Chapter 127: Demon

Dongfang Wuji stood towering between heaven and earth, not falling on the shore of the East Sea, looking down upon the enemies surrounding him.

The experts were at ease, a single school of heaven and earth.

No one was in his eyes.

Three of the eighteen experts have fallen.

Fan Mo had roamed the martial world for decades, proud of his fists, but before Dongfang Wuji his fists turned soft as mud; after exchanging a punch with Dongfang Wuji, his whole body was engulfed by towering demonic qi, and he didn't even cry out before turning to flying ash.

Hong Lai's fate was worse; low in seniority, he always sat at the end of meetings, the weakest among the eighteen experts; as soon as he stepped forward, Dongfang Wuji seized his feet, tearing him in half between the thighs, bright red blood and his organs spilling across the ground.

Zhuge Tieying fared better; only his ten iron claws were dulled, exposing bare fingertips, the skin on his fingertips rotted, flesh turned outward, clearly visible.

Dongfang Wuji is simply an unbeatable existence!

He crossed his hands before his chest, pitch-black true qi spreading from his palms to the roots of his arms; he is a demon god! The East Sea raises waves for him, tomorrow will be shrouded by him.

"Ancestor, three hundred years ago, you weren't this strong now, were you? Hahaha!" Dongfang Jie laughed as he asked, knowing Dongfang Wuji wouldn't answer him, but this was enough; with Dongfang Wuji, what fear is there of failing to achieve greatness?

Dongfang Wuji's body was covered in blood, all from his opponents, yet he remained icy cold standing there; his battle intent, undiminished, made him look more lively, less like a statue.

"Zhang Gonggong, think of a plan!" Ouyang Zhuo said to Zhang Gonggong. Just now he attacked Dongfang Wuji from the flank, hoping for a surprise effect, but Dongfang Wuji seized one of his feet, lifted him and dragged him across the ground, finally throwing him away.

The esteemed Blade Palm of Bei Du, toyed with like a plaything, manipulated between the enemy's palms—where is any dignity left?

"What can I do? Just kill him!" Zhang Gonggong shouted angrily, having served as Director of the Western Depot for decades, long commanding the winds and clouds, covering the sky with one hand; today, for the first time, he felt powerless. He was also wounded.

"You really believe his heresy!" Hu Bao, a hothead, directly blamed Zhang Gonggong for this inappropriate plan.

"What you believe is useless; can you even escape your Five Tigers Gate? If you can escape, can your four brothers escape?" Zhang Gonggong angrily demanded, pushing himself up from the ground, "Now that it's come to this, we must exert our utmost, leave no reserve; otherwise, on this day next year, it will be our memorial day!"

"Yes, this is our last chance!" Yan Shan Hai also rose to his feet, decisive in killing, that is his consistent style.

The Songshan Sword whooshed forth; Zhang Gonggong followed, Luo Qingkui slapped the sword blade on the ground, rose upright, and swept the sword horizontally.

This time, Dongfang Wuji gave the opponents no chance to get close; he thrust both arms toward the ground.

The parched earth suddenly shattered, piece by piece, spreading out in all directions like a spiderweb; then pitch-black true qi surged upward from the cracks.

Nothing could block it! They were not opponents of the same level.

He then spread his palm, countless stones and dirt sucked into his palm, forming a huge sphere that grew larger and larger, surpassing the sun in everyone's eyes.

The moment Dongfang Wuji hurled the sphere.

The earth seemed to shatter.

His hand was like that of the Shaolin Temple Giant Buddha, giving a feeling of boundless largeness; the power within was likewise boundless.

Dongfang Jie looked down on everyone, sneering, "Heh, this is the power of the Sevenfold Heaven; can you resist? Or just surrender and wait to die."

"Namo Amitabha, good, good, benefactor, why be like this? Until when will the killing end?" Monk Ku Bei sat cross-legged on the ground, though covered in wounds, he maintained his meditation posture.

"Bald donkey, stop the nonsense; soon your Shaolin Temple's Mahavira Hall will be the new base of our Dongfang Clan!" Dongfang Jie pointed at Monk Ku Bei and said; before his words finished, Dongfang Wuji went toward Monk Ku Bei.

He punched! Pitch-black demonic qi enveloped Monk Ku Bei!

Monk Ku Bei was already exhausted, while Dongfang Wuji still had full vigor; no one could block this punch for him.

"Bang!" Monk Ku Bei's head exploded.

Blood spurted directly from the severed neck.

"Master!" Nan Zhongyi shouted.

"Ku Bei!" Ye Wuming shouted.

Others silently closed their eyes, their expressions never so grim; they were not grieving for Monk Ku Bei, but seemed to sense their own impending fate.

Even someone thought in their heart, "Will I be the next?"

Dongfang Wuji gripped Monk Ku Bei's shoulders, lifted his corpse high to show everyone; the killing intent in his eyes seemed like overflowing water, spreading to envelop everyone present.

Dongfang Wuji's gaze swept over each person's face; even a glance made people feel guilty.

Finally, it lingered on Zhang Gonggong's face.

Zhang Gonggong's face was not as panicked as imagined; whether he had exerted his true strength, no one knows, but he is absolutely no match for Dongfang Wuji.

Dongfang Wuji strode toward Zhang Gonggong.

At that moment, the lightly wounded Zhuge Tieying actually chose to turn and flee, wanting to take advantage while everyone and Dongfang Wuji were inattentive—who wouldn't want to live?

Isn't living better than being dead?

When Dongfang Wuji turned his head, the lightly armed Zhuge Tieying, whose lightness skill ranked among the top three in the martial world, had already gone far, having climbed a small hill; all that could be seen was him extending a finger, a pitch-black gleam shooting from his fingertip.

It pierced straight through Zhuge Tieying's chest from behind.

Zhuge Tieying fell from the hill, his head slamming hard against a road-blocking stone.

This minor interlude did not alter Dongfang Wuji's course; he turned his gaze back to Zhang Gonggong.

The events of three hundred years ago originally had nothing to do with Zhang Gonggong and his Western Depot, but the imperial court happened to be involved.

"Heh, Dongfang Wuji, what a fine fellow, ruthless enough!" Zhang Gonggong wiped the blood from his mouth corner, sneered, "You have fully gone demon; today killing you is no longer for the benefit of our various sects, but for the whole world!"

Dongfang Wuji said nothing, only raising his right hand to take Zhang Gonggong's life.

"Kill him! He is a person of the Great Zhou Dynasty! Back then, if not for the imperial court, who could stop you? Ancestor!" Dongfang Jie's ambition is known to all; he wants not just the martial world but also the court, not just a corner but the whole of Bei Du.

Everyone's gaze remained fixed on Zhang Gonggong and Dongfang Wuji; they had forgotten they themselves were in the midst of disaster.