Chapter 119: Strike Down the Daoist

As the black mist churned more violently along the ground, the battle between Ji Yuanzhen and Liang Jingtang against Ma Tong grew increasingly fierce and perilous.

Ji Yuanzhen’s blade technique was sharp and brimming with murderous intent; each slash echoed with a terrifying tiger’s roar that shook the soul.

Liang Jingtang’s long spear moved like a dragon or serpent emerging from the sea—nimble and powerful, each thrust piercing the air with a piercing whistle.

Yet Ma Tong was naturally strong and had long cultivated at the Master level; his three-hundred-pound long-handled golden hammer felt weightless in his hands.

As he swung the hammer, gales howled, golden light filled the air, and every strike carried destructive force, holding off the combined assault of two Masters.

Hammer winds, blade glows, and spear shadows wove together in the night, emitting blinding light and deafening noise.

Seeing they could not defeat Ma Tong despite prolonged fighting, Ji Yuanzhen and Liang Jingtang grew angrier, fighting more ferociously until every move became lethal—even at the cost of their own injuries.

Their army had been crushed, the black mist roiled violently, the battle’s outcome remained unclear, and Ma Tong, having expended great strength earlier and now under relentless assault from two Martial Masters, finally felt the urge to retreat.

He swung his hammer wildly, repelling the aging Ji Yuanzhen, then bolted southward in full flight.

“Where do you think you’re going!”

Ji Yuanzhen and Liang Jingtang chased after him without pause.

“Whoosh!”

Suddenly, while sprinting, Ma Tong hurled his long-handled golden hammer backward.

The hammer screamed through the air, whipping up a fierce gale with terrifying force.

Ji Yuanzhen, rushing ahead, had no time to dodge; he stomped down and slashed forward with his blade.

Liang Jingtang leapt past Ji Yuanzhen and continued the pursuit.

But Ma Tong was naturally powerful and his legs were exceptionally agile; once he shed the three-hundred-pound hammer, he felt instantly lighter and ran two or three tenths faster than before.

Liang Jingtang had started later to begin with; now the gap widened rapidly, and it became clear he would not catch up.

“Damn it!” Liang Jingtang roared, raising his spear to throw it.

But as he lifted it, he lowered it again.

Ji Yuanzhen, catching up behind, saw Liang Jingtang raise then lower his spear; he was about to scold him for abandoning the last chance of pursuit—but the words changed on his lips.

“I hope Daoming doesn’t kill him outright. This demon deserves to be sliced a thousand times, to bleed slowly and die in agony—that’s what will truly satisfy us!”

“Youngsters usually just want quick revenge,” Liang Jingtang said.

“I wonder how the battle inside the black mist is going? But judging by the posture, Daoming is waiting for both sides to exhaust each other before acting.” Ji Yuanzhen turned his gaze toward the black mist, as if he had already forgotten Ma Tong.

“This kid is always so cautious, lacking the boldness of youth. After all, those three cultivators are upholding justice and ridding the people of evil—why can’t he act sooner?” Liang Jingtang glanced at the black mist and sneered, as if he too had forgotten Ma Tong.

“That’s not fair. Most young people today are hot-headed and arrogant; young cultivators are even worse.

Daoming is just a martial man—if he acted too soon, they might accuse him of meddling, stealing their glory, and getting nothing but trouble for his effort!

If he waits until they’re in trouble, then acts, he can remain discreet about his strength while also earning them a debt of gratitude—perfectly balanced!” Ji Yuanzhen said.

“You’re right, old man,” Liang Jingtang praised.

As Ji Yuanzhen and Liang Jingtang spoke, Ma Tong clearly sensed no one was chasing him anymore—he grew puzzled, wondering if he’d imagined it, and turned his head to look back.

The sight froze him.

The two men who had just fought him to the death now stood still, staring at him, as if terrified of something.

Ma Tong was baffled—then his peripheral vision caught

the black mist, churning violently just a short distance away, and he suddenly understood.

“Backwater places are backwater places—even a Master has narrow vision! Seeing cultivators fight, they’re too scared to approach, only daring to watch from afar.

They don’t know that a Qi Refining cultivator below Foundation Establishment only reaches the level of a Martial Master at mid-Qi Refining—nothing more than the ability to cast spells and control magic treasures, with a few extra tricks.”

Ma Tong sneered inwardly, finding a sliver of psychological balance after his defeat.

Just as Ma Tong was sneering at Ji Yuanzhen and Liang Jingtang, finding comfort and equilibrium, a sudden surge of intense danger flooded his heart.

Then he saw a figure rise from behind a dead horse seven or eight zhang ahead, spreading his fingers wide and making several Dragon Claw gestures through the air toward him.

“Whoa, when did I get so timid!” Ma Tong exhaled inwardly, a self-derisive thought flashing through his mind.

But immediately his eyes widened, his face turned as white as paper, he slammed to a halt, then recoiled backward in panic.

Under the night sky, several claws formed from concentrated force screamed through the air toward Ma Tong.

Each claw bore scales, its tips as sharp as spears—identical to the legendary Dragon Claws.

Claws came from above, below, left, and right, sealing off every escape route—his only option was to stop and retreat.

