He leisurely adjusted his cuff and looked at Jeming as if he were staring at a corpse:
"Your defensive techniques are indeed strong, but how long can your defense last when your attacks are ineffective against me?"
Jeming frowned, appearing increasingly anxious.
The soul's pain was intensifying.
Every thought, every exertion of power felt like scraping his brain with a blunt knife.
He initially didn't want to use his Inner Grotto Heaven, as even though its manipulation was once as natural as breathing, using it excessively now would worsen his injuries.
But now, it seemed necessary.
If he kept wasting time with this seemingly abnormal group, it would be troublesome if reinforcements arrived.
"Oh well." Jeming muttered softly to himself, as if trying to convince himself.
He closed his eyes, enduring waves of increasingly intense soul-tearing pain, and sank his consciousness into his Inner Grotto Heaven.
