Qiong Ying was covered in blood and flesh, not knowing how much was blood and how much was decaying meat. The thick, foul-smelling clumps dripped down from her body.
Some larger bits were still twitching and spasming, trying to reassemble. But they would barely clump into fist-sized lumps before bursting open with a squelch, spewing out large amounts of bloody flesh. This filthy and disgusting scene was indeed far removed from the elegant and carefree sword fights of heroic cultivators as depicted in novels.
For the first time in her life, on the brink of life and death, experiencing the clarity of the sword heart and slaying demons with her sword, it was so overwhelming that in Qiong Ying's mind palace, various memories, novel fragments, sword scriptures and records flickered like a revolving lantern. For a moment, she even forgot to breathe, just staring wide-eyed at the two strangely shaped people in front of her.
