Meanwhile, several thousand meters away from Li Yun, Peng Yan's corpse was suspended in mid-air.
It looked as if an invisible palm was strangling his neck, preventing his body from falling to the ground.
His face was pale, his body was swollen, and his entire appearance was miserable to the extreme. His eyes bulged like those of a dead fish, filled with fear and despair. It was impossible to imagine what kind of torture he had suffered before ending up in such a state.
Standing before his corpse were three people.
They wore amber, ochre, and emerald robes respectively. Looking at Peng Yan's miserable death, their faces were actually filled with enjoyment, as if they were admiring a carefully made work of art.
If Li Yun were here, he would immediately recognize that the ochre-robed cultivator among them was precisely Bu Cangxuan, the Ochre-Robed Holy Envoy under the Ironblood Holy Son.
"Jie jie, what a truly useless piece of trash."
