Walotti raised his right hand and pressed his palm against his forehead.
A layer of yellow sand began swirling up around him from beneath his feet, continually filling his wounds, like a master sculptor repairing a damaged sculpture.
Soon, all the wounds on his body were covered, and as he lowered his hand, the differences in color blended into a harmonious whole.
Once he finished, a hollow appeared between Walotti's brows.
"Plop!"
Something black, like a leech, dropped out of it and dissolved into a puddle of foul-smelling pus when it hit the ground.
Then came a second, a third, a fourth... There were many of them, falling without pause.
Only when a filthy puddle had formed at Walotti's feet did this stop. Yellow sand swiftly filled the hole between his brows.
Then Walotti gave a light cough. His chest heaved, and the exhaustion in his eyes receded, replaced by calm.
Finally, he reached down with his left hand. His palm split open, and a black crystal emerged, like a growing vine. Once it had extended far enough, it began to curve and solidify into a black scimitar.
The bones in his right arm began to protrude. A layer of gelatinous substance seemed to secrete itself, covering his entire right arm.
Walotti raised the scimitar and struck his right arm with it.
"Clang!"
A dull sound rang out, reminding the man opposite him that he was ready.
Puer remarked, "This fellow's fighting spirit, combat experience, and combat mindset are all truly first-rate."
Walotti's initial actions had repaired his body. What followed had severed the injuries to his soul.
Without hesitation, he had chosen the method with the worst side effects, sacrificing the future development of both his body and soul to keep himself in as good a condition as