The Earth Immortal Ancestor clutched his severed shoulder, blood cascading down his torn sleeve.
His qi surged desperately to seal the wound, but even that required effort—the Saint-Grade Sword's intent lingered within the cut, suppressing regeneration.
His pupils trembled.
Continue?
How could they continue?
Behind him, the other three Immortals were pale, their auras unstable.
Their Heaven-grade artifacts—treasures refined over centuries—lay in shattered fragments across the courtyard like discarded scrap metal.
One exchange.
That was all it had taken.
They had not even managed to stall him.
The Earth Immortal's breathing grew heavier.
Originally, even if they could not defeat Bai Ren, they believed they could at least delay him.
Four Immortals against one—even with a Saint-Grade Weapon—should have bought time.
Time for others to deal with the other Bai Clan members.
But reality had crushed that illusion mercilessly.
They had not delayed him.
