The rider galloped away, and no one could be found. All that was left was to rely on their family fortune to weather the storm.,The old village head's head detached from his stooped body, soaring high before rolling down, a spurt of blood reaching several feet, the metallic and sweet scent filling the air.,For a while, the fresh blood formed a streamlet, a river of crimson. The corpses piled up into small hills.。