In the gruesome starry sky battlefield, the wreckage of warships and fighters lay scattered everywhere, burning with flames and light blue smoke in the vacuum of space, where star rivers were shattered and even meteors turned to dust.
Space fissures were abundant and showed no signs of healing anytime soon.
Amid the broken battlefield, a green-clothed youth sat cross-legged in serene contemplation, with a damaged Flying Sword and a blood-red amputated arm in front of him, both retrieved from the vastness of space.
Jiang Ding gazed at the severed arm.
Usually, cultivators, especially high-level cultivators, would face certain death the moment an enemy's treasure pierces their body—flesh and blood pulverized in an instant, for the bodies of authentic magic cultivators and sword cultivators are exceedingly fragile.
This time, however, the situation was somewhat unusual.
