The sheepskin scroll in Si Wei'an's hand began to burn.
He unfolded the scroll, watching line after line of burning text emerge, his gaze growing cold: "All eight Vajra Arhats are dead. Your two personal bodyguards are also dead."
Jing Shangxiu remained expressionless, waved his hand indifferently, and said, "The Order of the Hidden is never short of talent. Their deaths serve as contributions to our supreme cause, and are their honor."
"I do admire your way of treating people as nothing more than tools."
Si Wei'an's smile gradually twisted: "But I must admit, your Order of the Hidden holds considerable power. Let me guess: the structure of your organization resembles a spiderweb spread across the globe, with countless hidden threads. Within your strand, where do you stand? Whose tool are you?"
