The soil slowly turned over, and a large ochre urn rose from underground, settling on the ground nearby.
Fine cracks quickly spread across the urn's surface, and amid sharp cracking sounds, piece after piece peeled away into thin air.
As a large pool of yellowed fluid flowed onto the ground, it revealed a "person" inside, deathly pale from head to toe and coated in thick, gelatinous medicine.
This person's limbs had all been severed. Only tubes remained inserted into his mouth, nose, and other places, connecting him to the outside to maintain the most basic breathing.
Those above usually relied on this to determine whether the people below were alive or dead.
Chen Chuan stepped forward. From the barely recognizable yet resolute face, he could tell that the man was Chen Bitong.
But at this moment, his eyes were tightly shut, and his bodily functions had sunk to their lowest point. He looked like a dying candle in the wind. Yet Chen Chuan could sense a stubborn will supporting that ruined body, sustaining the last tiny spark of life.
Huo Zhuifeng could not help sighing when he saw this.
After one look, Chen Chuan had more or less understood Chen Bitong's physical condition.
Fighters were usually tenaciously vital. As long as they had sufficient nutrition, they could recover on their own through Mutated Tissue.
However, because he had gone so long without taking in high-energy nutrients, the Mutated Tissue in his body had nearly atrophied. And if Mutated Tissue went without nourishment for too long, it would begin to erode the body.
If the life-sustaining pills had not contained some kind of inhibitor, he might already have died. Even so, the situation was not optimistic. Apart from his vital organs, which had not been invaded, every other part of him