A tremor ran through his body, and he toppled to the ground, dead.
Meng Hao approached. He looked down at the dead Western Desert Cultivator, whose name he didn’t even know. He knelt down next to the body and fished out a bag of holding. His eyes shone with thoughtfulness.
“So, it seems I’m not alone in this place…. These Western Desert Cultivators have some strange techniques. They’re as different from those of the Southern Domain as black is from white…. If not, a single Blood Finger would have been sufficient to slay a Pseudo Core Cultivator.” Giving a final glance to the Western Desert Cultivator, he noticed that the totem on the man’s arms were fading and transforming into black ink.