"You came?"
On the battlefield where the smoke had yet to clear, the shattered earth was still trembling faintly.
Rus Wang slowly put away the Dragon God Core before his chest. It had dimmed considerably, as if most of its power had been drained.
And Rus Wang, who had reverted to the state of the Lord of Blades, was not much better off. His scales were shattered in many places, and his deep-blue and silvery-white body was covered in charred cracks. Faint glimmers occasionally seeped from the wounds—that was Rus Wang's powerful self-recovery slowly mending his body.
The God King of Destruction walked over from the edge of the battlefield, his steps unsteady, almost stumbling with every step.
His divine robe had long since been torn to ribbons. Half of one shoulder had caved in, exposing charred bone beneath, and his left arm hung limply at his side, swaying like a puppet with cut strings as he walked.
That face, once imposing and coldly dignified, was now covered in blood and dust. One eye was so swollen it could barely open, and dark-golden divine blood kept seeping from the corner of his mouth.
He reached Rus Wang and finally could not hold on any longer, sitting down on the ground and gasping for breath.
"You look... even worse than I do."
Rus Wang's low dragon roar carried a rare trace of teasing, but even speaking seemed difficult. A wheezing sound like leaking air came from his chest. "I'm only at the God King level," Destruction said, raising his intact hand to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping. "How was I supposed to withstand the shockwaves from two Supreme God Kings fighting? It's already good enough that I kept this body intact.