A Misstep?

"Ten Thousand Forms" had originally been a martial arts school from a world where the culture of combat flourished.

Much like Earth's schools of "Southern Fist," "Internal Martial Arts," and "Form-Intent Boxing," "Ten Thousand Forms" referred not only to a style of fistwork, but also encompassed every extension derived from it.

What the people of that world had truly looked like, even Mei Ge Mu could no longer say. His very personality was hanging by a thread beneath the God Plague Curse, let alone those "experiences" and "memories." As for memories that were unimportant and unrelated to his essential nature, he had long since let them drift wherever they pleased.

But there was one thing he still remembered.

The living beings of that world definitely had more than two hands.

With only two hands, it would have been absolutely impossible to execute the seamless Ten Thousand Forms Chaos Army.

Yet Mei Ge Mu had accomplished what had been considered impossible even in the world that had birthed Ten Thousand Forms.

With one hand, he had defended against Wang Qi's swift sword, which had scarcely met an equal even among Golden Core cultivators.

Now, his hand resembled the Jiangdong delicacy known as "squirrel mandarin fish." The skin and flesh of his entire arm had been sliced into strips by Sword Qi. If an ordinary person had suffered such an attack, the pain alone would have killed them. Even execution by a thousand cuts was no worse than this. Yet not the slightest change appeared on the face of Mei Ge Mu, who had been an ordinary mortal only months ago.

"He" had once tempered his body amid the Great Sun Golden Wind. How could such pain compare to that?

Wang Qi frowned slightly. It was not that he thought this move