Yang Yuanwu was a second-transformation Loose Immortal. With his lifespan, he should have had a long life ahead of him. Yet now, his face was deathly pale. His vitality was fading away at an alarming rate.0

For a Loose Immortal, an injury of this degree shouldn't be fatal. He might have been perforated with hundreds of holes, but those should've healed up right away as long as his foundation wasn't harmed.0

Alas, the shards from that shattered treasure carried not just brute force, but a trace of fierce and domineering immortal essence. That essence didn't merely ravage Yang Yuanwu's flesh—it had instantly crippled his very foundation.0

"A mere second-transformation Loose Immortal,  thinking you could buy some time for your comrades?" The Great Desolate Immortal looked at Yang...0