Chapter 261

Blood gushed up.

The middle-aged monk’s beard, streaked here and there with white, was soaked in blood. He forced out the words in a broken voice.

“D-Demon. You’re a demon.”

A calm voice slipped into his ear.

“Shakyamuni¹ drove away the demons’ temptations and attained enlightenment beneath the Bodhi tree, or so they say. But…”

Shaaak!

A hand wreathed in bitterly cold blue Force pulled free of the monk’s chest.

The gaping wound had already frozen over, and frost-covered drops of blood fell to the ground like shards of ice.

“No enlightenment can endure in the face of death.”

The monk trembled as a chill swept through his entire body.

He did not know whether it came from the extreme Yin-Cold Technique that had frozen even his internal organs or the aura of death looming before his eyes.

No. He could not know.

Ssslip. Thud.

Yin Ghost Han Su looked down at the monk, who had died with his eyes wide open. His gaze darkened.

That was dangerous. More dangerous than I expected.

He looked around. Four corpses lay sprawled before the collapsed entrance to the Face-Wall Cave, including the middle-aged monk who had just fallen.

The Four Great Vajras.²

As martial monks counted among Shaolin’s finest, each of them possessed formidable martial arts.

The last bald monk in particular had been a master at the threshold of Supreme Peak. If Han Su had not traded flesh for bone, he might have lost his life to the Four Great Vajras’ combined assault.

Persistent bastards. Somehow, they’ve managed to keep their lineage alive.

Shaolin had suffered losses approaching ninety percent during the last Great Faction War.

The damage had been so catastrophic that it could no longer compare to the days when it had been called the greatest sect under heaven. Even so, the strength Shaolin had accumulated over a thousand years still remained.

But that ends today.

Every part of the plan was proceeding smoothly. Dharma King Hong Dao was dead, the Four Great Vajras had fallen, and Hongcheon would soon meet his end at Flame Tiger’s hands.

The hundreds of killers stripped of every sensation would drench Mount Song in blood and withdraw only after burning the martial arts manuals in the Scripture Depository.

If Shaolin lost both its leading masters and its martial arts, its decline would be certain.

And one mission took priority over everything else.

The Green Jade Buddha Staff.

Han Su could not guess why Shaolin’s sacred treasure mattered so much, but he had to complete his task.

Because it was none other than the Lord of Heaven’s command.

Was that not why he, the man who enjoyed the Lord of Heaven’s absolute trust, had come with them?

“I’ll take care of Hong Dao. You bastards take care of Shaolin. If you fail to find the Green Jade Buddha Staff… I’ll leave what happens next to your imagination.”

Han Su’s face stiffened as he recalled the last thing he had said.

There could not be a single mistake. If Han Su failed, he would pay dearly for it.

Boom!

Han Su flicked his sleeve, clearing the blocked entrance to the Face-Wall Cave.

Even the massive stone gate revealed beyond it could not halt his advance.

Rumble!

The stone gate collapsed with a deafening roar. Beyond the billowing cloud of dust and powdered stone, a pair of eyes gleamed with piercing light.

“Benefactor. What brings you here?”

Han Su curled his lips as the young monk, Unnamed, unfolded his crossed legs and slowly rose.

“Are you Hong Dao’s Disciple?”

“And what will you do if I am?”

“I’ve come to collect something.”

“I have nothing to give you, Benefactor.”

“Then let me correct myself. I’ve come to take it.”

“I cannot surrender so much as a single grain of rice to someone reeking of blood.”

“Don’t trouble yourself over it. I’ll take your life along with it.”

“Amitabha.”³

Unnamed brought his palms together, his prayer beads wrapped around one hand. Determination gleamed in his eyes.

“It won’t be easy.”

The battle between Hongcheon and Flame Tiger, two fist masters who had reached Supreme Peak, was fierce.

Screeeech! Boom!

Every thrust, swing, and rising kick carried tremendous power.

