Chapter 551: Who Is the Daoist?

The sky grew dim, twilight settling down.

A sliver of sunset's afterglow fell upon the strange Daoist, casting a corpse-like dull yellow hue.

Mo Hua's breath caught, his heart pounding wildly.

Though he had never seen this Daoist before, the aura was eerily familiar.

The great demon Feng Xi, who had died and returned to life in Xiancheng.

The King of Ten Thousand Corpses, a half-step Daoic Deviant from Nan Yue City.

And the dark, lifeless figure that surfaced in his mind whenever he silently recited his own Dao name…

All matched this man's aura perfectly.

Mo Hua trembled inside.

This man was none other than the utterly ruthless Mo Sect Daoist—whom his master had forbidden him to think of, let alone mention.

The Strange Daoist!!

On the other side, the group of Jin Dan demonic cultivators, upon seeing this Daoist, wore expressions of solemnity, confusion, or disdain.

Not all of them knew who the Strange Daoist was.

But the Blood-Robed Old Devil knew.

He was the Saint Son's servant, a late-stage Jin Dan cultivator with long experience and broad knowledge; though he had never seen the Strange Daoist with his own eyes, he knew well the Mo Sect's taboos.

The Strange Daoist…

The title "Daoist" was no trivial matter—it was not granted merely for high cultivation or heavy bloodshed.

Especially since his title bore the character "Strange."

The Blood-Robed Old Devil's heart grew solemn.

He did not know what the Strange Daoist intended, nor why he had appeared suddenly at this moment—so he bowed and said:

"Elder…"

The Strange Daoist acted as if he heard nothing, his steps continuing, uneven and swaying, as he walked toward them.

The Blood-Robed Old Devil's face turned icy.

One demonic cultivator sneered: "Is this man really the Strange Daoist?"

"How filthy he looks!"

"Like a destitute beggar…"

"His cultivation? Barely Foundation Establishment?"

"Could he be a living corpse?"

"Just putting on a show…"

The group of demonic cultivators sneered in unison.

The Da Li Mountain State Boundary was a third-grade state boundary, where the Heavenly Dao imposed a limit: Jin Dan was the maximum.

This band of demonic outlaws, over twenty Jin Dan-level great cultivators, roamed this state boundary with impunity.

Unless they possessed something as heretical as a Lifespan Talisman, they had nothing to fear.

But both Lifespan Talismans had already shattered.

The Golden Body Manifestation had been erased by the Heavenly Dao.

Such treasures were already as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns—there could hardly be more than a few.

So these demonic cultivators held no fear of the Strange Daoist.

Even if their words were impudent, they believed the Daoist could do nothing to them.

Yet this Daoist moved like a corpse, deaf and blind to all, pressing forward alone.

His steps were unsteady, his blood qi severely depleted.

The Blood-Robed Old Devil frowned, unable to suppress his doubts.

"Could this man truly be the Strange Daoist?"

He stared at the "man" for a long time, even scanning him with his spiritual sense—yet found no anomaly.

His spiritual awareness was weak, his cultivation feeble, his physical body shattered beyond repair.

He bore no resemblance whatsoever to a Mo Sect Daoist of such stature.

"Could we have mistaken him…?"

The Blood-Robed Old Devil frowned.

The Saint Son also hesitated, then asked directly:

"Are you the Strange Daoist?"

The Daoist gave no answer, walking on as if alone.

A crimson-faced demonic cultivator could no longer bear it—he roared: "You Daoist! How dare you defy the Saint Son's question?!"

The Daoist remained unresponsive.

The crimson-faced cultivator could not hold back—he stepped forward and kicked the Daoist straight to the ground.

His kick was not heavy, yet it still shattered the Daoist's bones.

The Daoist writhed on the ground, trying to rise, but his limbs moved out of sync—like a mantis with its body twisted apart, absurd and laughable.

The group of demonic cultivators burst into roaring laughter.

Bai Zisheng and Bai Zi Xi frowned, puzzled.

Mo Hua could not laugh at all; instead, his gaze grew deep, his expression increasingly solemn.

The Daoist still struggled, his appearance ragged and ugly.

The Blood-Robed Old Devil's expression was cold.

The Holy Son, seeing this, merely sneered with contempt.

The Red-Faced Demon Cultivator, emboldened, strode forward and stamped on the Daoist's limbs one by one, snapping them; then, still unsatisfied, drew a ghostly knife and slashed the Daoist until his flesh and blood were shredded.

One demon cultivator complained, "Why make it so bloody?"

