One hour later.
The six-meter-long Bloodflame Wings, in the sunlight, flowed back into Yi Lin's body like a perfect crystal. This was precious blood and must not be wasted.
Yi Lin looked down at the snowy plain, seeing the snow-capped mountains that looked like they had been bombed by missiles. He secretly felt ashamed; maybe he went a bit overboard this time.
At this moment.
Thud!
A fist the size of a sand pot punched out from the snow, creating a large hole, and the bruised and swollen Mo Ren Di crawled out from beneath several meters of snow.
"Didn't you say 'fist to flesh'?"
Mo Ren Di glared at Yi Lin, who was floating in the air, feeling rather suffocated.
"Yeah, that's how assassins play it." Yi Lin replied matter-of-factly, floating to Mo Ren Di's side. With a "pop," he pulled Mo Ren Di out from the snow and then asked, "Did you break through yet?"
Mo Ren Di, ignoring his disheveled state, felt carefully for a moment and shook his head gloomily, "Not yet."