It was a clash between superhumans who had stepped into the lofty realm of Supreme Peak—a battle no one dared interfere with.

But as time passed, the scales began to tip.

Boom!

The instant their Force-wreathed fists collided, a line of crimson blood trickled from one man’s mouth.

“Cough.”

The monk’s gray robes turned bright red.

Flame Tiger bared his yellow teeth as Hongcheon was driven back a dozen steps, as if swept away by an invisible wind.

“Brat. When you were still suckling at your mother’s breast, this old man was rampaging through Nanman.⁴ You’re thirty years too early to challenge me.”

Hongcheon wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Despite his pallid complexion, the old monk’s eyes burned fiercely.

“You truly are an old monster. How about climbing into your coffin already?”

“Even when the orthodox faction cast a net over heaven and earth, they couldn’t catch this old man. A bald monk like you doesn’t stand a chance.”

Hongcheon bit his lip as Flame Tiger’s aura blazed even more fiercely.

He knew those words were not mere confidence. They were simply the truth.

What kind of monster is he, to still be going this strong?

The Yin-Yang Twin Ghosts had already been over sixty during the Great Faction War.

Yet despite clearly being well over a hundred now, Flame Tiger showed no sign of fatigue.

Internal energy whose depths Hongcheon could not begin to fathom. Experience accumulated through countless acts of slaughter. Even the one weakness Flame Tiger should have possessed—old age—seemed to have passed him by.

Despair closed in around Hongcheon.

But there’s still hope.

His eyes shifted slightly toward the more than one hundred martial monks fighting the masked men.

One hundred and eight, to be exact.

They were the Hundred and Eight Arhats,⁵ the face and pride of Shaolin Temple.

The carefully selected elite wielded their precept blades and Zen staffs, steadily driving back the masked men.

“They are the greatest criminals under heaven. Show them no mercy!”

“Open the Killing Gate!”

The Hundred and Eight Arhats displayed their true strength when they deployed the Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation.

Each of them performed his assigned role flawlessly, calmly reproducing in battle what they had practiced thousands of times.

Clang-clang-clang! Slash!

The Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation bore down like the palm of the Tathagata,⁶ and the masked men began to fall one after another, spraying blood.

The battle, so one-sided at first, had become evenly matched.

If this continues… we can win.

The Murim Alliance was only a few shichen⁷ away. Once reinforcements arrived, the Yin-Yang Twin Ghosts and the masked men would be the ones in danger.

A glimmer of hope crossed Hongcheon’s eyes.

“Wahahaha!”

“…?”

“Every thought is written all over your face. What an innocent monk you are.”

Hongcheon’s expression stiffened. Something about Flame Tiger’s attitude struck him as strange.

Did he already know this would happen?

But why?

Before he could pursue the question, a deafening explosion left his ears ringing and shook the earth beneath his feet.

Kwooooom!

Hongcheon stared at the sight before him, his mouth hanging open.

The world seemed to slow. Amid the earth thrown more than ten zhang⁸ into the air, severed limbs tumbled through a downpour of blood.

One section of the Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation had vanished as though swallowed by a gigantic monster.

“No!”

Time lurched back into motion with Hongcheon’s scream.

The explosion had devastated an area more than ten zhang across. More than twenty Arhat monks had been reduced to chunks of flesh.

The masked men surged into the gap like a wave.

Slash. Slash. Slash!

The Arhat monks were still only human.

Flashing blades filled the vision of those frozen in shock.

The battlefield allowed not a moment of carelessness. The price of hesitation was horrific.

“Aaaaaagh!”

“Junior Brother!”

The Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation, once as solid as an invincible shield, crumbled helplessly. Several old monks belatedly tried to restore it, but their efforts were in vain.

Their opponents were no ordinary men.

They were beings worthy of being called demons.

“The Lord of Heaven has commanded us. Kill the enemy.”

Tss-tss-tss-tss.

As one masked man muttered in a toneless voice, red light seeped from his eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth.

