At this moment on the platform, Qing Cong, whose face was originally somewhat pale, showed an unnatural flush, his wrinkles deepened, yet he stood steadfastly.
The gray death qi gathering between his eyebrows had become even denser, as opening this Illusory Realm took a tremendous toll on his already limited lifespan.
While the surrounding Tri-Light Mist continuously converged towards him and merged into his body, it was merely a drop in the bucket.
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the injuries within his body, and once again opened his mouth to spew out a blood-colored small sword.
This sword was only about a foot long, but it was blood-red and translucent, with faint blood light circulating non-stop around it.
Qing Cong hadn't even used his magical power to stimulate it, yet the blood-colored small sword already began to tremble on its own, emitting a rich scent of blood.