As soon as Xuan Zhuang's voice transmission ended, a barefoot monk stepped out of the formation. Nine feet tall, his imposing figure was like an iron pagoda. He was none other than Master Nu Yun, the most hot-tempered among the monks, whose cultivation had reached the level of one seed.
He proclaimed a Buddha's name. "Amitabha. You're nothing but a middle corpse, yet you dare act so brazenly. This humble monk shall deliver you, benefactor."
Before his words had even faded, a Vajra Pestle appeared in his hand. A precious light had barely emerged when a sword light flashed through the air. Seventeen squares became a circle in an instant, its cold, dazzling radiance cleaving through the entire battlefield.
The precious light that had just formed around the Vajra Pestle in Master Nu Yun's hand had no time to strike. It became a shield instead, clinging tightly around him. His heart filled with terror. Only now did he understand why Senior Brother Xuan Zhuang, their leader, had treated this matter with such solemnity.
In the end, the precious light manifested by the Vajra Pestle failed to protect Master Nu Yun. The frigid circular sword light pierced through it with ease. His monk's robes exploded with a series of sharp cracks, tearing apart inch by inch. Then Master Nu Yun let out a shrill cry of pain. His body became a blood-soaked sieve, countless holes opening across him as blood gushed out in sizzling streams.
"Combine!"
Xuan Zhuang swept a cold glance at Master Nu Yun and shouted. With a broad sweep of his hand, a yellow clay figurine shaped like a Buddha appeared in his palm. Lines covered its entire body, like the network of veins and sinews in a human body.
The instant the Clay Buddha rose into the