He became more agitated as he spoke, his wounds seemingly reopening as cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He was oblivious to it all, his gaze locked on Sun Yong, eyes burning with the flames of hatred.
Watching the agitated Lin Yue, Sun Yong's brow, which had just relaxed at the news of Yang Jing's ranking, furrowed sharply.
His expression darkened, and his voice grew stern. "Nonsense! The trials are a matter of life and death. Fists and feet have no eyes; injuries are commonplace. In every trial, there are countless Martial Artists with broken arms and legs. Some have even died on the spot. You were only seriously injured. It's a blessing you're still alive, yet you dare to stand here screaming about a fight to the death?"
He walked to the side of the bed, his gaze piercing. "The path of the Martial Dao is fraught with thorns. If you can't even withstand a setback like this, how do you expect to ever achieve greatness?"
