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墨書 Inktalez
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The sound of impacts echoed through the grand hall, accompanied by various explosions. A Purple Light darted back and forth within the hall, agile and composed, while a golden light charged recklessly, wreaking havoc and tearing the place apart. The golden light roared in frustration, clearly unable to catch up with the elusive Purple Light, and was on the verge of fury.
An hour later, the speed of the Purple Light slowed down, its expression grim. The golden light grew increasingly powerful, each wave stronger than the last, shattering what was once a magnificent hall into ruins, dimming its brilliance and threatening to collapse.
This scene left those within the formation dumbfounded. Even Zhao Yang on the steps was stunned. His senior brother was employing a self-destructive technique—was he really trying to crash into walls? He watched as his brother's straight figure shot forward like a torpedo, zooming in and out with reckless abandon. With his middle finger pressed against the seam of his pants, his head resembled a missile's metallic tip, showing no fear of crashing to his own demise. Zhao Yang even doubted that Song Baliang realized this reckless behavior could lead to his own death.
"Madman!" the Purple-Robed Elder exclaimed angrily. As a Core Formation Stage cultivator, he had suppressed his cultivation level but still retained years of battle experience and a powerful Divine Sense. At the moment when Song Baliang paused for breath, two horns atop the elder's head crackled with electricity, unleashing bolts of lightning that coiled around Song Baliang's legs. With a swift motion, he hurled him toward Zhao Yang's steps, shattering a large section of them upon impact.
Ugh!
"Damn it! I'm dizzy," Song Baliang couldn't help but vomit. His head had swollen with several large bumps, blood seeping from one as evidence of his exertion.
Zhao Yang shook his head helplessly and said, "He is a wind-element Spiritual Root cultivator. How could you possibly keep up with him by playing to your weaknesses against someone else's strengths?"
"Against such a simple-minded brute, one cannot simply confront him head-on without strategy. But as for you, old man can afford to give you one hand," the Purple-Robed Elder's voice rang out again as he looked at Zhao Yang. He had already discerned that Zhao Yang's cultivation level seemed to be merely at the first layer of Foundation Establishment Stage.
Clearly, Zhao Yang had concealed his true cultivation fluctuations to mislead the elder into thinking he was just a novice who had recently entered Foundation Establishment Stage.
Zhao Yang shook his head and chuckled, "After living this long, you still think so highly of yourself, believing that a cultivator's realm is the fundamental measure of strength. It seems you've wasted your life."
"With such false confidence, can you not see your own humility and eagerness for success? You just entered Foundation Establishment Stage and are trying to swim in murky waters alongside a fool with a single-track mind in hopes of finding fortune in the Haotian Secret Realm—it's nothing short of delusional."
"Are you projecting? Are you talking about yourself?" Zhao Yang questioned in confusion; he had never encountered someone so arrogant as to fabricate others' experiences and psychology.
"You're just boasting with your tongue; you won't know the heights of heaven and depths of earth until you've learned a lesson." The Purple-Robed Elder waved his right hand, and a chilling wind howled as countless strands of dark energy gathered, forming a spiraling, high-speed cone that shot straight toward Zhao Yang's forehead.
Zhao Yang remained unfazed in the face of the Elder's powerful attack. A hint of pity flickered in his eyes as he stood with his hands behind his back. His index finger twitched, and a gleaming flying dagger shot forth in an instant.
Whoosh!
A flash of cold light sliced through the air, moving impossibly fast, followed by the Elder's anguished scream.
"My hand! My hand! What Demonic Arts did you use!"
The dark energy dissipated, and the black, condensed wind cone vanished. The hall returned to calm, with the Elder sprawled on the ground, blood soaking his body. Terror shone in his eyes as he looked at Zhao Yang's face, as if gazing upon a murderous demon.
"Too easy to defeat," Zhao Yang scoffed, standing in the air above the hall and looking down at the Purple-Robed Elder with a calm tone. "Did you not just say I could do it with one hand? Now we can begin."
