Chapter 125: The Dead-Silent Port

Snow drifted down.

The sled halted on a slope. Pale bone-beasts stood motionless amidst the white expanse. Vade stood on high ground, overlooking the three warships moored at the harbor.

Or rather, they were not so much moored as frozen into the sea. Thick shelves of ice had grown along the hulls where they met the water, and Vade could hear the delicate, crisp cracking of nature’s ice.

Beneath the ships, a few figures wrapped in heavy linen...

Zhao Tiezhu would not let those two unruly beasts go, but now was not the time. If they died, who would lead them to Master Haza?

Loyalty is a virtue, and Young Master Ye favored the loyal. "You fight your wars, and I shall continue my visits; neither shall interfere with the other."

Chen Yehan stated his status without reservation, reminding Chen Zhiyan that she was merely a lowly concubine’s "base-born" offspring.

If it were today, even if I had to make Lily hate me for the rest of her life, I would not allow even the slightest accident to befall her during childbirth.

It is worth noting that both of their aged faces bore bright red slap marks. Yin Zhou’s face, in particular, was twisted entirely to one side, a sight that made Ye Chen tempted to step forward and snap it back into place.

It was as if several grenades had been detonated inside Count Lamia’s body; even as Jiuyou retreated at high speed, the Count’s body continued to emit dull, resolute explosions.

Thinking of these things, Zhang Yang’s loins grew even more restless. If it had been merely a slight physiological reaction before, now one could say that the fires of desire were slowly beginning to burn.

After sharing an intimate moment near the cotton bales and discussing several emperors of history, Guan Jinlin and Rong Shimian returned to Rong Shimian’s courtyard house in Zijing Village.

It was fortunate that there was at least a place to stay here; as long as those demon beasts had eyes, they would surely not charge toward this giant boulder.

Zhang Yang promised her she could stay at his house and sleep when she was tired, then set off up the mountain once more, heading toward the Mountain God Temple.

Yuyi pried the dagger from the remains. The corpse was in a strange posture, hands gripping the blade as if in suicide. It took some effort to extract the weapon without damaging the remains. He examined the ordinary dagger closely; on its wooden handle was a sentence in French.

After offering the creature a few words of comfort, Wu Ren dragged his weary body back to his room. There were two layers of the sealing array left; he could finish it by tomorrow at the latest.

Mother and son embraced and wept, pouring out their longing for one another and sharing the minute details of their lives as time slipped away unnoticed.

If they were facing a Jonin, Hyuga Neji felt they might be able to fight to the death; with the three of them working together, they might not lose. But against Orochimaru, one of the Sannin, the gap in strength was too vast—the hope of survival was slim indeed.

He resolved to spend more time practicing Sage Mode in the future. Previously, because his lack of perfect control did not diminish his raw power, he had not bothered to invest effort into the slow progress of Sage Mode.

Watching the ritual unfolding within, Yuyi lowered his head and began rummaging through his backpack.

The white cat, however, seemed quite curious, pacing a circle in front of the other cats before proactively approaching Momo.

Of course, that was assuming it was just a static image. If this creature kept hogging the mouse and refused to let go, it would be a real headache.

Fei’er was a wonderful girl, but she was always a bit clumsy whenever she had to go out. Now that he had seen her all the way onto the train, there shouldn’t be any more problems.

Namikaze Naruto hung in the air at an incline, his legs bent as he stepped onto an invisible wall formed by ice crystals. With a forceful kick, he launched himself like a cannonball, the edge of the Thunder God Sword pointed straight at her.

Zuo Xuantong and the others nodded slightly. Simply put, it was about seizing territory; one Crimson Dust-Severing Stone represented a region of a hundred miles.

The most thoughtful touch was that even the dumpling skins were not made of pure white flour, but had a slightly dark, rustic hue.