Elsewhere, beneath a small hill several hundred kilometers from the battlefield.
Fang Ping had carried what remained of the skeleton all the way here without stopping. Only after confirming that he was completely clear of the battlefield did he breathe a sigh of relief. But when he looked back at the skeleton, with only scraps of mangled flesh clinging to it,
he had no idea what to do. He could feel Li Changsheng's remaining flesh trembling, which meant the old fellow was still alive.
He certainly wasn't in good shape, though. Only half his skeleton remained, and most of his flesh was long gone. Fang Ping had no idea how he had survived.
Staring at that mass of mangled flesh, Fang Ping was at a loss. Was he supposed to just abandon him? Fang Ping wasn't someone who forgot a debt of gratitude. Ever since he had embarked on the martial path, Li Changsheng had protected and helped him time and again. He wasn't an ingrate.
"Old Li, honestly, why did you have to push yourself like that? A Rank Six killing a Rank Eight—you really pulled it off, but now you're a lump of mangled meat.
"If I took you back and sold you as pork, I'd have to give people a discount," Fang Ping said irritably.
At Fang Ping's words, Li Changsheng's entire mass of flesh began trembling, as though he were cursing up a storm. Unfortunately, he couldn't make a sound now.
The only reason he could still move was that his dwindling mental power was sustaining him. Once that ran out, he might truly be gone.
"Why did you have to risk your life? With so many high-ranked martial artists around, was it really your turn, a Rank Six, to put your life on the line?