"Okay."
The legs torn from the tangled flesh didn't even have skin, and their shape was inevitably bizarre.
Yet as the Witch watched the Seventh Apostle begin to stand on his own, she made no effort to hide her satisfaction, despite her regret.
"You've recovered even faster than I expected. You were in such terrible shape back then, and I only managed to find most of the pieces."
"I'm just practiced at it. I have plenty of experience."
Fu Qian offered a casual, modest reply as he carefully adjusted his center of gravity and balance. He didn't even waste resources trying to grow skin on his legs right away.
Although his appearance hadn't changed much along the way, the chaos within his body had finally eased somewhat.
For Fu Qian, flesh that had merely been transformed was nothing.
The reckless hangover mode, compounded by all the damage he'd suffered earlier, had exacted its greatest price in the collapse of his Primal Self.
When his consciousness first returned, it had been almost as if his DNA had been trampled to pieces.
And though the Witch made it sound easy, there was no doubt she'd put in a great deal of effort.
He looked like a bug that had failed to shapeshift, but after the adjustments he'd made, it was clear his Primal Self was still mostly intact—aside from the left arm he'd swallowed and an eyeball he'd tossed out to mark a location.
Of course, the Eye Within the Eye, the greatest contributor to this journey, had been used up without a trace.
"I can tell."
The Witch was more than happy to indulge Fu Qian's modesty. She agreed, but didn't hurry to move, standing there patiently to keep watch over him.
Fu Qian clearly didn't care about his appearance or