The battle was over.

Lin Mo lay like a heap of mud, collapsed beside the charred and twisted remnants of Tianshu.

He had won, but the victory was incredibly brutal.

His body felt as if it had been repeatedly run over by countless carriages, with every inch of bone and muscle groaning in agony. The Spiritual Power within his Dantian was completely exhausted, not a trace could be squeezed out. The blood flowing from his seven orifices had already coagulated, making him look utterly wretched.