It was hard to describe what it felt like to be struck by a bolt of Tribulation Lightning.
In his life, Theron had suffered all sorts of wounds. Or more accurately, in the last year, he certainly had. He had gone from a young scholar without even the slightest callus on his hand to a seasoned assassin, littered with scars that layered so well in a mesh of thick and fine lines that some were so concentrated they hid the existence of others.
There was no easy way to put into words just the sort of hardship he had suffered to be able to stand here today.
But those wounds felt surface-level.
A bolt of Tribulation Lightning wasn't just trying to break down your body—it was attacking your Mana. It wasn't just trying to rip your cultivation out of you, but also tear your soul down from its deepest depths.
