The white-haired corpse stood quietly there, the ghostly green fire burning faintly in its eye sockets, locking onto Gu Xiu, whose aura was weak and whose wounds were festering incessantly.
It didn't attack immediately, as if enjoying the prey's struggle before death, or perhaps evaluating something.
Yet, the murderous and deadly aura, as if condensed from billions of years of frost, wrapped around Gu Xiu like invisible shackles, making even breathing unbearably difficult. His Divine Soul felt like it had plunged into an ice cellar, on the verge of freezing.
Beads of sweat, large as peas, slid down Gu Xiu's forehead, soaking his tattered robe, and his back was already entirely drenched.
It was not just cold sweat, but also the manifestation of his life force being continuously eroded by the eerie Dao Rhythm, a reflex of the body.