"You!" The Elder's gaze turned vicious, sweat beading on his forehead. Fear gripped him; he had no idea how the young man had severed his arm.
Those within the formation clearly witnessed the scene outside and were equally shocked. The Yinshan Saint Child questioned, "Such powerful might—this person must possess a Dao Artifact!" As soon as he spoke, everyone except for the Overlord Saint Child revealed greedy expressions.
Seeing Zhao Yang glance toward the formation as if he didn't regard him at all, the Elder's horns crackled with electric light. In an instant, he unleashed a strike imbued with wind and thunder aimed directly at Zhao Yang's heart. Zhao Yang glanced sideways, slightly furrowing his brow as he sidestepped. His index finger moved again, and another scream from the Purple-Robed Elder echoed as his other arm was severed.
"You old fool! Just a first-tier servant, yet you dare to act so arrogantly before me!" Zhao Yang stepped forward, preparing to stomp the Purple-Robed Elder to death.
Finally showing signs of fear, the Purple-Robed Elder summoned a gust of dark wind to flee. However, at that moment, a flash of golden light appeared as Song Baliang emerged. He delivered a punch to the Elder's head, sending him crashing into the floor of the hall. The Elder's skull shattered into pieces, brain matter splattering everywhere—his head flattened like an exploded chicken cutlet, leaving a gruesome sight.
"Amitabha, I have finally caught the benefactor," Song Baliang said with a calm expression, his hands pressed together as he recited the Buddha's name with utmost sincerity.
"Black-hearted!"
"Shameless! Sneak attack!"
The people inside the formation were cursing angrily, but unfortunately, those outside could not hear them.
"Senior Brother, you..." Zhao Yang was also dumbfounded. He never expected that Song Baliang would sneak attack as well, and his actions were far more ruthless than Long Xiao Wu's. It was truly heartless and merciless, without any pretense. Initially, Xiao Wu had thought that only he would resort to such tactics, but this Song Baliang was a genuine monk who had never taught him the art of sneak attacks.
"What’s wrong, Junior Brother? Amitabha, as monks, we should be compassionate. Since this benefactor has already passed away, let us recite the Rebirth Mantra to help him transcend," Song Baliang said as he squatted in front of the Purple Robed Elder, chanting softly.
Although Zhao Yang could not understand the words, he was wide-eyed at Song Baliang's actions. He watched as Song Baliang's hand reached into the lifeless body of the Purple Robed Elder and began to rummage around. He pulled out an ancient, broken lamp, two Red Essence Stones, a book titled Yin Mountain Secret Method, and a strangely shaped folding cane. Without a care for anyone around him, Song Baliang stuffed these items into his own robes while muttering, "Amitabha, my apologies."
"Senior Brother, you..." Zhao Yang was stunned. His usually honest and righteous senior brother was engaging in such underhanded activities right in front of everyone. Was he lacking in judgment or simply too careless?
"My master once said that wasting is a crime; it is shameful to waste," Song Baliang replied without a hint of embarrassment, invoking his master's authority with righteous indignation.
"OMG!" Zhao Yang rubbed his forehead, feeling as if he had become an accomplice to a thief. He had initially planned to return to Xuanfo Temple with Song Baliang after the events in the Haotian Secret Realm to experience life as a monk for a few days and perhaps steal some secrets from the Scripture Repository. But now it was clear that even the seemingly honest Song Baliang had turned into such a black-hearted person. If he entered Xuanfo Temple now, he might very well end up on the path of thievery himself; he considered himself to be relatively upright.
As his Divine Sense scanned the Yin Mountain Secret Method in Song Baliang's hands, Zhao Yang activated his reading ability. Countless characters floated in his mind, and he quickly gained some understanding of the secret techniques of the Yinshan Sect. He then looked up at the people enveloped in light within the formation and stepped forward.
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