"My-My Arm!" A cultivator shouted, for his arm had been severed by a flying orb. He had indeed been careless, having grown overconfident after absorbing a bunch of Sparks in a short duration.
Now, he lay on the ground, losing blood, not having the means to protect himself. He indeed had brought some herbs and gauge to save himself, but that wasn't enough.
After all, in this dangerous environment, the loss of an arm could very well lead to his death.
"Let me take a look at your wounds." Suddenly, a mysterious man wearing a deer mask appeared before him, crouching to look at his severed arm.
"Go away…" The cultivator said weakly, "I don't have any treasures for you to loot. I'm just a dying man."
