Chapter 261

Blood welled up.

The beard streaked here and there with white was soaked in blood. The middle-aged monk forced out a broken voice.

“D-Demon. You’re a demon.”

A calm voice slipped into his ear.

“Shakyamuni drove away the demons’ temptations and attained enlightenment beneath the Bodhi tree, or so I’ve heard. But…”

Shaaak!

A hand carrying razor-cold blue force emerged from the monk’s chest.

The gaping wound had already frozen over, and frost-covered droplets 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 was because of the extreme Yin-Cold Technique that had frozen even his internal organs, or because of the aura of death that had reached his very eyes.

No. He could not know.

Ssslip. Thud.

The old man looked down at the monk, who had died with his eyes wide open.

The eyes of Yin Ghost Han Su sank deeply.

That was dangerous. More dangerous than I expected.

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

The Four Great Vajras.

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

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

Persistent bastards. Somehow, they’ve kept their lineage alive.

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

The damage had been so catastrophic that Shaolin could no longer compare to its former days as the greatest sect under heaven. Even so, the power built 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.

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

If Shaolin lost its leading masters as well as its martial arts, its decline would be certain.

And there was a mission that took priority over everything else.

The Green Jade Buddha Staff.

Han Su could not guess why the sacred treasure of Shaolin was so important, but he had to accomplish his task.

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

Was that not why he, the one who enjoyed 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 hardened as he recalled the final words he had spoken.

There could not be a single mistake. If he failed, he would pay the price in full.

Boom!

Han Su flicked his sleeve, revealing the entrance to the Face-Wall Cave that had been blocked off.

Even the massive stone gate that now appeared could not stop his advance.

Rumble!

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

“Benefactor. What brings you here?”

Han Su saw the young monk slowly rise from his cross-legged position and curled up the corners of his mouth.

“Are you Hong Dao’s Disciple?”

“And what will you do if I am?”

“I came to receive an item.”

“I have nothing to give you, Benefactor.”

“Then let me correct myself. I came to take it.”

“Someone reeking of blood cannot be allowed to take even a single grain of rice.”

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

“Amitabha.”

With his palms joined and his prayer beads wound around one hand, Unnamed’s eyes gleamed with determination.

“It won’t be easy.”

Hongcheon and Flame Tiger.

The battle between the two fist masters who had reached the Supreme Peak realm was fierce.

Screeeech! Boom!

Every movement—each thrust, swing, and rising kick—carried tremendous power.

It was a battle between superhuman beings who had stepped into the lofty realm known as Supreme Peak, one in which no one dared interfere.

But as time passed, the scales began to tip.

Boom!

The moment their two fists, wrapped in qi force, collided, a line of red blood ran from one man’s mouth.

“Cough.”

The gray robes worn by the monk were stained 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. You’re still thirty years too young.”

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

“You truly are an old monster. How about getting 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 flying around like that?

During the Great Faction War, the Yin-Yang Twin Freaks had already passed sixty.

And yet, despite clearly being well over a hundred years old, Flame Tiger showed no sign of fatigue.

Internal energy whose limits could not be guessed. Experience forged through countless killings. Even his one weakness—aging—seemed to have passed Flame Tiger by.

The future looked bleak.

But there’s still hope.

Hongcheon’s eyes shifted slightly. His gaze moved toward the more than one hundred martial monks fighting the masked men.

Precisely one hundred and eight men.

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

As the most elite of the elite, selected only after careful screening, they swung their precept blades and Zen staffs and steadily drove the masked men back.

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

“Open the Killing Gate!”

The true strength of the Hundred and Eight Arhats was revealed when they deployed the Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation.

And every one of them was carrying out his assigned role flawlessly.

They were calmly reproducing in actual combat what they had practiced hundreds and thousands of times.

Clang-clang-clang! Slash!

Under the pressure of the Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation, which bore down on them like the palm of the Tathagata, the masked men began falling one after another, spraying blood.

Unlike the one-sided disadvantage at the beginning, the battle had now become evenly matched.

If things continue like this… we can do it.

The Murim Alliance was only a few shichen away. If reinforcements arrived, the Yin-Yang Twin Freaks and the masked men would be the ones in trouble.