"You're really bored, aren't you…"

The Red-Faced Demon Cultivator sneered, "What do you know? This is the 'Deceptive Daoist'—the legendary Daoist. He must die with dignity."

"I killed the Deceptive Daoist!"

The Red-Faced Demon Cultivator grinned grotesquely, "Killing the Deceptive Daoist will make me famous, shake the Demon Dao, and the next Daoist? It will be me!"

"Fuck your mother, what nonsense are you spouting?" sneered a slant-eyed demon cultivator.

The Red-Faced Demon Cultivator's pupils turned pitch black. "You defy me?"

"Defy you? You're not even worthy!" the slant-eyed demon cultivator scoffed.

The Red-Faced Demon Cultivator stared at him with empty eyes. "You want to be the Daoist too?"

"Be the Daoist…"

Before the slant-eyed demon cultivator could finish, he froze, his expression twisting into a snarl. "Bullshit—who doesn't want to be the Daoist?!"

The Red-Faced Demon Cultivator's voice was hoarse. "Delusional. There can be only one Daoist!"

The slant-eyed demon cultivator's expression turned strange; he grinned fiercely. "Correct. That one can only be me…"

The Red-Faced Demon Cultivator roared in fury, swung his ghost knife, and unleashed a torrent of demonic energy straight at the slant-eyed demon cultivator. "You think you're worthy?!"

The slant-eyed demon cultivator crossed his twin yin-soul swords, his body surging with yin energy, and charged back. "I'm not worthy? Then are you, you piece of trash?"

Both men, savage in expression, clashed blade and sword, fighting as if no one else existed…

The Holy Son looked utterly bewildered.

What the hell are these two fools fighting over?

Why now, of all times, are they fighting over the Daoist?

Did their brains get eaten by pigs?

"Stop!" the Holy Son snapped impatiently.

But the two did not cease—they fought harder, fiercer, each strike more vicious, as if determined to kill the other.

Other demon cultivators sneered, watching the spectacle.

Demon cultivators are inherently lawless; even within the same sect, they scheme, compete, and steal from each other. Seeing the two fight to the death, the others remained unmoved.

Yet as the Red-Faced Demon Cultivator and the slant-eyed demon cultivator fought desperately, their Jin Dan-level demonic energy surged and inevitably spilled over.

A massive, broad-faced demon beast cultivator, caught off guard, had his robe slashed open by the Red-Faced Demon Cultivator's crimson blade aura.

The beast cultivator roared in rage, "Wang Ba, are you looking for death?!"

The Red-Faced Demon Cultivator, his eyes now entirely black, glanced at the beast cultivator. His voice, hoarse and cold, seemed devoid of any human emotion:

"You want to be the Daoist too?"

"Be the Daoist, you motherfucker!"

The beast cultivator's face twitched with fury; his body swelled further, muscles knotting like iron, demonic aura surging as he slammed a fist toward the Red-Faced Demon Cultivator.

But then, his expression froze—and his words changed:

"Who the fuck doesn't want to be the Daoist?"

The beast cultivator, his demonic aura surging, joined the slaughter.

The Holy Son frowned and barked, "Stop!"

But those caught in the fight ignored him completely.

Worse—more and more Jin Dan demon cultivators, caught in the crossfire, were dragged into this absurd, bizarre massacre…

Only now did the Holy Son realize something was wrong; a chill crept into his heart, and he glanced at the Blood-Robed Old Demon.

The Blood-Robed Old Demon's eyelid twitched; he shielded the Holy Son and slowly stepped back.

And the bloody slaughter grew ever more uncontrollable…

"I am the Daoist!"

"No, you're not worthy—I am!"

"Kill you both, and I'll be the Daoist!"

…

The two words "Daoist" seemed to hold magic, rooting the deepest desire within all Jin Dan demon cultivators:

"I cultivate the Profound Yin Demon Art, forge yin banners—I shall be the Daoist!"

"Profound Yin Demon Art? Worthless shit!"

"I cultivate the Beast Dao, eat human flesh, drink human blood—I am the Daoist!"

"Who lives, is the Daoist!"

"Whoever dies is nothing but an ant!"

"Kill!"

"Kill!"

"Kill!!"

…

All Jin Dan demon cultivators seemed to have lost their minds, sinking into endless, unthinkable, mad slaughter…

Demonic energy raged, blood stained the ground.

The evening clouds on the horizon seemed dyed red with blood.

Flesh clashed with dark arts.

Blood qi condenses into a knife; yin qi transforms into a sword.

Demonic artifacts flew through the air—skulls, blood banners, ghost knives, nether swords, soul-holding coffins, corpse-subduing towers—each displaying its own demonic arts.

