A golden slash shot out, sweeping over Ye Chuan's corpse like the wind.
With that strike, the concept of [Death] on Ye Chuan was severed.
Whoosh!
Ye Chuan's eyes snapped open, and he gulped down air, his eyes filled with the wild joy and terror of surviving death.
Although he had revived, his injuries had not healed. His life was still rapidly draining away, and the pain in his body and soul had become even clearer.
Before he could react, the third slash arrived.
Swish!
His windpipe was severed!
Ye Chuan's breathing instantly fell into chaos. Air no longer passed smoothly through his throat into his lungs, but rushed straight in through his severed windpipe.
There were no cries for help, only the hollow, piercing hiss of escaping air.
He died again.
But as the fourth slash fell, Ye Chuan's [Death] was severed once more.
Killed again.
Revived again.
Every execution was swift and clean.
Every resurrection was brutal and absolute.
Ye Chuan went from screaming and begging for mercy to complete collapse and madness.
He sank into death over and over, only to face an even deeper terror each time he revived.
His flesh was riddled with wounds, and his soul was sliced apart again and again.
Throughout it all, Tang Guo stood motionless, as unfathomable as an abyss, her face cold, her beautiful eyes devoid of any mercy.
She was no longer the Black Queen she had once been. The compassion born of her former kindness had been severed by that trial.
Tang Guo raised her hand one final time.
This was the eighteenth time, and the last.
This time, it was no longer one swift, clean cut, but countless fine slashes, overlapping like streams of light as they instantly engulfed Ye Chuan.
The air was sliced open,