heavens, yet he never spilled a single useful piece of information.
So, everything before was a disguise.
He was not a weak pushover, but rather someone skilled in performance, perhaps even allowing himself to be captured intentionally, leaving various signals, all just to attack their stronghold at night.
One had to say, although Old Mand's guess was wrong in process and assumption, the result was correct.
