A few days later...
Amid the autumn rain, the white mist over the hills came and went, thickening and thinning, lingering between the mountains and rivers, much like lost and restless wandering souls.
Song Yan held a deep black umbrella, looking down at the tombstones before him.
Each stone was inscribed with the names of the disciples who died in battle during the attack on the Puppet Sect.
Back then, when the four elders suddenly returned, the battle was forced to end. Even with the truce, the Nanwu Sword Sect dared not linger long in the enemy's territory; thus, many disciples' bodies were cremated nearby and buried for peace.
Plop...
Plop...
Raindrops fell upon the umbrella's surface, splashing off onto the tombstones, flowing across the stone faces.
Song Yan held the umbrella, his gaze swiftly scanning the names on the tombstones, occasionally flying by sword to the next tombstone, continuing his search.
