"I'm telling you, no Long Yan people can come here at all now."
Nashadir laughed, looked at Henry seriously, and said lightly: "My army is in Cairo. It is a force of more than 100,000 people. Do you know the French port?"
"That port was taken down by the Longyan people and I. Do you want to see evidence? Take a look at this knife."
"There will be answers on there that you would expect to know."
Nashadir took out another knife from his waist. This knife had a slender blade, embroidered with dragon flame's unique pattern, matching gold and silver.
When Henry saw the knife, he immediately became energetic and the alcoholism seemed to dissipate.
Taking the knife, Henry felt that the profound, solemn and majestic graphics on the knife were not like the existence among their Arab tribes.
He was even more surprised when he looked at the slender blade. Most Arabian swords are scimitars.
But this knife is almost straight.
Henry frowned and pulled out the knife. A cold light suddenly appeared. In front of the dim yellow wood fire, the knife emitted an intimidating cold light.
Henry looked at the blade with dense patterns on it, as if it was not forged with the skills he now possesses.
He flicked it gently, and the sound came out, empty and clear.
Some fallen hair floated onto the blade and was immediately broken into two pieces.
"What a knife!" Henry had sobered up and had just these words to praise him.
He looked at Nashadir and asked eagerly: "We Arab tribes cannot make such a knife. Where did it come from?"
Nashadir smiled and said, "I told you."
Henry's eyes widened and he exclaimed: "Dragon Flame!"
Nashadir nodded: "Yes, from Dragon Flame."
"This is Long Yan's command sword. As long as the general can wear it, now you believe in my identity."
As soon as the words fell, the air fell into silence.
The wood fire flickers!
Henry stared at him and remained silent. After a long time, he exhaled a breath, handed back the knife, and said: "Drink this wine and leave quickly. If you are Long Yan's general, neither can our Wahala tribe."
Protect you."
"This is French territory. If they find you, you won't be able to leave."
Nashadir smiled faintly: "I'm just a Frenchman, Brother Henry, why do you think I'm here?"
"Are we really here to catch up with you?"
Henry didn't answer.
Nashadir added: "Now the chief of your tribe is still in the hands of the French, and his life or death is uncertain."
"After these French people came here, they grabbed your resources, your women, even though your Wahala tribe has no resources."
"But I see that the women in your tribe are very rare. There are only some young and old ones. I don't need to tell you where they went, right?"
Henry's face suddenly turned angry. Naturally, the women of their tribe were snatched away by the French.
This is a shame for their tribe, a shame that cannot be washed away.
"This is not your thing to worry about!" Henry said coldly.
Nashadir laughed, looked at his angry face, and said calmly: "The woman was snatched away, and the life or death of the chief is unknown. This is something that a warrior cannot bear."