"No... No... No."
A white-haired man, probably in his late 60s, or perhaps due to his cultivation technique, he had aged faster than he should, stomped hard on the ground, veins popping on his forehead as he gazed at the empty expanse of land.
His skin was a little purple, and his veins looked more green than they should. This was a clear sign that, despite his lineage as a shadow demon, he was indeed being affected by the cultivation technique he was using.
But the popping of the veins part was due to what he saw.
Where the Bloodvein tribe used to stay was now empty; not even a fraction of the life that used to be there remained. It was clear to him that they were gone.
His prey had escaped.
The ones he spent the last 23 years of his life plotting against had slipped under his nose, and the painful part was that the tracker he used to track them, even while he was far in the demon continent, was not working anymore.
