After the gathering ended, Wang Yuan found somewhere to treat his injuries.
In the Quiet Room, Wang Yuan sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion and slipped off his blue cloak, exposing his muscular upper body.
Three claw marks on his left shoulder, four along his right ribs, and two deep, crossing gouges on his back rather spoiled the sight.
The edges of those claw marks were bluish-black. Cold killing intent burrowed deeper into his flesh as though it had taken root.
But strands of dark golden vital blood surged up through his body again and again, forcing the killing intent out layer by layer.
Still, traces hidden deep in certain nooks and crannies required repeated flushing.
Wang Yuan lowered his head to inspect his wounds. The corner of his mouth twitched into a bitter smile.
Back on the Training Ground, his face had been pale when he withdrew his stance, but his back had remained straight and his steps steady.
To the onlookers, it had merely seemed that "the Alliance Master and the Grandmaster had both been injured." Only he knew what had happened when the killing intent from Ancestor Yinsha's final palm strike poured into his body.
Three strands had slipped between his internal organs and coiled around the junctions of his meridians. They could not be forced out anytime soon.
His face was now almost transparently pale, not merely from depleted vital blood, but because those three strands of killing intent were eating away at the true essence in his five viscera.
Yet Wang Yuan had shown none of it.
At an occasion like that, with the Abyss Alliance newly founded and a thousand pairs of eyes watching him, he could not afford to.
If he showed any sign of being gravely injured, their unity would crumble.
Wang