Beside Marco Jackson, the Grandmaster Martial Artists of the White Dragon League lay strewn about.

In the end, the White Dragon League was just a minor alliance.

Within the league, apart from one Great Grandmaster specializing in dominance, the rest were of little use.

If it weren't for the White Dragon League becoming the first battlefield in the duel between two factions, it wouldn't have received such emphasis.

The Martial Artists from Boulevard were eager to make a statement and didn't even give a chance for negotiation before killing these Grandmasters of the White Dragon League.

Leaving only Marco Jackson on his knees, trembling and continually pleading for mercy.

No matter what, he was the Alliance Hierarch of the White Dragon League; the final decision rested in Julius Reed's hands.

No one else had the right to decide.

"West Tower, should we kill this guy or not?" Brant Fairbanks wiped the blood off his sword and loudly questioned as Julius Reed rode over.

"Spare me!"

Marco Jackson was frightened to death, his remorse overwhelming.

If given another chance, he would abandon his desire for the throne.

Having his father take the fall wouldn't be better?

"You are the Alliance Hierarch of the White Dragon League?" Julius Reed dismounted and approached him, leaning in: "Quite young."

"Your excellency, I was foolish and believed the words of Demarco Mount's messenger."

Marco Jackson held up a box with a pleading tone: "In here is the head of Demarco Mount's messenger. I killed him and will follow the Saint Lord henceforth!"

As long as it meant survival, did it matter whom to follow?

"Opportunity only comes once."

Julius Reed drew the Longsword from his waist and swung!

"Wrong choice, then you must perish."

Marco Jackson's head fell on the ground, his body toppling over directly.

The box in his hands slipped out, and the messenger's head inside rolled and collided with Marco Jackson's head.

"You."

Julius Reed pointed at a Martial Artist: "Collect the heads for me and deliver them to the Black Pine League."

According to the map's directions, the next stop after leaving the White Dragon League was the Black Pine League.

Unlike the White Dragon League, the Black Pine League was incredibly formidable!

The overall combat power ranked in the top ten among all alliances!

When the king of the Black Pine League visited Demarco Mount back in the day, they sat in the front row.

Once through the Black Pine League, the subsequent alliances would be insignificant. As long as another formidable Brook Mountain League was dealt with, they could reach the Dusty Platform.

It was the existence of these two alliances that made Julius Reed and his entourage seem constantly in peril.

Even within Boulevard, no one believed they could pass smoothly.

"West Tower, don't joke." The named Martial Artist quickly gestured: "The Black Pine League is so powerful; if I deliver the heads there, won't they just kill me?"

What was delivering heads?

It's a threat!

It's a provocation!

No need to think, the other side would surely kill him.

And send back his head.

"You won't go?"

Julius Reed raised his head, asking aloud.

"No, going is certain death." The Martial Artist shook his head, sticking to his judgment.

"West Tower, after battling with the White Dragon League, we're all a bit exhausted. I think we should rest here for a few days and by the way, clear out the remnants, killing all the civilians in the White Dragon League!"

"Exactly! They aided the evil; surely, they should be punished. As I understand, there are over seven hundred thousand in the White Dragon League. If they take advantage and attack us from behind when we're dealing with the Black Pine League, wouldn't we be caught in a pincer attack?"

The Martial Artists expressed their opinions.

Simple.

These people didn't want to fight hard, intending to waste time here and simultaneously loot the commoners.

"You, come over." Julius Reed beckoned to that Martial Artist.

"West Tower, I really can't. Going is definitely a death sentence." The Martial Artist reluctantly came over, continuously complaining.

Julius Reed suddenly drew the sword!

Stabbed directly into the Martial Artist's heart!

Killed with one sword!

Everyone's movements stopped.

Each person stood agape, dumbfounded.

Even Brant Fairbanks didn't expect Julius Reed to act so swiftly.

Showing no compassion.

"I am the commander of this journey; my word is law. If anyone regrets now, they may leave. But I promise, I will certainly kill you." Julius Reed withdrew the Longsword, speaking coldly.

Many Martial Artists were angry, wanting to argue, but considering the power West Tower demonstrated moments ago, they instantly became timid.

This was not someone open to reason.

It seemed almost everyone had nearly forgotten Franco Tennyson's death.

"Now, does anyone else have objections?" Julius Reed surveyed the crowd, asking: "Speak up."

"No!"

The Martial Artists responded reluctantly.

But inside, they were already trembling and frightened.

A slight mistake, and they worried they'd lose their lives.

Looking at the corpse on the ground, they felt a sorrow like the death of a fellow fox.

"Since that's the case, please." Julius Reed pointed at another Martial Artist: "You go to the Black Pine League and deliver Marco Jackson's head."

"Okay..."

The unfortunate Martial Artist was very reluctant but dared not refuse.

"If you run away midway, I'll wipe out your sect." Julius Reed's words immediately turned that Martial Artist pale!

The Martial Artist originally planned to escape midway, but now...

He truly didn't doubt that West Tower would take such action.

"Stay at the White Dragon League's Neolle Leocadia and rest for a day; set off early tomorrow morning!"

Julius Reed sheathed the Longsword and mounted his horse again.

Galloped towards the White Dragon League's Neolle Leocadia.

...

Three hundred miles from the White Dragon League!

There was an entirely jet-black building!

The building was intricately sculpted with dragons and phoenixes, a remarkable sight.

At this moment.

Four individuals sat inside a room within the building, warming themselves by the fire.

The four were all middle-aged, dressed in luxurious clothes, their identities extraordinary.

"I've heard the White Dragon League has fallen. Marco Jackson father and son are both dead, along with the messenger of Demarco Mount, who didn't survive either."

A man dressed in white first spoke.

Mentioning the White Dragon League, his eyes showed undisguised disdain.

"Forget the White Dragon League, an eighteenth-rate alliance, utterly lacking in fighting prowess. But I've heard that the leader of this Boulevard group is quite the tough character. Called something..." The man in the yellow robe paused here, unable to resist frowning and jested: "A nameless junior, I'm having trouble recalling."

"Called West Tower." The black-clad man took over, continually twirling a walnut. "I heard this West Tower made quite a splash in Boulevard; he seems to have discord with Han Caldwell, utterly arrogant."

"Youthful arrogance is normal." The man in the red robe spoke blandly: "Back in the day, who among us wasn't brash? But according to you, this young man is not just arrogant. Why did Han Caldwell appoint such a person as the commander?"

Silence.

Inside the room.

Only the sound of the fire crackling.

Moments later.

A young person entered from outside.

"Four Royal Uncles!"

The young person wore a black dragon robe, a black-gold crown on his head, and bowed deeply to the four: "Leopold came late, I beg your pardon."

"Greetings, King."

The four simultaneously stood, offering a slight bow to the young person.

"We just arrived, Your Highness, please speak." The man in the white robe gestured, and the servant beside him immediately brought over a dragon chair, placing it next to the stove.

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