Just as he watched the demonic beast slowly vanish into the depths of the forest, its presence fading into the dense corruption, Lin Xiaotian's body finally gave in to the accumulated strain. His knees bent under him as he dropped to the ground, a violent cough tearing through his chest as blood spilled uncontrollably from his mouth.
His breathing grew heavy and uneven, each inhale scraping painfully against his ribs as if each breath pulled at the pain inside him.
Without wasting any time, he forcefully circulated his qi, sealing his injuries with rough precision, though the trembling in his hands revealed how unstable his condition truly was.
When he finally lifted his head, his gaze swept across the battlefield slowly, taking in every detail with sharp awareness despite his condition. Injured disciples lay scattered across the broken ground, exhausted yet alive, their auras weak but steadily recovering under their own efforts.
