Chapter 411 The White Tiger Whistling at the River

North Country.

There was no moon in the sky, and the winds were passing through, bursting into a roar as they leaked through the gaps, like an army of spectral devils rushing overhead on a dark moonlit night.

A strong wind crashed through a street full of windows and snapped wooden pegs.

Like thunder and lightning breaking through a window pane, people woke up from their night dreams and tried to organize their pots and pans and books and ledgers, but like ghosts on a bed, they were held down by the strong winds, and could only let out hoarse screams, and the screams were swallowed up by the sound of the wind.

The gale did not last long.

The hurricane swept through the sky above Northmoor, and not a speck of dust was left in the streets, but the moon remained a mirror covered with black cloth, giving off no light whatsoever.

People guessed that this was a larger, sandstorm without sand, but were not aware that something great had descended in the