It was at that very moment that a glimmer of hope crossed Hongcheon’s eyes.

“Wahahaha!”

“…?”

“Your thoughts are written all over your face. What an innocent monk you are.”

Hongcheon’s face hardened. He had noticed something strange in Flame Tiger’s attitude.

Did he already know this would happen?

But why?

Before the question could continue, a deafening roar shook the earth and left his ears ringing.

Kwooooom!

Hongcheon stared at the scene before him with his mouth hanging open.

In a world that seemed to have slowed down, human limbs and blood pouring down like a sudden rain could be seen among the mounds of earth that had shot more than ten zhang into the air.

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

“No!”

Along with Hongcheon’s scream, the flow of time returned to normal.

An area more than ten zhang across had been reduced to a wasteland by the explosion. More than twenty Arhat monks had been turned into chunks of flesh.

The masked men surged into that place like a wave.

Slash. Slash. Slash!

The Arhat monks were still only human.

Before their eyes, frozen by the shock, flashing sword light filled their entire field of vision.

This was a battlefield that allowed no moment of carelessness.

The price of hesitation was horrific.

“Aaaaaagh!”

“Junior Brother!”

The Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation, which had been no different from an invincible shield, collapsed helplessly. Several old monks belatedly tried to restore the formation, but it was all in vain.

Their opponents were not ordinary people.

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 the seven openings of his face.

The Arhat monks widened their eyes in stunned disbelief at the strange phenomenon they were witnessing for the first time in their lives.

“W-What is that?”

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

But it was already too late.

The red light had expanded until it wrapped around the masked man’s entire body before bursting in every direction, enveloping dozens of Arhat monks and several masked men.

Boom!

An explosion. A deafening roar. Screams.

Someone’s limbs flew through the sky, and the rain pattering down was red.

Red veins spread across Hongcheon’s eyes as he stared blankly at the scene.

“H-How dare you…”

Shaolin was collapsing.

Shaolin Temple, which had remained unshaken even during the Great Faction War, was now overflowing with corpses and death.

The young Disciple who had greeted him with a smile every morning had breathed his last. The Junior Brother with whom he had built a friendship over decades had vanished without a trace.

As the hellscape unfolded before his eyes, drops of blood fell 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 incredibly tricky, so it’s difficult to master, but it’s perfect for situations like this. I brought along a couple of them… They’re even more useful than I expected.”

“How dare you bastards—!”

With a cry that was almost a scream, Hongcheon shot forward.

But waiting for him was a fist wrapped in red qi force.

Bababoom!

His Body-Protecting Qi shattered, and a barrage of powerful punches battered 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 Hongcheon’s blurred vision, Flame Tiger approached with leisurely steps.

“You stupid bastard. You studied Shaolin’s martial arts until that age, and you forgot about an unshakable mind?”

“Cough. Cough!”

It was an obvious mistake. No matter what happened, he should not have lost his composure. Whatever he saw, he should have responded calmly.

His opponent was a monster who had already been 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…”

Even so, Hongcheon rose to his feet, breathing heavily.

Not yet.

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

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

That was the old monk’s final duty after devoting 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 acting tough.”

“What would a demonic fiend like you know?”

“I think I know one thing.”

Flame Tiger laughed savagely.

“You’re dying right now.”

Whoosh!

Hongcheon, already suffering severe injuries, was too slow to keep up.

Before he knew it, Flame Tiger had reached him. His fist slammed into Hongcheon’s shoulder.

Thud!

With a heavy sound, the qi force carried by that single punch cleaved through flesh and bone.

Hongcheon screamed, his arm gone from the shoulder down.

“Aaaaaagh!”

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

As Hongcheon writhed in pain and injury, Flame Tiger’s foot pressed down on his head.

Even a tenth—no, a hundredth—of his strength would crush Hongcheon’s head 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 increased slowly.

Death was bearing down on Hongcheon’s eyes.

“Take that filthy foot off him. Before I turn your filthy spirit into ash.”

“Let’s crisp up his chili pepper.”

Two voices pierced Flame Tiger’s ears.

The first belonged to an old man. The other was young—young enough to be almost startlingly green.

Flame Tiger turned his head toward the direction of the voices.

His face hardened.

“The Fire King…!”