Die for This Daoist!

Seeing that Zhang Xuan's assault could not be stopped, "Meng Changxi's" expression changed drastically, and a flicker of panic crossed his scarlet eyes. Though over a hundred Pine Needles had sewn his mouth shut, they did nothing to stop him from speaking.

A hoarse voice, like metal scraping against metal, rose from his throat with a pleading note. "Daoist Master, this humble god knows he was wrong. Please consider how hard my cultivation has been and spare me. From now on, I will fulfill my duties as a Mountain God, protect this land and its people, and commit no more evil."

Zhang Xuan kept his head lowered, his face buried in shadow, his expression hidden. But the movement of his right hand, thrust into the creature's chest, slowed...

Seeing this, the monk grew frantic. The Phoenix-Cry Mountain God had already strayed onto an evil path and devoured the flesh and blood of nearly a thousand living people. How could anyone believe the words of such an evil god?

"Daoist, don't listen to his excuses! He's already fallen into evil. He's only begging like this to save his own life..."

"I know." Before the monk could finish, Zhang Xuan's icy voice cut him off.

With that, Zhang Xuan slowly raised his head and looked at the "Corpse Buddha," now meekly feigning weakness before him. His gaze was sharp as a blade. "I'm gathering my strength. What were you..."

"...hoping for?"

His words were mocking, but his tone was chilling.

To break through the Ghost Domain earlier, Zhang Xuan had unleashed the complete Innate Supreme Unity Divine Thunder, nearly draining all his vital energy. His essence, energy, and spirit had been so severely depleted that he had briefly lost consciousness. Fortunately, he had come around in time.

Forcing himself to use it again now was already burning through his life essence. He would inevitably suffer a serious illness afterward, but...

...who gave a flying fuck!

Zhang Xuan thought of the old man, of Gouwa, and of all those faces, too horrible to behold, pinned to the Corpse Buddha's body with Locust Wood Nails.

As though sensing the icy killing intent in the young Daoist's eyes, "Meng Changxi" spoke again. This time, however, towering fury lurked in his voice, like a savage beast driven into a corner. "Filthy Daoist, you cannot kill me! I am the Orthodox God of a mountain, appointed by Heaven, destined to live as long as heaven and earth! Kill me, and you will suffer Heaven's punishment!"

"A Mountain God, my ass!" Zhang Xuan sneered, his voice exploding like thunder. "After everything you've done, you still dare call yourself a 'god'?"

"Above, you bring no blessings to this land; below, you offer no protection to its people."

"As this land's Mountain God, you slaughtered its people and committed vile deeds!"

Beneath the lightning, Zhang Xuan's thick brows rose high, and the killing intent in his eyes surged!

"Die for this Daoist!"

As Zhang Xuan's final words rang out, he pressed the sword fingers of his left hand against his right arm. Instantly, the lightning surged again! Blue-white lightning patterns coiled around his arm like raging dragons, and a suffocating pressure filled the air.

Squelch—

The Thunder Spear pierced "Meng Changxi's" chest without resistance. His lightning-wreathed hand shifted from thrusting to grasping, closing directly around the Two-Faced Buddha Head.

In an instant, lightning patterns savagely invaded the Two-Faced Buddha Head. Its four scarlet eyes suddenly widened, and it let out a piercing shriek, as though giving its final wail.

Then countless fine cracks appeared across the Buddha head's surface. Thick black blood seeped from them as the power of thunder stripped away its life bit by bit.

With a ripping sound, Zhang Xuan drove his right arm forward. Clutching the Two-Faced Buddha Head, he punched straight through the Corpse Buddha and out its back, sending black blood splashing everywhere.

"Roar—!" The Corpse Buddha unleashed a final bellow, its voice mingling fear and unwillingness.

This young Daoist was clearly so weak. I was clearly only one final step away from reaching the true ghost king realm. Why? Why have I ended up like this?

Its body trembled violently in the lightning. The ice shattered completely, and the surrounding chill dissipated with it, leaving only filthy scraps of flesh strewn across the ground.

Beside them, the monk's eyes widened like bronze bells, his gaze filled with astonishment.

Who could have imagined that the mighty Phoenix-Cry Mountain God, an evil fiend nurtured by years of offerings from the Demon Suppression Bureau and the slaughter of nearly a thousand people, would vanish into smoke beneath a single strike of Zhang Xuan's Palm Thunder?

Amid the swirling white mist, a figure radiating murderous cold slowly emerged. Zhang Xuan held the fist-sized Two-Faced Buddha Head in his right hand, his gaze chilling.

