The candlelight flickered in the eerie wind.
Old Master Si held a magic artifact in his hand, muttering incantations like a spiritual medium, as black mist churned and spread in all directions.
In front of him, gray fog converged, faintly reflecting the silhouettes of a group of people fleeing within the corridor.
"Thank goodness for the ancient books left to us by the Think Tank."
He laughed grimly, saying, "With this, these people won't be able to stir up any trouble."
Si Wei'an's eyes flashed with a trace of cruelty. Although the Think Tank had ordered not to harm the girl, he didn't care much for commands—when the time comes, whoever holds the treasure and the power will dictate the rules.
