After ten long minutes—
Bfff—
Richard violently spat out a massive mouthful of blood, mixed with what unmistakably looked like fragments of torn flesh.
The second phase of the Wall's Trial had finally come to an end.
And somehow—against all logic—he was still alive.
But alive did not mean fine. Not even close.
Even after being repelled, each explosion had transmitted terrifying force into his body. His internal organs had been shaken, torn, and crushed repeatedly, as if his insides had been ripped apart layer by layer.
His right hand remained firmly planted beneath the dark coin, unmoving, almost stubbornly so. Meanwhile, his left hand trembled as it slid across his body, desperately forcing shattered bones back into place while he circulated his own life force, prioritizing the most vital parts—his heart and his life artery—barely keeping himself from collapsing entirely.
