The Patriarch of Black Crane Tribe was now ashen pale. He stared at the sky with a blank look and a bittersweet smile appeared on his lips. He knew that he would definitely die, and he could not blame anyone for this. If it was not because of his own greed over the Shaman Crystals that caused him to try and destroy White Bull Tribe, he would have not brought such a disaster on his own head.
By his side, most of his tribe members who had offered up their hearts had died. The remaining few old people were by the Patriarch’s side, and their faces were ashen, their presences weak.
"Patriarch, please cast the Spell quick. We’re begging you. Don’t stall anymore. We have to cast the Spell quick, according to the Spell our ancestors left for us. You won’t die…" There was a middle-aged man kneeling before the Patriarch of Black Crane Tribe at the moment, and that man was speaking anxiously.
Preview to next chapter: Three Styles of Wind Separation!
Inheritance time! And it's OP!