"Not enough."
"Nowhere near enough. This kind of potential..."
Jiang Ding stared at his Weed body, threaded through with countless immortal-path runes and meridians.
At that moment, he felt the shackles binding Demon Race beings more deeply than ever.
Whatever they were born with was what they remained. Surpassing those limits was too difficult. It took generation after generation of evolution and effort; one generation could scarcely achieve it.
The only advantage was a stable, orderly inheritance.
If this Weed body ever had descendants, they would be saint children by birth, powerful from the moment they were born. They would never face the plight of human experts who had no worthy successors. They could easily multiply into a powerful, near-immortal race.
But that advantage meant nothing to a human sword-path prodigy!
All he could see were drawbacks!
Now Jiang Ding understood how the frail human race had become the dominant race of the endless starry sky. This race held too many possibilities.
"With potential like this, the eighth step is the absolute limit, and reaching it would take heaven-defying luck."
"What use is it to me?"
Jiang Ding's voice was flat.
Clang!
Within the Great Sun Sword Heir's soul, a colorless, transparent flying sword emerged, like a ray of sunlight. It descended onto the Weed body, settling on the spell organ unique to Demon Race beings.
Every Demon Race being possessed a spell organ.
That was the human term for an organ with special magical powers: a wolf demon's claws, a bird demon's wings, a fish demon's scales. Each held its own mysteries.
This Weed body's spell organs were its two sharp blades of grass!
Hum!
In an instant, the essence of the human race's immortal-path heir's most important natal treasure descended. This exceedingly precious thing settled on the grass