Chapter 269

The old monk felt a searing heat on his forehead—his electric shielding and body were pierced through by something, and simultaneously, three vital points—his forehead, chest, and dantian—bloomed with countless tiny holes, their edges charred black, emitting a faint smell of burning flesh.

The pale golden figure clinging behind him let out a shriek, hastily letting go and stumbling back several steps, his abdomen similarly pierced by a large patch of charred, pinprick holes; his face was unmistakably Yuan Tong.

Yet now, though much of his skin remained charred, the newly exposed flesh had regained its smoothness and delicacy. The young monk pressed both hands tightly against the fresh wound on his abdomen, where faint golden threads could be glimpsed within the flesh, yet his face twisted in excruciating pain.

Clearly, in his effort to restrain the old monk, he had barely dodged the other two golden beams through preemption—but his abdomen, pressed too tightly against the enemy, could not possibly avoid the strike.

At the massive copper door over ten zhang away, a dense crackling sound echoed; amid swirling auroras, hundreds of golden needles, no thicker than cow hairs, suddenly appeared on its surface—each needle's front half glowed golden, while its rear half melted like wax.

But the next instant, the three "Floating Cannons" atop Wang Yu's head roared again; eleven golden runes surfaced along the barrels, and faint white light began to shimmer once more at their muzzles.

Seeing this, the old monk's eyes widened in shock—he had no time to activate the giant silk net above; after emitting a few guttural, indistinct cries, his head, chest, and abdomen simultaneously exploded into three pillars of black mist that shot skyward.

His other limbs spontaneously split apart, launching in all directions like shards of shrapnel.

"Quick! Though the corpse-body is hard to destroy, every corpse-body harbors a soul-box—destroy that, and you've killed him." Yuan Tong shouted at Wang Yu, then suddenly spat out a yellow Buddhist bead.

The moment the bead left his mouth, it shattered, releasing a deep-yellow Buddhist radiance amid countless chanting sutras, rippling outward in concentric yellow waves that swept across the entire tower floor.

Unknown what mysterious power this light possessed, Wang Yu felt only a faint warmth between his brows after it passed—nothing else.

But the flying limbs, when swept by the yellow light, froze solid and plummeted to the ground.

The three black mists, overtaken and engulfed by the yellow light, emitted a cry of agony from the old monk.

Two of the mists dissolved and vanished; the third, after dispersing, revealed a tiny black cube no larger than a bean.

Such a minuscule object—if Yuan Tong hadn't warned him beforehand, and if Wang Yu hadn't activated his hypermode—he likely never would have noticed its existence.

Seeing this, Wang Yu said nothing—he swiftly formed a hand seal with one hand.

The three "Floating Cannons" above rotated, their barrels all pointing straight upward at the tiny black cube.

"Little brat, you won't get away with it!"

Inside the tiny black cube, the old monk sensed the next strike might annihilate his soul—he roared in fury.

The massive silk net above began slowly descending with a rumbling roar, engulfing both Wang Yu and Yuan Tong beneath it; two colors of crystalline light swirled in the air, filling the space with shimmering threads—its spectacle was astonishing!

On the other side, the tiny black cube exploded with thunder, its surface writhing with lightning, transforming into a flickering ball of electric light that flashed in and out of the void like a phantom.

"Thunder Dash Technique!"

Yuan Tong gasped at the sight.

Free from the burden of a corpse-body, the old monk had actually activated this legendary technique.

Wang Yu's pupils contracted slightly, but his expression remained blank; his gaze locked onto the black light in the air, his hypermind rapidly calculating the enemy's trajectory and predicting his next appearance.

Suddenly, his brows lifted—he altered his hand seal, and immediately, three thunderous booms echoed above.

The three "Floating Cannons" trembled slightly; from their muzzles, three golden beams shot out again—vanishing in a flash.

In the void, a thunderclap!

The moment the tiny black cube reappeared, a golden beam flashed forth from nearby space and struck it directly, sending it flying several zhang away.

Unknown what material it was forged from, the golden beam obliterated all the lightning on its surface—but the tiny black cube itself remained unharmed.

But the next instant, another golden beam flashed forth, striking the black cube with lightning speed.

After this blow, the cube flew again, and from within came a muffled groan from the old monk.

After the golden light passed, seven or eight slender golden needles were embedded in the cube's surface, and faint white cracks appeared across it.

Before the tiny cube could even roll to a stop, a third golden beam flashed from another direction in the void and slammed into it with full force.

A loud *crack*.

The tiny cube, shimmering with golden threads, could no longer hold together—it shattered, revealing a faint green flame within, which instantly dissolved into a wisp of blue smoke amid the golden light.

Only the old monk's final, fading scream lingered faintly in the void.

This being, who had lingered in the Jialan Secret Realm for centuries and murdered his own second and third reincarnations, finally met his end at the united hands of Wang Yu and Yuan Tong, his fourth reincarnation.

The instant the green flame vanished, the massive silk net, still descending, flashed once—and turned to ash, vanishing into thin air.

As for the scattered corpse-limbs that had fallen, they too—each one—suddenly erupted in strange gray-white flames, turning in an instant into piles of ash.

Yuan Tong, witnessing all this, froze in stunned silence; his expression twisted strangely—as if he wanted to laugh aloud, yet his eyes grew watery, his eyelids reddened, and tears welled up.

Wang Yu paid no attention to Yuan Tong—he collapsed onto the green stone floor, pale-faced, frantically pulling several vials from his robes and shoving them into his mouth.

Above him, the three "Floating Cannons" silently fell, flashing once mid-air, reverting into three pale red mirrors that landed on the ground.

With his current Qi Condensation late-stage cultivation, Wang Yu had just consecutively cast the Eight-Spirit-Runes Fire Bullet Art, the Twelve-Spirit-Runes Fire Shield, activated a Qi Condensation peak puppet, and deployed a near-second-rank set of artifacts—his Qi was nearly depleted.

If those final three strikes hadn't finished off the old monk, even if the enemy ceased attacking, Wang Yu would have had no Qi left to continue fighting.

As for the recovery pills he'd swallowed—though numerous—they could restore at most a thread or two of his Qi, enough to reignite his talisman activation.

Once his complexion improved slightly, Wang Yu immediately pulled out several talismans and pressed them onto his shoulder wound, muttering incantations to activate them.

Instantly, multicolored lights flared successively on his shoulder; the wound began healing rapidly, and the icy chill in his shoulder began to recede.

After finishing this, Wang Yu finally exhaled in relief and glanced toward Yuan Tong.

There, Yuan Tong held a jade-green leaf, dripping with vitality, pressed tightly against his abdomen, radiating a warm, soothing white glow.

The young monk's eyes were half-lidded, his face calm once more.