He gasped for breath, each inhalation sending a wave of tearing pain through his entire body.
The dark-gold Dragon Scales had long since faded, revealing skin as pale as paper, riddled with countless fine, weeping fissures.
His clothes were in tatters. The wound on his left shoulder, where the Dissociation Technique had grazed him, still emanated an ominous, ashen aura.
The light of the Primordial Core within him had grown exceedingly dim, as if it had exhausted all its Energy, leaving only the barest warmth needed to sustain his life.
Waves of weakness crashed against his consciousness, yet the hand gripping his sword hilt remained steady. His eyes, though weary, were still sharp.
Though his life was not in danger, he was a spent force.
Just as he was trying to calm the turmoil in his body...
A voice.
It was as faint as a whisper, yet it seemed to ignore all space and distance, echoing clearly in his mind. And...
