The bone blades struck his black armor, leaving only shallow scratches, utterly unable to harm the flesh beneath.
Occasionally, a blade found a gap in the armor, cutting through his flesh and drawing red blood.
But to Lin Qing, those little wounds were like mosquito bites, not worth mentioning.
His counterattacks, however, were efficient and lethal every time.
Lin Qing's fists struck like iron hammers, each punch carrying hundreds of thousands of jin of force.
One punch shattered armor and broke bones, sending flesh and blood flying.
His hands were like iron pincers. With a squeeze of his five fingers, he could crush a Lower Baleful Fiend's head to pieces.
His arms were like iron clubs. One sweep sent three or five Baleful Fiends flying at once, leaving them sprawled on the ground, unable even to get up.
He seemed less like a Baleful Fiend than a savage beast that had been caged for far too long, finally breaking free of its shackles and pouring all its fury onto everything before it.
The Baleful Fiends used bone blades; he used his fists.
The Baleful Fiends fought with coordinated tactics; he had no tactics.
The Baleful Fiends dodged; he did not.
Or rather, he disdained dodging.
He relied on nothing but his fighting instincts.
Those instincts were carved into his bones, honed through countless battles of life and death.
Such instincts were more terrifying than any fighting technique.
An hour passed.
More than thirty Lower Baleful Fiend corpses lay scattered around Lin Qing.
Some had shattered skulls, others had holes through their chests, and still others had their limbs torn off. Black blood pooled across the ground.
Then the other Baleful Fiend corpses quickly dissolved into black smoke, leaving only Baleful Fiend Pearls behind.
Lin Qing stood amid the pile of