The little guy sat comfortably on the limestone, resting his chin in his hands while watching the few creatures approach the Immortal Spring. He wasn’t anxious at all, and was waiting calmly for them to gain something.
At the front of the medicinal field, a few Archaic descendants were earnestly harvesting the medicine. Every time they plucked a stalk out, they would cough several mouthfuls of blood as a result of their bodies suffering from heavy damage.
“Aren’t you guys tired? You all are already coughing out blood to this extent, yet are still harvesting the medicine, not scared that you might die?” The little guy blinked in curiosity as he inquired.
The few creatures revealed ugly expressions that were worse than crying. Did he really believe that they wanted to do this? This was only happening because they were being forced to by that divine servant. Everyone had to harvest above ten stalks of spiritual medicine before they were allowed freedom.
