Chapter 399

The battle between Zhao Fusheng and the Kong Que Buddha Mother was like heavenly thunder striking earthly fire, reaching its peak in an instant.

Zhao Fusheng now held a large axe in his hand, and his Dharma Form was actually a scroll painting; the image within was blurred, making it impossible to see what was depicted.

With his left fist and right axe, his attacks were accompanied by light, wind, and thunder, constantly shifting as he repeatedly probed the Kong Que Buddha Mother's weaknesses. But whether it was flowing lava or wind, sand, and thunder, these were merely auxiliary; his formidable physical body and innate magic were the core.

The Kong Que Monk, however, was eerily elusive, often dodging the moment an attack landed. If he truly couldn't avoid it, he would leave behind a phantom of a Golden-Bodied Bodhisattva in his place. This golden body appeared both real and illusory, and Zhao Fusheng had to strike with all his might to shatter it.

From time to time, the Kong Que Monk would point a finger, the tip shimmering with five-colored light. Zhao Fusheng was extremely wary of this; whenever the monk pointed, he would inevitably dodge, unwilling to take it head-on.

Every movement from both sides carried immense power, and the surrounding rocky ground would occasionally vanish in chunks. This was the overflow of their attack power, which was so great that the mountain rock disintegrated upon contact.

But overall, the power of their attacks was extremely concentrated, barely leaving a one-foot radius around each other, not wasting a single shred of magic.

The dozen or so cultivators converted by the Kong Que Monk now received orders and walked toward the captured Flying Sable. Zhao Fusheng was furious, but he could not spare a hand and could only focus on attacking the monk with all his might.

On the summit of the stone mountain, the cultivators who had been shivering suddenly retreated, jumping into pre-prepared fortifications. They then set up multi-barreled flying sword cannons; as the muzzles spun, countless flying swords shot toward the cultivators below like a torrential downpour!

Although the power of a single flying sword was not great, they were too numerous and dense. Moreover, the flying swords were guided by spiritual sense, and no matter how fast the cultivators dodged, they could not outpace the tiny swords. In the blink of an eye, the group of cultivators was covered in blood, beaten until they were covered in wounds. Although these were only minor flesh wounds, they would accumulate into serious injuries.

How had these cultivators ever seen such weapons? For a moment, they were at a loss, hurriedly raising their defensive treasures to protect their bodies, only then managing to climb up the mountain against the rain of swords.

Seeing this scene from afar, Zhao Fusheng's eyes lit up, and he laughed loudly. His offensive momentum became even more like a violent storm, determined not to let the Kong Que Monk go to the rescue.

The monk's expression remained calm, though a hint of ferocity vaguely appeared in his eyes. He suddenly let out a shout, the sound ancient and strange, like a great bird crying in the sky. A giant peacock then appeared above his head, its two amber eyes fixed on Zhao Fusheng as it spat out a mouthful of five-colored mist!

"I've been waiting for you!" Zhao Fusheng laughed heartily. A strange beast with a human head and snake body, six arms, and four legs suddenly rushed out from the scroll painting, each hand clutching a different magic tool.

Originally, it used four hands to block the five-colored mist, but in the blink of an eye, the magic tools in its hands showed signs of melting. It had to use all six arms to finally block the peacock's spray.

On the stone mountain battlefield, cultivators appeared on the other side as well, also holding rotary flying sword cannons, instantly unleashing a sky-covering rain of flying swords!

The two streams of swords formed a crossfire, leaving the cultivators with almost nowhere to hide, forcing them to charge against the sword stream.

Yet at this moment, a deep, muffled boom sounded. The cultivator charging at the very front suddenly paused, and a thigh was torn from his body!

Despite such a heavy injury, the smile on his face remained unchanged, and he continued to charge forward against the sword stream. But his protective techniques were already broken, and in the blink of an eye, his Dharma body was shattered by the sword stream.

Another boom sounded. A rogue cultivator in the middle of the team suddenly had a large hole appear in the center of his body, almost being cut in two. The crossfire of flying swords instantly concentrated on him, tearing his Dharma body to shreds!

Under the three-way crossfire, there were almost no blind spots on the entire battlefield. Little Wei Yuan's shots were extremely powerful, breaking defenses in one hit, after which the torrent of flying swords would follow up for the kill. In the blink of an eye, six or seven cultivators were buried on the spot, while the others were suppressed to the point where they couldn't charge at all, forced to crawl upward through the death zone under the rain of swords.

Although the small flying swords were only equivalent to a single strike from a human-rank Dao Foundation, they were usually painless when hitting the body. A typical Dharma Form could take dozens of hits without issue, but one or two hundred would be a problem. Coupled with Little Wei Yuan's precision sniping, the group of Dharma Forms suffered heavy casualties.