The Arhat monks stared in stunned disbelief at the bizarre phenomenon they were witnessing for the first time.

“W-What is that?”

“Demonic martial arts! It’s demonic martial arts! Everyone, get away!”

But it was already too late.

The red light swelled until it enveloped the masked man’s entire body, then erupted in every direction, swallowing dozens of Arhat monks and several masked men.

Boom!

An explosion. A deafening roar. Screams.

Severed limbs flew through the sky, and the rain pattering down was red.

Blood vessels spread across Hongcheon’s eyes as he stared blankly at the scene.

“H-How dare you…”

Shaolin was collapsing.

Shaolin Temple, which had stood unshaken even through the Great Faction War, now overflowed with corpses and death.

The young Disciple who had greeted him with a smile every morning lay dead. The Junior Brother with whom he had shared decades of friendship had vanished without a trace.

As the hellscape unfolded before his eyes, blood dripped from his tightly clenched fist.

“This can’t… This can’t be happening.”

Flame Tiger threw back his head and laughed heartily at Hongcheon’s muttering.

“It’s called the Exploding Blood Demonic Art. It’s a damned tricky art, so it’s difficult to master, but it’s perfect for times like this. I brought a couple of them along… and they’re even more useful than I expected.”

“How dare you bastards—!”

Hongcheon shot forward with a cry that was nearly a scream.

A fist wreathed in crimson Force was waiting for him.

Bababoom!

His Body-Protecting Qi shattered, and a barrage of powerful blows hammered Hongcheon’s limbs.

The pain was so intense that his vision went dark. Blood gushed from his mouth, mixed with pieces of his internal organs.

“Gwaaaargh!”

Through his blurred vision, Hongcheon saw Flame Tiger approaching at a leisurely pace.

“You stupid bastard. You spent all those years learning Shaolin’s martial arts, yet you forgot your Unshakable Mind?”

“Cough! Cough!”

It had been an undeniable mistake. No matter what happened, Hongcheon should not have lost his composure. Whatever he witnessed, he should have responded calmly.

His opponent was a monster who had already been considered comparable to the Ten Kings during the Great Faction War.

The best course of action had been to maintain the standoff somehow and buy time.

“You bastard…”

But Hongcheon still forced himself upright, gasping for breath.

Not yet.

If he fell, Shaolin would fall with him. He had to defend this place until his final breath.

For one moment longer. So that even one more person might escape alive.

That was the final duty of an old monk who had devoted his entire life to Shaolin.

“Come.”

Flame Tiger frowned at the fire burning in Hongcheon’s eyes.

“This is why I hate monk bastards. They’re about to die, but they still insist on putting on airs.”

“What would a demonic fiend like you know?”

“I think I know one thing.”

Flame Tiger laughed savagely.

“You’re about to die.”

Whoosh!

Already gravely wounded, Hongcheon could not follow his speed.

In the blink of an eye, Flame Tiger closed the distance and slammed a fist into Hongcheon’s shoulder.

Thud!

The Force behind that single punch tore through flesh and bone.

Hongcheon screamed as everything below his shoulder vanished.

“Aaaaaagh!”

“You damned bald monk. You dare dodge this old man’s fist? Let’s see you dodge this one too.”

Flame Tiger planted a foot on Hongcheon’s head as the old monk writhed in agony.

Even a tenth—no, a hundredth—of his strength would crush Hongcheon’s skull like a watermelon.

“What do people say at a time like this? Ah, right.”

Flame Tiger tapped his forehead theatrically and continued.

“May you be reborn in paradise.”

Grrrrk.

The pressure slowly increased.

Just as death closed in before Hongcheon’s eyes, two voices reached them.

“Take that filthy foot off him. Before I reduce even your filthy spirit to ash.”

“And make your little chili pepper extra crispy.”⁹

The first voice belonged to an old man. The second was young—shockingly young.

Flame Tiger turned toward the voices, and his face stiffened.

“The Fire King…!”