At this moment on the platform, Qing Cong's previously somewhat pale face showed a trace of abnormal flush, the wrinkles deepened a bit, yet his figure stood firmly.
The ominous aura gathering in his brow became more intense; opening this illusionary realm greatly consumed his already limited lifespan.
Although the surrounding Three Light Water Vapor continued to gather and merge into his body, it was merely a drop in the bucket.
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressed the injuries within his body, and once again opened his mouth, spitting out a small blood-colored sword.
This sword was only about a foot in size, but it was completely blood-red and crystalline, with a faint stream of blood light continuously circulating.
Qing Cong had not yet used magic power to activate it, but the blood-colored small sword had already started to tremble on its own, exuding a thick bloody aura.