At the sight of that figure, Monk Sanjie's pupils contracted violently, and he instinctively assumed a defensive stance.

Yet that figure suddenly cried out in a thoroughly undignified fashion. "Shit, that's burning hot!"

The Buddha head in Zhang Xuan's hands was like a scalding potato. He tossed it from his left hand to his right before finally flinging it high into the air. "Monk, hold on to this for me! This thing's burning my hands off!"

The dumbstruck monk instinctively reached out and caught the Two-Faced Buddha Head. Compared to before, the Buddha head no longer possessed its former supernatural splendor.

Its once-compassionate face had held its eyes slightly lowered, its expression merciful;

its fallen, crazed face had held its eyes wide open, bordering on madness.

Now, however, the Buddha head was covered in black scorch marks. All four Buddha eyes were tightly closed, and it had utterly lost its former supernatural aura, looking like a lifeless object.

At the same time, the Falcon that had been circling overhead beat its wings, opening and closing its long beak. "Calamity! Calamity! The Emissary is dead! The Emissary is dead! Quick, report to the Thousand-Household Commander!"

The monk reacted swiftly. Bending down, he scooped up a handful of pebbles and flicked his fingers in succession. Five pebbles shot toward the rapidly fleeing Falcon with shrill whistles. The Falcon deftly rolled over, dodging four, but the fifth struck its right wing, sending it plummeting.

Even as it fell, its long beak kept opening and closing. "Calamity! Calamity! This bird's going to die! Going to die!" Before it hit the ground, the monk caught the noisy, foolish bird in one hand, bundled it up with a strip of cloth, and casually stuffed it into his cloth bag.

By then, a deathly pale Zhang Xuan came staggering over, pinching his earlobes with both hands and cursing all the way.

Yet his gaze remained fixed on the monk.

...good, he hasn't turned red! Zhang Xuan let out a great inward sigh of relief.

Through his nether candle mystic eyes, the monk still radiated a gentle white light.

Throwing the Two-Faced Buddha Head directly to the monk had actually been an enormous gamble for Zhang Xuan, as well as a desperate measure to preserve his own life. Back in the Mountain God Temple, he had already told Meng Changxi and the monk everything about the Buddha head's extraordinary properties. His first aim had been to draw out Meng Changxi's greed and have him carry the Buddha head out of the ruined temple for them. His second had been to prepare for this very moment!

If the Buddha Treasure tempted the monk, he would inevitably develop ill intent toward Zhang Xuan, which would never escape the scrutiny of his nether candle mystic eyes.

If the light around the monk that indicated his threat level changed from white to red, Zhang Xuan would simply tell him without hesitation, "This Buddha Treasure is useless to me. It's yours, monk."

Using Palm Thunder twice in succession had nearly drained Zhang Xuan's vital energy dry. Now his head felt as though someone were continually driving steel needles into it. The pain was excruciating, and his steps felt light and unsteady, as though he might collapse at any moment.

In this state, whether he lived or died was entirely at the other man's whim. He could only sacrifice the rook to save the king.

Fortunately, this monk was a true man of the cloth...

Having lowered his guard against the monk, Zhang Xuan staggered over to Xu Ming's headless corpse, breathing heavily, and crouched down to examine it.

Holding the Two-Faced Buddha Head, the monk looked toward "Meng Changxi," now reduced to a heap of charcoal in the distance. He wanted to say something and opened his mouth, but ultimately remained silent. He did not know how to begin...

First, Xu Ming's dying strike had landed, immobilizing the Corpse Buddha. Then Zhang Xuan's Palm Thunder had followed immediately, striking its vital point with perfect accuracy, without missing a single breath. It was all far too baffling...

From the moment Xu Ming's throat was pierced to the moment he launched his Flying Sword before dying, only three breaths had passed. Given Zhang Xuan's speed, running from his position behind the monk to stand before "Meng Changxi" and deliver that crucial strike of Palm Thunder would have taken at least a dozen breaths.

Counting backward, a dozen breaths earlier, Xu Ming had only just been knocked away by the monk and was coughing up blood as he formed his Flying Sword. Normally, at that point, the Corpse Buddha was still lurking in the shadows. How could Zhang Xuan have moved ahead of time?

Unless... Zhang Xuan could foresee the future and knew that a moment later, the Corpse Buddha would ambush Xu Ming, and that Xu Ming would launch his Flying Sword before dying, briefly freezing "Meng Changxi." Otherwise, how could his timing have been so precise?

But how was that possible?

Just who—or what—was this young Daoist before him?