There Really Wasn't a Single One Left!

There Really Wasn't a Single One Left! Shen Hui's face showed a trace of surprise after hearing this.

"Just a single Iron-Armored Corpse requires this much trouble?"

The Old Man nodded with a bitter smile. "Exactly. The path of corpse refinement consumes both time and resources. Without a solid fortune, ordinary people cannot afford to raise more than a few."

Shen Hui nodded and said no more. Raising his hand, he pointed, and a streak of sword light suddenly flared.

With a soft crack, the Iron-Armored Corpse split in two from head to toe.

Black blood splattered across the ground as the corpse collapsed.

On the panel, Dao Xing ticked upward by more than three hundred points.

The Old Man shrank back in fright at the sudden turn of events, staggering a step backward. His cane nearly slipped from his hand.

Staring at the patch of black on the ground, his face was full of heartache. His lips trembled as he let out a mournful wail:

"Ah! Senior! This was refined through ten years of this old man's painstaking effort..."

Shen Hui withdrew his sword light, looked at him, and asked calmly:

"Any more?"

The Old Man waved his hands repeatedly, shaking his head like a rattle drum.

"No more, no more..."

Shen Hui's expression chilled.

As if a basin of cold water had been poured over him, the Old Man shuddered all over and hurriedly changed his words.

"There is... there's one more!"

He swallowed, his voice carrying a hint of a sob.

"But that was bestowed upon this old man by the Sect Master for self-defense. I... I still can't control it very well."

"Release it."

With no other choice, the Old Man patted the leather pouch again.

As the pouch opened, a yellowish corpse crawled out. It