The tree they rested under was dead. Its green bark was blackened and split, its roots twisting through the cracked earth like skeletal fingers. The battle through the rural forest and fields had been relentless—hours upon hours of blood, sweat, and endless slaughter. The corpses of monsters lay behind them in piles, their flesh already decaying, sinking back into the diseased land that had birthed them.
Dasha leaned against the tree, his arms and legs crossed, his wounds closing with eerie precision. Internal Healing. His body was already regenerating, the Qi pathways within him restoring torn muscle, knitting bone, sealing ruptured flesh. He felt the energy flow through him, warm and cold, yin and yang.
Sun-young, however, was not so fortunate.
