"Senior Brother He, are you all right?"
Zhao Lin was the first to rush to He Liancheng's side. Worried he was too badly injured, he didn't dare help him up, asking first instead.
"It's nothing serious. It sounded like a big deal, but actually... I'm fine."
He Liancheng said, sucking in a breath and grimacing.
Zhao Lin knew he had fought so hard to give him a better understanding of Bolta's strength. "Thank you, Senior Brother He," he said gratefully. "Let me help you up."
The other disciples also hurried over and helped escort He Liancheng back.
As Zhao Lin turned, he glanced at the tournament stage. Bolta seemed to sense it and looked down at him.
Their gazes met in midair, and they both turned away with grim expressions.
Back at their seats, several elders from the Li Yang Sect came over to check on him.
Fortunately, because Bolta had diverted some of his energy to form an armor, the power of his fist had been reduced, and He Liancheng's injuries were not serious.
