Qin Mu walked over shakily, and every step was excruciating, causing his body and face to contort. Fresh blood flowed down his legs and filled his footprints with blood.
Yet as he walked forward continuously, his footsteps gradually became more and more stable.
Kacha, kacha. Sounds of bones displacing rang out. Qin Mu's broken necks started to reconstruct themselves, and his strangely twisted heads started to recover.
His broken bones were planted and grew back out again while the flesh on his wounds squirmed to continuously grow outwards, growing out arm after arm.
Flying swords on the ground also flew upwards one after another, slowly increasing in numbers.
Yan Qiling's hair stood on end. She had never seen a divine arts practitioner with such astonishing recovery. If it was a god skilled in the art of creation or a half-god from some powerful race, they might still be able to just do it.
