As if he wanted to prove himself through this strike, Little Monk held nothing back.
Unlike others, Buddhists cultivated for the next life. Let the past be as though yesterday had died; let the future be as though today had been born. It was precisely because they possessed this resolve to abandon everything and start anew that Buddhist cultivation had virtually no such thing as a bottleneck.
They needed no items to break their limits. With every reincarnation, they advanced another step beyond their previous foundation.
...It sounded simple enough, but how many people were truly willing to cast aside all the power they had amassed and begin again from scratch?
Were it not for obsessions binding them, few would choose to start over. Perhaps it was precisely for this reason that Little Monk was an Inhuman Existence even among Myths.
Unlike the Pure Land of Buddhism commonly cultivated by Buddhists, which sought to transform three thousand worlds into a Sumeru within one's palm, nor like the worlds generally formed by Myths through the sublimation of their own domains, he upheld the belief that if he did not enter Hell, who would? He had forged himself into a walking world.
Yet even he had not expected that his first move after reincarnation would nearly end with his body and soul destroyed. Under the authority of reincarnation, after being cast into the cycle, he had even been cut off from the possibility of reincarnating and cultivating anew. How could he not feel shocked and enraged?
Looking at the figure so close before him, the golden Buddhist patterns burning across Little Monk's body erupted violently, forcefully rising to another level. Gathering all his power into his palm, he slowly—or rather, incredibly swiftly—pressed it toward the other's chest.
The instant this palm strike