At Wu Dingbei's words, Daoist Master Changming truly couldn't remember who he was. But in the current situation, the past was nothing but drifting clouds and mist; it no longer mattered.
"Xuandang stands in Guzhou and is revered by its people. Even if we must walk into eternal ruin for their sake, we have no regrets."
Daoist Master Changming spoke in a low voice. He raised his left hand and tapped his arm three times with a finger. At once, strength returned to his right arm. He gripped his long sword and strode forward, ready to keep fighting.
Wu Dingbei turned his head toward him. Beneath his mask, his eyes glinted with anger.
"You don't know what's good for you. Then I'll show you what hell looks like!"
With an enraged shout, Wu Dingbei sprang up, spear in hand, and charged at Daoist Master Changming.
On another street, Divine Monk Taihang of Chanding Temple was surrounded and attacked by dozens of Demonic Sect warriors. Many corpses already littered the road—some belonged to Demonic Sect warriors, others to Chanding Temple monks. Blood stained the street and the courtyard walls.
Divine Monk Taihang had been locked in fierce combat for some time. His kasaya was torn, and he no longer had the strength to lift the bronze bell. He could only circle around it, warding off the ceaseless attacks coming at him from every direction.
Chanding Temple had fewer warrior monks than Xuandang had disciples, and more and more of them found themselves outnumbered.
But no one was afraid. They glared furiously at the Demonic Sect warriors, unafraid to die.
Jiang Kuotian and the other prisoners were being escorted onward. They watched the fighting figures in the distance. They could even see old friends among them. Though they were so close, at