Days passed, or maybe weeks. Even in Krosstoen's mountain, Liam's mind mostly tracked weather and seasons rather than the human's division of time, and becoming a cultivator had only worsened that habit.
However, Liam's current disregard for the passage of time had nothing to do with his superiority as a living being, upbringing, or the fact that he was underground. His mind simply had no room for such details, and he never built tolerance for it.
If anything, Liam felt that he was getting worse and worse.
Everything about Liam quivered, be it his skin, muscles, and even organs. He heard creaking in his ears from the strain on his bones, as if his own body were squeezing and stretching them.
That wasn't all. Patches of fresh and dried-up blood littered Liam, joined by a smelly dark goo. His pores leaked impurities while flesh withered and broke on its own.