To become a "Daoist," the demonic cultivators seemed awakened to their most primal "evil thoughts," filled with intense malice, hating, despising, and hurling insults at one another…

Even biting and tearing at each other, refusing to stop until death…

They fought desperately, screamed fiercely, and grinned grotesquely.

The entire Dali Mountain became a living hell on earth…

The Blood Robe Demon Elder, far away, still retained his sanity; seeing this sight, even he, with his vast experience, was filled with dread and could hardly believe it:

"Dao heart… planting a demon?"

The Holy Son's expression was also filled with terror.

"Dao heart planting a demon…"

"Is this… Dao heart planting a demon?"

No, no, that's not right.

The Dao heart planting a demon he knew was nothing like this…

Far weaker, far less terrifying…

Twenty Golden Core demonic cultivators, without warning, unknowingly, had demon seeds planted within them, turning on each other, fighting to the death…

Like pigs in a slaughterhouse, manipulated by unseen hands…

They didn't even know how they died.

Is this… a heretical Daoist?

…

The Golden Core demonic cultivators' slaughter progressed—from absurdity, to intensity, to ferocity, to cruelty, then to stillness…

The forest and mountains lay in ruins, like a purgatory.

The struggle for the title of "Daoist" had ended.

Of the twenty Golden Core demonic cultivators, nearly all were dead or wounded.

Only one remained—a tall, thin, ordinary-looking Golden Core demonic cultivator.

He walked to the body of the "Daoist" previously slain by the Crimson-Faced Demon Elder, stripped off the blood-stained corpse's Dao robe, and put it on himself.

A strange, victorious smile appeared on his face.

"I am the Daoist!"

Upon hearing these words, every person present felt an inexplicable chill.

The Daoist moved his limbs like a puppet, awkwardly adjusting the ill-fitting robe until it became even more unnatural and sinister.

Then, as always, the Daoist walked toward the Holy Son.

As if to complete the path he had not finished before.

But this time, his steps were much lighter.

The Blood Robe Demon Elder gritted his teeth and blocked the Holy Son's path, speaking in a deep voice:

"Elder, show mercy!"

Seeing the Daoist unmoved, the Blood Robe Demon Elder continued, voice trembling:

"Elder, he is the Holy Son!"

"We are both of the demonic path—you must know the Holy Son's exalted status!"

"The Holy Son's bloodline is noble… he has the potential to ascend to the Dao lineage, to become the next Demon Monarch—he very well may be the future Demon Monarch; he cannot suffer any harm!"

"The Holy Son…"

…

No matter how much he pleaded, the Daoist's steps did not halt.

As if he acted solely by his own will, deaf and blind to all others, all things, all matters beyond himself.

Seeing no room for negotiation, the Blood Robe Demon Elder's gaze turned cold.

"Fine! Since you refuse to listen, don't blame the old man for being ruthless!"

He summoned an ancient bronze Soul-Protecting Bell to guard his spirit, then chanted a Gu spell; his blood-red robe came alive, transforming into a pool of flowing blood that shielded his body.

A pitch-black demonic sword floated before him.

It was his life-bound artifact—the most powerful, most evil, most foul type of standard artifact among Golden Core demonic cultivators:

Black Demon Sword.

Soul-Protecting Bell guarding his spirit, Blood-Refined Robe shielding his body, Black Demon Sword for slaughter.

Within the third-grade Dali Mountain jurisdiction, under heavenly restrictions.

The Blood Robe Demon Elder, at late Golden Core stage, wielding these three demonic artifacts, approached the peak of cultivator combat power allowed under heavenly limits!

The Blood Robe Demon Elder stared at the Daoist, speaking with authority:

"Whoever dares harm the Holy Son shall be slain without mercy!"

This aura seemed to stun the Daoist.

The Daoist stopped. His pitch-black eyes fixed on the Blood Robe Demon Elder, then glanced at the Holy Son, and spoke in a cold voice:

"You will protect him?"

His voice was hoarse, like dry wood, as if wind leaked through his throat, sounding distorted.

"Naturally," said the Blood Robe Demon Elder.

"Why?"

"Is he worthy?"

The Taoist's face shifted between human visages, and his words suddenly multiplied…

Though issuing from a single mouth, it seemed as if different people, with different voices, spoke through that one mouth together.

Though his tone was flat, it was steeped in the sorrows and indignations of the world.

Anger, resentment, hatred, mockery, disdain… all these emotions, thick as wine, dense as ink, brewed together:

"You are a Jin Dan, a great demonic cultivator!"

"Why risk your life to protect this youngling?"

