"Come as you please, leave as you please—how could it be that cheap?" the mage muttered as he transformed into crimson neon and pursued in one direction. After suffering such grievous injuries, Peter Om could no longer conceal the nauseating aura spilling from his soul. The mage could easily track his whereabouts.
Peter Om was spat out by space a thousand kilometers away. His Teleport Scroll had successfully broken through the Rune Barrier's blockade, but his condition was far from good.
It was not only his body that space had torn apart, but his soul as well.
He had already prepared himself to lose this body and a portion of his soul, yet when the moment came, he still had not expected it to hurt so badly—especially the pain in his soul. He dearly wished to abandon that portion of his soul altogether, but when he thought of the long recovery period and enormous resources such a choice would require, he could only discard the thought.
Yet the greatest crisis he faced was not the pain. The coordinates recorded by the scroll he had just used had originally pointed to the shore where he had arrived. Had he not been interrupted, he could have left the Mage Continent without anyone the wiser. But now, the teleportation distance had been drastically reduced, and he had no choice but to face the pursuit of a Formal Mage.
Ordinary people probably could not imagine how someone with only half a body was supposed to survive, but mages were mages after all. They always had their own methods.
Peter Om took a corpse from his Personal Space, extended a finger, and precisely cut off half of it. With a smack, he attached it to himself. As an eerie incantation rose, that portion of the