After drinking the military supplement, Meng Chuan sat cross-legged to regulate his breath.
His Qi Blood surged, devouring and digesting the nutrients, and his body relaxed considerably.
"Hoo..."
Meng Chuan slowly exhaled a breath of turbid air.
Standing up, the blood scabs congealed on the inner armor of the Demon Rabbit fell away with a rustle as his aura shook.
After several hours of continuous fighting, his pupils seemed covered with a layer of gray mist.
His retinas still retained many fragmented images of those devastated families.
Although the Fist Blade was as smooth as a mirror, it carried a strong scent of rotting wood.
He subconsciously rubbed the blade with his thumb, recalling how many Celestial Demons he had crushed.
Fifty? Eighty?
There were too many, and the numbers were somewhat blurred in his memory.
Only the heavy materials of the Celestial Demons in his backpack recorded Meng Chuan's achievements.
