The moment the clamor arose outside, Zhang Pengcheng, who had been dozing on his bed, shot awake.
"What's going on!"
"Reporting, Lord Commandant! Someone shot an arrow into the flagpole!"
"Oh?" Zhang Pengcheng immediately threw himself out of bed and went outside.
When he saw Mo Daoyuan's head pinned to the flagpole, the last vestiges of his sleepiness vanished, replaced by a bone-deep chill.
It was obvious. Someone was using Mo Daoyuan's death to warn him.
And in all of Huangpu Guard, only one person had both the motive and the means to do something like this.
"What's the situation outside now?" Zhang Pengcheng asked, his voice hoarse.
"Our men just searched the area. There's no sign of an enemy within several hundred meters of the camp."
"Idiot! I'm asking about the situation in Huangpu Guard, who asked you about the area outside the camp?" Zhang Pengcheng roared in a sudden fury.
"Yes, I'll go find out right now."
