"So, are you saying Chun Ma not only survived the Nether Rivers but also wore 140 kgs of weight to go up and down the mountains, coming first?"
"That's correct."
The white-masked man replied as he stood straight and firm.
In front of him were a group of old men, sitting on thrones, their demeanour regal and elegant—as if they weren't the bloodthirsty elders of the Demonic Cult at all!
"Can you promise it with your life on the line?"
A bald old man with a white goatee said, expressionless.
The white-devil masked man fell to his knees, terror in his eyes:
"Yes, I can promise with my eyes."
"Does the red-devil know?"
"Yes," White-devil replied.
"How many already know?"
The white-devil froze for a moment. "Too many, I am sorry, master."
"The cult leader has eyes everywhere. Since you know, then he will know too. There is no point in recruiting him any longer." The goatee elder shook his head with pity.
