On the left and right, a line of blood flew from the palms of Ye Yiyi and Zhao Han respectively.
This blood line had spirit, directly infecting the white bone.
In the blink of an eye, it was completely absorbed into the bones.
A steady stream of blood gushed out from the palms of Zhao Han and Ye Yiyi.
Their faces were pale, a stream of death energy constantly contending with their supreme defense, seemingly ready to invade their bodies at any moment.
For a time, the entire void was silent.
In that silence, a sigh echoed from the void, one that was very ancient.
But it was the voice of the Haotian Tower.
"My previous masters, all incredibly powerful, laughed proudly across the Cangqiong, yet... they never truly had friends, nor a true heart willing to die for them."
Ye Yiyi and Zhao Han's blood continued to flow towards the white bone.
Just as they could barely hold on, suddenly, the death energy surrounding the white bone trembled.
