Extremely careful, Ling Han plucked that Seven Star Great Herb.
However, bright red blood was still dripping from the back of his hand.
The saintly might was like a supreme Divine Sword. So what if his physique was tough? He was merely scraped lightly, and his flesh was split open.
This was the might of a Saint. No matter how strong a Venerate was, they were nothing in front of a Saint.
Thus, all those below the level of Saint were mere ants. These words were not just empty words.
There was even less need to mention the Great Emperor. Only one could appear in each era, and he could blot out the skies with a single hand, suppressing an era.
"Put down the Celestial—"
A voice suddenly rang out from behind Ling Han, and as he spoke, Ling Han was also turning around. When the person behind saw Ling Han's face, the remaining words were immediately swallowed back into his throat.
F***, Ling Han!
