Surface of the earth, between stacks of grass smeared with blood.
The man in pink trembles with fearful eyes, an invisible scythe of death chops down, severing his head from his torso.
The regretful gaze in the eyes of his rolling head stiffens as it tumbles between the haystacks, finally stopping in front of Xia Feng's feet.
He Jianzhu easily took the lives of thirty people but preserved their souls intact. With a casual gesture, thirty spiritual bodies converged in the air, squeezing into a sphere. Their expressions hollow, they reached out in agony, attempting to return to their bodies.
"What's wrong? Aren't you letting their souls scatter?" Xia Feng asked, puzzled.
He Jianzhu seemed to have imprisoned these spiritual bodies, estimating they would dissipate in about two minutes. Only after the spiritual bodies dissipated would these people truly be dead.
