The sword scabbard and the sword itself were covered in the odor of blood, a pungent smell that filled the entire room.
Siming's pupils contracted sharply.
?!!!
What has this bloodthirst been used for by the old killer?
Footsteps approached, and Mr. Siming felt a chill down his spine; he suddenly sprang up and turned around.
Murong Longtu, fresh from bathing and changing clothes, walked out in a green shirt with his white hair neatly combed. He was tall and had a clear, bright look. The wrinkles on his face didn't make him seem old but rather lent him an air of vitality. He looked at the sword and its scabbard, sheathed the sword, placed it on the table, and then turned to Siming, saying,
"The notification has been properly delivered."
"Elder, come with me."
Notification?
What kind of notification?
What have you done, boy?
Siming looked at Murong Longtu, his mouth twitching, "It's not, I mean."
