Black Pine League.

Inner sanctum.

Gerrit Harris sat cross-legged on the ground, two daggers planted in front of him. "I've always been curious, who exactly are you?"

"Old geezer. A man may be killed, but not insulted. You know the temper and disposition of someone as skilled as myself. Kill if you want, if not, just let me go." The man in the green robe lay on the ground, not even glancing at Gerrit Harris, extremely arrogant.

"Master, are you really going to let the Ghost Martial Tribe go?" Hayden Marsh obviously hadn't accepted this reality.

"Master, you can't do this! Little Black can't die in vain!" Konrad Marsh's tone was full of complaint as well.

Four brothers, the big plan failed, two died.

Not a good start!

"Little Black already died long ago. That girl's stab was meant to kill the snake charmer but missed. You've all been deceived, still in the dark!" Gerrit Harris waved his large hand: "Wait for me outside!"

"This..." Hayden Marsh was a little bewildered.

"Out!"

Gerrit Harris spoke again, and although the two were confused, they obediently complied, leaving the inner sanctum.

The master's will, they dared not defy.

In just a brief moment.

The inner sanctum only left the man in the green robe and Gerrit Harris.

As soon as the two left, Gerrit Harris immediately deployed a formation, isolating any sound.

"You old geezer, how did this crap end up on me?" The man in the green robe turned his head disdainfully and said.

"If I'm not mistaken, you're already at the end of your rope. Speak, who are you?" Gerrit Harris stood up, seeming to feel much better, already able to walk.

"What if I don't say?" The man in the green robe lay on the ground, staring directly at him: "What could you do to me?"

"Then don't blame me for being ruthless." Gerrit Harris somehow had a dagger appear in his hand again.

Seemingly ready to stab at any moment!

In the Ten Yama Hall, there are ten pillars.

Every time Gerrit Harris planted a dagger, a pillar would be activated.

"Hold on!" The man in the green robe sat up, raising both hands, reluctantly saying, "We're all people with status, let's be civilized."

"Alright, talk then, I'll listen." Gerrit Harris started playing with the dagger in his hand, a cold smile on his lips.

"My name is Murphy Michael, a major general of Demarco Mount's Military Department, able to mobilize Ten Thousand Mountain Alliance troops. The true royal position at Military Department lies on the Holy Master, besides him, I hold the greatest power." Murphy Michael flexed his neck, grimacing in pain.

If not for his robust physique, he might've already lost his life.

The blow from the Ten Yama Hall was too lethal.

It directly left him gravely injured.

Gerrit Harris was right; Murphy Michael's grab at Hercules Marsh was already the end of his strength.

Now, he had even less energy.

"I've never heard of such a figure in Demarco Mount." Gerrit Harris clearly was skeptical. "You better be honest, or I won't mind killing you."

"You can't kill me." Murphy Michael picked up Hercules Marsh's sword from the ground, slightly raising his lips: "I am... of the Undead Tribe."

After speaking.

He directly stabbed the longsword into his own chest!

The blade pierced through his heart.

"See, have I died?" Murphy Michael painfully pulled out the longsword, pointing at his chest: "Undead Tribe, I think you should know."

Gerrit Harris's expression slightly changed.

Indeed, he is from the Undead Tribe!

He can trap Murphy Michael, but killing him is somewhat difficult.

"Isn't the Undead Tribe serving Han Caldwell at Boulevard? How come you..."

Before Gerrit Harris could finish, Murphy Michael patted his chest, scornfully saying: "What is Han Caldwell! If he meets me, he has to shine my shoes. You can't really believe Han Caldwell represents the Undead Tribe, right?"

"Isn't he?" Gerrit Harris was slightly astonished.

Rumors outside say Han Caldwell leads the Undead Tribe, preparing to have a decisive battle with the Holy Master of Demarco Mount!

Combining with the internal news Gerrit Harris received, it seems the real steward of Boulevard is Han Caldwell.

Not a puppet Holy Master.

Is the man before him bragging to ensure his survival or is he really capable?

He found it hard to judge.

"Han Caldwell..." Murphy Michael pointed at Gerrit Harris, snorted lightly: "What is he! Speaking of Undead Tribe blood, Han Caldwell can only be considered a servant of the Undead Tribe! But I!"

He patted his chest, a trace of pride rising on his face: "I am the true Undead Tribe!"

Gerrit Harris squinted his eyes, beginning to weigh the pros and cons.

This man, should he be released or detained?

If released, what gains might there be?

If not released, what might the consequences be?

According to his initial plan, he intended to use the Ten Yama Hall formation to trap Murphy Michael, then make him help defeat West Tower.

But if according to the man's words, even Han Caldwell fears him, wouldn't that save a lot of trouble?

Such an exaggerated fact, Gerrit Harris still found hard to accept for now.

"You at least need to give me a convincing reason." He spoke, coldly.

Without any evidence, if Gerrit Harris was easily tricked by a few words from the opponent, wouldn't it be a joke if spread?

"Don't rush to put on airs with me, old man. This Ten Yama Hall formation can trap you, no problem! You want to leave, no way!"

"Moreover, if you truly can command Han Caldwell, why not directly go to Boulevard, rather than work for Cold Nelson here? I hope your reason can convince me."

Using both intimidation and incentive, cannot bow first.

Gerrit Harris displayed an imposing demeanor, just intending to curb the other's sharpness!

In this way, if Murphy Michael's words prove true, he also has negotiating capital.

"Very well."

Murphy Michael stood in the center of the inner sanctum, falling into thought.

"I have nothing to offer in terms of evidence, but let me tell you something. My other identity, is as a war general under the Emperor."

He pondered for a moment, glancing at the door.

"Under my formation, absolutely no one can hear our conversation. Heaven knows, earth knows, you know, I know." Gerrit Harris said calmly, with his hands behind his back.

"To be honest, I've defected." Murphy Michael clasped his hands toward the south: "The leader of the Undead Tribe may not have hope of emerging. I've already abandoned darkness for light, following the Holy Master. As for why not go to Boulevard to recruit Han Caldwell, it's because there are people stronger than me there."

"Who!" Gerrit Harris squinted his eyes, eagerly wanting to know the answer.

This is a secret!

A big secret!

"The War God of the Undead Tribe, Sutton." Mentioning Sutton, a trace of wariness flashed in Murphy Michael's eyes, but quickly disappeared. "He's loyal to the Emperor, within the Undead Tribe, he speaks more authoritatively than I do. I came to seek you to help capture him."

"Sutton..." Gerrit Harris tried to recall but had no answers.

This so-called Undead Tribe War God, what kind of capabilities does he have?

Is the so-called two Holy Master battle actually an internal conflict of the Undead Tribe?

"Master Harris, I've said my piece. Release me or not, it's up to you." Murphy Michael finished, with pride in his tone.

"Our cooperation would yield better results." Gerrit Harris hesitated briefly, pulling out the dagger. "If you kill me, you'll lose a lot."

"You have courage, I'm willing to cooperate with you." Murphy Michael clasped hands towards Gerrit Harris.

Swish!

Suddenly!

A cold arrow flew in.

Passing through the hall door, it fiercely struck Murphy Michael's heart.

"Humph, mere cold arrow, dare to..." Murphy Michael snorted coldly, pinching the cold arrow, preparing to pull it out.

But before finishing his words, his face drastically changed!

The material of this arrow...

Thump!

Murphy Michael fell to the ground.

His body rapidly shriveled at an eye observable speed.

In less than half a minute.

He became a dried corpse.

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