"Wang Yong, are you really betraying the sect? Aren't you afraid your master will execute you when he finds out?"
A middle-aged Daoist clutched his chest.
A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
His face pale, he stared at a Little Daoist before him.
And at the dozens of men in black surrounding him.
Behind the middle-aged Daoist, more than ten of his disciples lay on the ground, their conditions unknown.
The Little Daoist, Wang Yong, was in his early thirties.
A sinister sneer crossed his face.
"Second Martial Uncle, I imagine Master has Dragon Tiger Mountain completely under his control by now!"
"You don't need to worry about what's happening on the mountain anymore!"
"Actually, if you renounce the darkness for the light and surrender to us, I can even put in a good word for you with Master. You and he are from the same sect. He would be delighted to have you join us!"