The Kong Que Buddha Mother and Zhao Fusheng, locked in a fierce battle in the distance, were caught off guard to find that a third of the cultivators had already been lost, including two Qiongshan Immortal Island cultivators. Both were astonished; in only half a cup of tea's time, the ambushers had fired two or three thousand flying swords. What kind of treasure could be so powerful?

The Kong Que Monk suddenly chanted a soft Buddhist name, and the giant peacock above his head reappeared. This time, it did not spray five-colored mist, but spread its tail feathers!

A gorgeous feather screen spanning dozens of zhang appeared, and patches of five-colored mist instantly emerged in the underground space. Everyone's body felt as if it had rusted, their movements becoming abnormally sluggish, and even Zhao Fusheng was no exception. Zhao Fusheng was not panicked; the scroll painting above his head spun faster and faster, and bursts of desolate roars emanated from within, as if some ancient giant beast were about to rush out. Each time it surged, large swathes of five-colored mist would vanish.

Zhao Fusheng had a sharp eye and knew that such a great divine ability from the monk consumed immense magic, and could not be sustained for long. The harder he struggled, the sooner he could break free from the shackles.

The Kong Que Monk chanted a Buddhist name and prepared to retrieve the Flying Sable. Who would have thought that a sudden boom would sound from the side, and a high-powered bullet would shoot over!

The monk shifted sideways, dodging the shot. But he immediately felt something was amiss, and as his gaze followed the bullet's trajectory, he saw it hit Zhao Fusheng squarely on the back of the head!

With a bang, the bullet head was completely twisted and deformed, falling to the ground. Zhao Fusheng lost a clump of hair and suffered a slight graze to his skin.

But the impact of this shot was immense, leaving him dizzy and his vision black. Zhao Fusheng shook his head hard, fury surging. Unfortunately, he was still bound by the Kong Que's divine ability, and even turning his body felt like it took a year.

The monk, deep in thought, flashed to the foot of the mountain, only for two torrents of flying swords to shoot from both sides. The monk flashed back to his original spot, his expression finally changing slightly. These three ambushers were actually unaffected by his innate divine ability!

However, the monk did not know that while Little Wei Yuan and the two Dragon Guards were indeed struggling to move, aiming did not require much movement. Shifting the muzzle even a fraction would cause the impact point to deviate by dozens of zhang. Furthermore, the flying swords could be guided by spiritual sense, so they didn't necessarily have to be aimed.

As the monk frowned, he heard another boom in his ears.

The sound of this magic treasure was clearly different from the flying sword cannons; each time it rang, it shook the heavens and earth like thunder. The bullets fired were also immensely powerful, equivalent to a full-force strike from a Dharma Form, far beyond what the small flying swords could compare to.

This shot still hit Zhao Fusheng, because he was struggling to turn his head. The bullet struck the junction of his temple and eye socket, instantly knocking his head back around, followed by a large swelling at the impact site!

Zhao Fusheng was enraged and turned again, only to see a flash of fire in the distance. Instinctively lowering his head, another bullet struck his left eyebrow bone, blasting away half his eyebrow, and his entire eye swelled up.

Three consecutive shots hit Zhao Fusheng, leaving even the Kong Que Monk stunned. He secretly wondered if this person had a grudge against Zhao Fusheng involving a stolen wife? Otherwise, it was hard to explain such viciousness, specifically targeting the face.

!.

Little Wei Yuan was also shocked. Two shots directly to the face, and it didn't even break the skin? The toughness of this Dharma body was on par with his own!

He urgently assigned the task of how to increase lethality, but this time, the Wanli Heshan was full of "armchair strategists." Hundreds of plans were offered, but not a single one worked.

By the third shot, Zhao Fusheng was in a frenzy. Squinting his only remaining slit of a left eye, he let out an earth-shattering roar. A giant dragon head suddenly stretched out from the scroll painting, opening its mouth to spray a sheet of pure white flame.

The Kong Que Dharma Form, still spreading its feathers, let out a mournful cry as white flames ignited on its tail feathers, scorching many of them in an instant!

The monk's face turned pale, and he violently spat out a mouthful of blood. As the blood hit the ground, it also ignited with pure white flames, burning away in the blink of an eye.

The monk's expression finally changed; he retracted his Dharma Form and turned to leave. All the cultivators he had converted followed suit.

Zhao Fusheng did not fare well either, his aura dropping sharply. But as soon as he gained his freedom, he didn't chase the monk, but headed straight for the ambushers.

(End of chapter)