Mortal Strikes Immortal

The steel saber clanged dully against the earth-yellow light barrier, then was flung weakly several dozen feet away.

"An ant's strength dares to shake the heavens?"

The old Daoist sneered, his gaze like that of someone watching an ant trying to bite an elephant to death.

He waved the small black banner in his hand, muttered incantations under his breath, and twisted his left hand into a bizarre finger seal. A ball of crimson fire coalesced rapidly in his palm, its scorching heat warping the surrounding air.

The stench of death rushed toward him.

Yet Chen Ping did not retreat.

The moment the steel saber left his hand, his previously terrified and despairing expression peeled away like a mask, replaced by a chilling madness and coldness.

Instead of using the recoil to fall back, he pushed off the ground, his soles slamming hard against the blue stone slabs. Like an arrow loosed from a bow, he charged forward—not away, but straight into the forming fireball!

The old Daoist froze, never expecting a mere mortal to willingly court death.

Just as he was about to hurl the fireball, Chen Ping flicked his wrist and shook his sleeve.

"Take this!"

The paper packet burst against the light barrier. Inside was no poison, but a mix of lime powder and fine iron filings—Chen Ping's own concoction.

Puff!

A cloud of white dust exploded.

Though the earth-yellow barrier blocked the lime three inches out, the thick haze still blinded the old Daoist.

"Despicable!" The old Daoist instinctively squinted and turned his head, his spellcasting faltering for a moment.

Now!

Chen Ping closed in like a ghost, his hands, already gleaming with a bluish-black metallic sheen, bulging with veins—a clear sign that the Shattered Stone Palm was pushed to its limit.

Instead of throwing a punch, he turned his hands into claws, gripping the slippery, hard light barrier like two iron vices.

"Break open!"

A guttural roar tore from deep in Chen Ping's throat. The long, mellow inner energy of the Longevity of Pine and Crane surged wildly, flowing through his arms into his palms.

He didn't rely on brute force to shatter the barrier. Instead, he used a "spiral penetrating force" unique to the Transformation Realm, vibrating his hands at high frequency. The earth-yellow light barrier let out a grating, teeth-clenching hum.

Inside the barrier, the old Daoist felt his eardrums ache. Blinded and panicked, he lost control of the fireball, which exploded chaotically between them.

Boom!

Flames roiled.

Chen Ping felt a searing pain in his left shoulder, flesh instantly charred, but he didn't even furrow his brow or blink.

Gritting his teeth, he endured the agony of the burning flames. His hands didn't loosen—they gripped tighter. The vibrating force aimed at internal organs passed through the barrier, savagely battering the old Daoist's vitals.

Pfft!

The old Daoist spat blood through the barrier, fear finally flickering in his eyes.

He never imagined a mortal martial artist could harm him through a magic artifact shield!

The standoff was brief and brutal.

Chen Ping's shoulder smoked; the old Daoist bled from every orifice. Both were testing who would break first.

In that critical moment, Ye Muqing, who had been barely holding on inside the broken temple, narrowed her eyes with resolve.

She forced the last wisp of spiritual power from her body, pinching a crystalline jade needle between her fingers.

"Go!"

The needle turned into a streak of light, piercing toward the weakest node in the spiritual flow atop the barrier.

Ding!

The barrier, already teetering under Chen Ping's internal force, shattered like cracked glass with the needle's strike.

As the barrier broke, the killing intent in Chen Ping's eyes solidified into reality.

No thought was needed—his body's instinct outpaced his mind.

His right hand shot out like a viper from its den, tearing through the dissipating spiritual light with a shrill whistle of air, and clamped onto the old Daoist's throat.

Crack!

The sound of bones breaking rang out. The old Daoist's throat was as fragile as rotten wood under Chen Ping's iron grip, crushed instantly.

But that wasn't enough.

To be certain, Chen Ping followed up with a vicious knee strike to the old Daoist's chest.

Thud!

The sternum caved in; the heart burst.

The old Daoist's eyes bulged, terror, unwillingness, and disbelief frozen forever.

His body crumpled limply to the ground, the small black banner falling with a dull thud.

With the old Daoist dead, the wailing vengeful spirits around them seemed to lose their power source. After a series of shrieks, they dissolved into black smoke and vanished into the air.

The eerie mist that had shrouded the broken temple swiftly receded, revealing the cold moonlight.

"Huff... huff..."

Chen Ping gasped for breath, the burn on his left shoulder stinging so fiercely that cold sweat beaded on his forehead, but he had no time to tend to the wound.

He shoved aside the old Daoist's corpse, his eyes gleaming with a wolfish greed and calm.

"So this is a cultivator... dead, just like any mortal."

He crouched down, his hands moving like phantoms as he rapidly searched the old Daoist's body.

Soon, his fingers brushed against a heavy leather pouch at the Daoist's waist and a token in his bosom—neither metal nor jade, warm to the touch.

Without a moment's hesitation, Chen Ping tore both items free and, without even a glance, stuffed them into the inner pocket of his clothes.

Only then did he slowly rise, turning to look at the temple entrance.

Ye Muqing had collapsed from exhaustion after throwing that needle, lying unconscious by the threshold.

The two surviving Imperial Guards were sprawled on the ground, trembling like leaves in a gale, their eyes filled with terror as they stared at the blood-soaked, demon-like Chen Ping.

Clutching his charred left shoulder, Chen Ping walked toward them step by step.

The moonlight stretched his shadow long, casting it over the two guards.

"Tonight, the Demon Daoist caused havoc. The captain died in battle. We fought tooth and nail to protect Lady Ye."

Chen Ping's voice was hoarse and icy, utterly devoid of emotion.

"As for how the Daoist died... he was killed by Lady Ye's protective treasure. Understood?"

The two guards looked into Chen Ping's deadpan eyes, knowing that if they dared utter a single "no," they would follow the old Daoist into the grave.

"U-Understood! Lord Chen is mighty! Lady Ye is blessed by heaven!"

They nodded frantically, like pestles pounding garlic.

Chen Ping withdrew his gaze, bent down, and lifted the unconscious Ye Muqing, propping her against a relatively clean corner of the wall.

Just then, he felt the leather pouch he'd seized warm against his chest, resonating strangely with the Longevity of Pine and Crane inner energy flowing through his body—as if something within was calling to him.

Chen Ping pressed a hand to his chest, his heart pounding violently.

He turned to look at the old Daoist's corpse, at the cultivator who, even in death, exuded a chilling aura, and the reverence in his heart faded by half.

Mortals could slay immortals.

Since he could kill one, he could take their place.