"Because he is the Holy Son?"

"He is the Holy Son?"

"What right does he have to be the Holy Son?"

"What right does he have to command you? What right makes you bow before him? What right makes you kneel and serve as his slave?"

"Because of his Holy Son bloodline?"

"What is bloodline?"

"After death, one is merely a pool of blood, a lump of rotting flesh—what is bloodline?"

"Why must some be born as Holy Sons?"

"While others must be slaves and servants?"

"Just because of that stinking flesh, that dried pool of blood?"

"Why?"

All the Taoist's voices merged into one, noisy and piercing, yet seeping into the soul to ask:

"Why can't you be the Holy Son?"

"Why can't you be the Demon Lord?"

"Does the Demon Lord or Holy Master have a bloodline?"

"Merely a pool of flesh and blood…"

"Living, one lives the same; dying, one dies the same…"

…

The Taoist's demonic voice pierced his ears; the Blood Robe Demon Elder's gaze trembled, his whole body shook, yet he forced himself to steady his spirit:

"No, no, he is the Holy Son, he has the Holy Son bloodline…"

The Taoist's voice grew soft again, yet carried an eerie coldness and endless seduction:

"Then eat him…"

"Eat his flesh, drink his blood!"

"Devour his bloodline!"

"You will become the Holy Master!"

The Blood Robe Demon Elder's legs buckled; he staggered backward several steps, eyes wild, his spirit reeling.

No!

No, it's wrong!

This Taoist is deceiving me!

But…

He clearly knew this Taoist was lying to him!

Yet, boundless desire and impulse surged within his heart.

Yes, this Taoist was lying to him…

But… was he truly lying?

Was what he said wrong?

Why?

Why must I, a Lu Tangtang Jin Dan demonic cultivator, serve as a humble old slave, bowing, groveling, begging for scraps?

Shouldn't demonic cultivators be lawless, free to follow their every whim?

What's wrong with eating a person?

What's wrong with eating a Holy Son?!

"Dang!"

The Soul-Guarding Bell shattered at the sound.

The Blood Robe Demon Elder's soul had already been breached…

Great terror filled his eyes.

He felt his spiritual awareness split in two: one part, "reason," still remained, knowing what he must not do; the other was flooded with terrifying instincts and desires.

This instinct drove him—his gaze greedy, step by step—toward the Holy Son, as if he truly meant to…

Eat the Holy Son alive!

"No!"

The Blood Robe Demon Elder's reason struggled.

He must not harm the Holy Son!

His expression twisted in agony, his face split by unbearable torment; finally, reason flickered back, and he began to regain partial control of his body.

But only partial.

He controlled his left leg, yet his right leg still moved toward the Holy Son; he fell to the ground, controlled his left hand, but his right hand clawed at the earth, crawling toward the Holy Son.

No matter how grotesquely the Blood Robe Demon Elder struggled, he could not stop himself—step by step, drawing nearer to the Holy Son.

The closer he got to the Holy Son, the heavier his killing intent became, the deeper his hunger grew.

The Holy Son was frozen in terror, standing stiff and motionless.

"Do not harm the Holy Son!"

"The Holy Son is noble; he cannot be lost!"

The Blood Robe Devil Elder hardened his heart, severed his own meridians and crippled his limbs.

But he was a Golden Core cultivator; even with his meridians severed and limbs ruined, he still had blood qi, demonic qi, and his life-bound treasure…

As long as he lived, the Holy Son would die.

The Blood Robe Devil Elder's face showed despair.

"This is… the Weird Daoist…?"

He glanced at the Holy Son, gave a bitter smile, then his gaze turned fierce; he pressed two fingers into a claw and severed his own heart meridian, while reversing his spiritual energy to destroy his Jin Dan!

The Jin Dan exploded with immense power.

In an instant, demonic qi churned, blood mist filled the sky.

The Blood Robe Devil Elder confined the force of his explosion entirely within his own body, precisely to avoid harming the Holy Son—thus the blood mist was thick and the spectacle grand, but the leaked power was weak.

The Blood Robe Devil Elder died.

Everyone present was stunned into pallor.

The Weird Daoist's expression remained unchanged; he scorned the Blood Robe Devil Elder's death:

"Daring to die, but too cowardly to rebel—too much slave mentality…"

With that, he stepped again toward the Holy Son, his gaze cold, as if viewing mere grass and dust.

As if the noble Holy Son were nothing but a pile of rotting bones and flesh.

The terrified Holy Son finally snapped out of his shock, his legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, scrambling backward.

More than twenty demonic Jin Dan were all slain by the Weird Daoist!

