The crocodile rolled over and died of its own death roll, and Duan Yun twisted his neck slightly to remove the crocodile's head.
He was still standing in the water, his hair was a bit messy, and at the top of his head, a knife was embedded.
A pitch-black butcher's knife.
Duan Yun raised his hand and pulled out the butcher's knife, and his hair turned into a standard middle parting.
This butcher's knife was actually in the crocodile's mouth before it fell on his head.
In the dark, murky waters, it was hard to see clearly for a moment.
Duan Yun simply waved his hand, lifting the crocodile's body out of the water along with it.
By the lakeside, Duan Yun picked up the butcher's knife.
Under the moonlight, this knife was as black as ink, yet there was a line of small characters engraved on the blade—"Qing Daoist of the West Suburb."
Duan Yun then meticulously checked inside and outside the crocodile's body, indeed finding no other clues.
