"Is he dead?"
"No."
Sìxiàng reached out toward the void, pushing aside the dust on the ground.
Even in this state—prostrate on the ground with his face up—the Minotaur War God's body still harbored a wisp of breath, like the flicker of a candle in the wind.
His eyes were tightly closed, his breath faint as spider silk.
"Still not dead, these gods are truly difficult to kill," Chen Xing remarked with some emotion upon witnessing this scene within the Soul Space of Sìxiàng.
The Minotaur War God lying on the ground opened his eyes at some point. Though his breath was weak, his gaze was calm.
He had lost once before when his authority was shattered, but that was a group assault. Even though he lost, he didn't accept it.
But this time, having been defeated in direct combat, especially by an opponent whose rank was lower than his, he couldn't help feeling disheartened.
What's the point of all the scheming over the years then?
