The grief-stricken person was a burly man dressed in coarse black hemp clothing.
"My war pet! It's dead! What on earth did this?!"
Behind him stood a man draped in a black robe, tall and gaunt with sunken eyes.
At this moment, the man in the black robe silently stepped forward, placing his palm on the Diao Jing White Tiger, emanating waves of soul power.
After a moment, he frowned slightly and said, "Hun Yan, your Diao Jing White Tiger wasn't killed by a fierce beast, it was done by humans."
The burly man's eyes widened a little: "Xiao Mo, you say the White Tiger was killed by humans? There's such a strong human nearby? It shouldn't be possible!"
Xiao Mo's face was shrouded within the black robe, and he spoke in a low voice: "Look at the White Tiger's body, no external injuries, yet its bones are broken inch by inch, and its organs have been shattered into pieces. If it was done by a fierce beast, there should be external injuries, not internal ones."
