After spitting out the first mouthful, Xing Guolong could no longer hold it back. He retched twice more, then lay there, eyes wide as he stared into the profound darkness high above. He could only breathe out, not in. After hissing out three breaths, he stopped moving altogether.
Xing Guolong died in a daze—until the very end, he never figured out how he had died.
Old Eight had taken a few steps forward. When the explosion went off, he felt as if a huge hand had suddenly shoved him hard from behind.
Despite his strength as a Seventh Stream Martial Cultivator, he couldn't steady himself. He pitched forward, then crashed heavily to the ground two zhang away.
While he was still in midair, Old Eight felt something like a mosquito bite his back. Then another bite, and another...
In the end, he lost count, because a heavy blow struck the back of his head!
A Sword Pellet fragment had happened to hit him right in the back of the head.
It pierced his scalp and lodged in his skull.
The "Bronze Skin Iron Bones" of a Seventh Stream Martial Cultivator were certainly impressive. But even if you forged a suit of armor from bronze and stood there as a target, could it withstand the Divine Machine Camp firing explosive shells from a Crafted Cannon?
After absorbing the properties of the Inner Pill made from cannon powder, the Sword Pellet's power far surpassed that of an ordinary explosive shell.
But Seventh Stream Martial Cultivators had incredibly vigorous vitality, more than twice that of other cultivators at the same level.
Old Eight fell to the ground, but a moment later he struggled back into a sitting position. He reached back and felt seven or eight tiny wounds, blood swelling up and spilling