The cold moonlight draped the earth like a gossamer veil, casting its pallor over the desolate outskirts of the town, and the secret grasses where two figures faced each other in the dark. Luo Zheng's chilling M9 military knife emitted the aura of the Death God, penetrating three inches into flesh, slowly a bead of fresh blood oozed from the skin, trickling down along the blade. Luo Zheng watched the man coldly and asked the burning question within his heart, only to find the man's face set in a fatalistic resolve, indifferent and mute.
"Not afraid of death? Professionally trained?" Luo Zheng said coldly, and seeing the man's continued silence, his deep blue eyes filled with scorn, as if mocking Luo Zheng for resorting to such a method of forcing a confession, too lowly, utterly unphased by the frigid killing intent Luo Zheng radiated.