But the chance vanished in an instant.

Just moments ago, when Ma Tong turned to look behind, when he turned his thoughts and sensed danger, he was still sprinting forward.

Even when he saw Xia Daoming rise and gesture toward him, he had instinctively slowed.

Now, realizing his mistake, he stomped and retreated desperately.

This back-and-forth cost him the last chance to escape Xia Daoming’s Dragon Claw grasp.

Ma Tong had barely retreated one zhang when the Dragon Claws struck.

His internal force surged violently, forming a golden-copper armor covering his entire body.

“Sssch!”

“Sssch!”

Two Dragon Claw tips pierced through the armor on Ma Tong’s arms, punching clean through.

Two more sharp claws tore through his thigh armor, piercing straight through.

Blood gushed; tendons and veins were severed by the claws.

“Thud!”

Ma Tong crashed heavily to the ground.

His eyes filled with terror and disbelief.

Seven zhang away, and those claws had pierced his force-formed armor and iron-hard muscles—and he looked relaxed. What terrifying martial cultivation was this?

A Level Twelve Grand Master?

“Master Liang, did I just see wrong? That was seven or eight zhang away, right?” Ji Yuanzhen blinked hard, his voice hoarse.

“I—I don’t think so,” Liang Jingtang swallowed hard.

This is fucking insane!

To attack from seven or eight zhang away with force-formed claws is one thing—but to pierce through his armor?

Does that mean this guy could kill his own master as easily as chopping vegetables?

“Can a Grand Master pierce a Master’s force armor from seven or eight zhang away?” Ji Yuanzhen cleared his throat, asking.

He wondered whether he should start calling Xia Daoming “Young Master” instead—just to be safer.

Addressing him as “Daoming” feels disrespectful.

“Old man, just a short while ago, I only—”

“Looks like we can’t treat Daoming as a youth anymore. He didn’t go for quick revenge—he’s even crueler than us! He struck first by crippling the bastard’s limbs, leaving him no chance to kill himself!” Liang Jingtang said.

As he spoke,

Liang Jingtang had already leapt forward in several bounds.

Ji Yuanzhen followed immediately.

As the two rushed forward, a muffled explosion erupted from the black mist nearby, then the mist swelled violently and thinned considerably.

Three figures burst out, fleeing in different directions.

More precisely, the blue-clad woman didn’t sprint out—she staggered forward in a half-run.

Her hair was disheveled, her face pale, her robes splattered with blood—clearly badly wounded.

As soon as the three emerged, the black mist transformed into a dark, sinister, yin-charged ghostly claw reaching for the white-robed man, while a bone-white, skull-hilted curved blade slashed toward the red-clad woman.

As for the blue-clad woman, Wu Rong ignored her.

He clearly knew she was gravely wounded and couldn’t escape.

As the Black Ghost Mist transformed into the yin-charged claw to seize the white-robed man, Wu Rong’s emaciated figure, no longer hidden by the mist, was fully exposed.

Xia Daoming stared at the blue-clad woman staggering toward him, and behind her, Wu Rong fully revealed in the night—he could hardly believe his eyes.

Had Wu Rong lost his mind? Or did he simply not regard Martial Masters at all, daring to expose himself to Xia Daoming with zero protection?

“Immortal Master, beware!”

Lying on the ground, barely alive, Ma Tong couldn’t believe what he saw and blurted out involuntarily.

The moment Ma Tong shouted, a black light shot like lightning through the night toward Wu Rong.

Wu Rong instinctively turned his head.

Huh? Where’s Ma Tong?

Why is there another person?

It’s a Master!

Licheng has three Masters!

Wu Rong froze for a moment, then his pupils dilated in shock.

A spear, spitting spearlight, had already shot to his face.

Wu Rong had no time to react—he watched helplessly as the spear pierced straight through his body.

Wu Rong slowly looked down at the gaping hole in his chest, unable to believe it was real.

He, a man of such power, who had driven three Qingyuan Sect disciples into flight—how could he die so absurdly at the hands of a mere martial man?

“Clang!”

Wu Rong’s gourd fell to the ground, rolling toward Xia Daoming.

The claw that had reached for the white-robed man dissolved back into black mist, flowing into the rolling gourd’s mouth, swirling inside, and vanishing instantly.

The White Bone Soul-Cutting Blade, slashed at the red-clad woman, fell to the ground without its master’s control.

“Sssch!”

Before Wu Rong could topple backward, a dragon claw forged from spiritual force pierced through his neck.

Wu Rong’s eyes bulged wide as he collapsed backward.

As Wu Rong fell backward, his consciousness slipping into utter darkness, his eyes rolled slightly toward Xia Daoming.

He desperately wanted to see—what kind of martial cultivator was this, so cruel and cautious?

He’d already impaled his own chest with a spear, yet still used a claw to stab his own neck!

It was a young man! Are all young people this cruel and cautious now?

Wu Rong hit the ground, his neck tilting sideways, his final thoughts frozen in a giant question mark.

Thank you to the patrons xs Fengzhongjingcao, Qiuzhishenguang, and Xizi Huakai for their generous donations.

(End of Chapter)