And they died strangely, cruelly, without warning, utterly unpredictable.

On the Holy Son's face, no arrogance or coldness remained—only endless fear.

"I… I am the Holy Son… you cannot kill me!"

"No, don't plant the Devil Dao Heart!"

"Don't plant the Devil!"

"I don't want to become neither man nor ghost!"

But the Weird Daoist paid no heed; in a few steps, he drew near the Holy Son, his long, pale, blood-smeared hands slowly reaching out.

The Holy Son felt his liver and gallbladder splitting; he racked his brain, desperately pleading for survival:

"No, don't kill me!"

"I am the Holy Son—I might become the Demon Monarch one day!"

"My father is the Lord of Ghost King Sect; my mother is the Blood Jade Rakshasa…"

…

But these words could not stop the Weird Daoist.

At that moment, the Holy Son cried out, "I have the bloodline of the Blood Daoist—I am a descendant of the Blood Daoist…"

The Weird Daoist's hand stopped.

At that moment, Mo Hua's gaze sharpened slightly.

He heard another Daoist's title again:

"Blood" Daoist.

Perhaps because of the Blood Daoist, the Weird Daoist lowered his hand and spared the Holy Son.

The Holy Son, barely surviving, gasped for breath, only then realizing his entire body was soaked in cold sweat.

The Weird Daoist had inflicted upon him an unprecedented sense of oppression and terror.

And now, these dangers had passed.

The Holy Son deeply understood the weight of the two words: "Daoist."

He stole a glance, fearful, at the Weird Daoist; though his voice still trembled, he spoke respectfully:

"The Blood Daoist is my ancestor, an ancient great demonic cultivator. You also bear the title 'Daoist,' so should I respectfully address you as 'Senior Uncle Daoist'?"

The Weird Daoist paid him no attention.

He turned his head, looking at Bai Zi Xi and Bai Zixi; in his pitch-black pupils, a strange emotion flickered.

Then he stepped slowly toward Bai Zi Xi and Bai Zixi.

His voice, though somewhat broken and stiff, had lost its strangeness and grown ordinary:

"You two… are my younger brother's disciples?"

"Or… my younger sister's children…"

"I need you to guide me—to take me to see… my younger brother."

Bai Zi Xi and Bai Zixi turned pale.

Xue Yi's expression was one of terror.

She knew this was far more than "guiding the way."

The Weird Daoist meant to seize Zi Sheng and Zi Xi and use them as leverage!

The Weird Daoist's actions were unpredictable, cruel, and boundless.

He would show no trace of old affection.

Once captured by the Weird Daoist, their fate was unknown—good or ill—and they might never return…

Even if he returns, he is very likely to be seeded with the Dao Heart Demon, enslaved by it, worse than death...

Snow Aunt's heart ached with anguish, frantic, "Elder..."

But soon, she realized she could not speak, not even move a single finger.

Bai Zisheng and Bai Zi Xi were equally unable to move.

The Deceiver stepped closer to them, expression calm, extending a long, bloodstained hand to seize both...

Snow Aunt, desperate and burning with anxiety, could not help spitting out blood.

Around them, silence as death.

At that moment, a clear yet jarring voice rang out:

"Senior Uncle..."

That voice shattered the stillness.

The Deceiver turned his head and saw a young cultivator standing not far off—his expression serene, his gaze clear yet strangely profound.

"I'll take you," Mo Hua said.

The Deceiver looked at Mo Hua, his eyes cold, indifferent.

Suddenly, his heart jolted.

Indifferent...

How could I... be indifferent?

How could I... of all things... overlook this little thing...

The Deceiver stared at Mo Hua, carefully calculating—and suddenly, clouds dispersed, mist cleared, karmic threads unraveled, and a small figure slowly emerged in his mind.

"This... is the person my younger brother hid..."

The Deceiver's pitch-black eyes trembled slightly.

"Good..." A strange, vivid expression appeared on the Deceiver's face, "Come with me..."

With you, that is enough...

Mo Hua nodded.

"Younger brother!" Bai Zisheng cried out in panic.

Bai Zi Xi's eyes trembled with urgency: "Mo Hua!"

Snow Aunt bit her lip, powerless.

Mo Hua smiled gently at them and waved his hand:

"Senior brother, senior sister, go back first. I'll go with Senior Uncle to see Master..."

The Deceiver glanced at Mo Hua with surprise, then turned and shuffled forward.

Mo Hua followed behind him.

The sun had set behind Luoshan.

Two figures, one tall, one small—one eerie, one pure—step by step, retracing their path...

(End of Chapter)