Hak!
Hak!
Hak!
Elder Michael opened his mouth to speak, but all that escaped was a painful cough.
Blood trickled from his lips, and he staggered, his body wracked with tremors.
The severity of his earlier injury became painfully clear—he wasn't just wounded, he was near death.
His body, still oozing blood, refused to cooperate.
With gritted teeth, he pulled a pill from his storage ring, swallowing it swiftly.
The healing effects were immediate, and gradually, his condition stabilized.
"You won't take a disciple of my Stone Mountain Sect while I still draw breath!" Elder Michael's voice was hoarse but firm, his determination burning brightly through the pain.
"Then die, old fool!" Lucas Prince sneered, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.
He raised his sword high, preparing to bring it down with lethal force.
The air crackled with the tension of imminent death.
