Those who struggled to survive in the apocalypse were no saints.
Fearing the old cultivator was not fully dead, the skinny boy wanted to stab him a few more times. But the moment he gripped it, both his hands and arms went numb. A terrifying force crashed into him, and countless bloody, horrific scenes flashed through his mind. This had clearly never happened before. It made no sense at all...
He did not know that while the cultivator had still been alive, the Killing Intent had acted upon the cultivator. Once the cultivator was thoroughly dead and there was no target left, the blade's Baleful Intent was far beyond what an ordinary mortal could endure.
The recent impact of Baleful Intent had scared him badly, and he thought the old man had not died completely.
He hurriedly used the rusty hoe to viciously hack at the wound in the cultivator's neck. Yet it did little good. Though the man was dead, his skin and flesh were incredibly tough. The hoe only filled the wound with dirt.
Panting hard, he collapsed onto the ground to catch his breath.
After resting for a while, he went back to smashing with rocks and wildly hacking with the hoe, turning the man's chest into a filthy, stinking mess of blood, mud, and manure water.
Exhausted again, he lay on the ground breathing heavily. His throat itched terribly, and beneath the setting sun, the distant sky was still flashing again and again.
Now and then, thunderous booms erupted. Gods and monsters were probably fighting.
The skinny boy did not know what was happening in the distance. He only knew that today, he had stumbled upon a huge windfall. The robe on the fellow who had fallen from the sky was probably worth a great deal.