Chapter 509

Headless corpses fell.

This Buddhist expert who had the same or even higher realm than Minamoto Choryo, the leader of Japanese Buddhism, and perhaps one of the few experts among contemporary Japanese experts who could trade a few moves with Li Miao, had lost his life so inexplicably.

"Seat Master!"

The monk holding the sword lying on the ground was splitting his eyes with rage, but no matter how he drove it, the true Qi that was originally as obedient as an arm and the muscles that were as hard as refined steel did not listen at all.

"Cough cough."

Minamoto Choryo coughed a few times, finally healed his injuries, stood up, and gasped for a few breaths. He actually stepped forward and, as if venting, struck dozens of palms at the old monk's corpse.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

A series of sounds, the corpse turned into a pool of rotten mud and exploded, smearing onto Minamoto Choryo, staining his white priest robes into a mottled scarlet.

After venting for a long time, Minamoto Choryo finally stopped.

"Hoo—so refreshing."

"The feeling of crushing the strong is so refreshing."

He turned around with a smile and looked at the four Heavenly Human warrior monks.

The monk holding the sword struggled and cursed angrily.

"What exactly did you do!"

"Look at you, you are just not as smart as the Seat Master, nor as smart as these fellow disciples of yours—look, didn't they all realize it?"

The monk holding the sword turned to look and was stunned for a moment.

The other three monks hadn't made a sound for a long time. The monk who used palms, whose martial arts were the worst, died with blood flowing from his seven orifices, but the monk who used fists, whose martial arts were the best, actually had a mouth full of broken flesh—he had bitten his tongue and committed suicide!

The monk holding the sword was still stunned when a sigh came from the side.

"Senior brother, stop talking, die."

It was the monk holding the blade, who said with his eyes closed.

"Dying now, at the very least, can bring peace of mind."

The monk holding the sword couldn't understand what he was saying at all.

Fortunately, Minamoto Choryo liked to explain to his opponents.

He reached into his bosom and took out a heart.

This heart had been separated from the body for several hours, but it was still faintly beating. And the exterior actually exuded a warm and translucent texture like jade.

Minamoto Choryo held the heart, squatted in front of the monk holding the sword, and placed the heart in front of him.

"See it? This is what I did."

"Originally, it needed a heart with the four paths united to be refined, but the heart of a Buddhist Heavenly Human with three paths of life cultivation completed, plus the blood Qi of nearly ten thousand monk soldiers who died at Tang Zhaotisi, roughly refined such a defective product."

"Actually, relying on such a defective product couldn't control the Seat Master for too long, he just realized some things through this and willingly died at my hands."

The monk holding the sword was stunned.

"You said... what?"

Minamoto Choryo smiled cruelly.

"Of course it is—"

Squish!

A precept blade was inserted into the throat of the monk holding the sword, taking his life.

The monk holding the blade next to him had blood flowing from his seven orifices, and there was a blood cut at the corner of his mouth from when he bit the blade and threw it out while shaking his head.

Minamoto Choryo looked at him with great interest.

"How about it, a certificate of allegiance?"

The monk holding the blade shook his head.

"No, just didn't want my junior brother to die with regrets... Not guessing that we were just fools who betrayed our masters and ancestors and were used as tools is a good thing for him. At the very least, he can die in peace."

"Oh!"

Minamoto Choryo raised his thumb with a smile.

"High monk!"

The monk holding the blade smiled bitterly.

"Please kill me quickly."

Minamoto Choryo shook his head.

"I won't."

He walked to the monk with a smile, reached out and grabbed his back neck, and lifted him up. Then he suddenly punched the monk in the abdomen.

"You are also worthy of making decisions for me!"

Bang!

"Why did you take away my fun in advance!"

Bang!

"You ant! Maggot! Stupid pig!"

A dozen punches, the force penetrated his body and twisted the monk's internal organs into a ball, bringing heart-piercing pain. The monk's face turned pale, he almost fainted from the pain, and his expression was even more stunned.

He suddenly understood why Minamoto Choryo would whip the old monk's corpse... The kindness on his face was all faked. He was actually a villain who liked to abuse opponents who wouldn't resist and couldn't tolerate any disobedience!

So he whipped the old monk's corpse because the old monk gave himself to him to be killed in a state of despair, rather than being tortured to death while wailing miserably in despair. He wasn't happy!

He interrupted his process of "enjoyment," so he was furious and tortured him!

After smashing for a long time, Minamoto Choryo finally let go with satisfaction and threw the rag-like monk to the ground.

"Hoo, you should thank Li Miao. If he weren't chasing behind, I would definitely cut off your limbs and raise you in a cesspool for ten years."

He grinned and raised the heart.

"But now, let's do the right thing first."

"Don't worry, you are definitely the last one to die. You will be my only audience—before you die, hahahaha!"

Minamoto Choryo placed the heart on the ground, sat cross-legged, put his palms together, and then suddenly began to change gestures rapidly, chanting words in his mouth.

"Rin, Pyo, To, Sha, Kai, Jin, Retsu, Zai, Zen—"

With the change of his hand seals, the monk holding the blade heard a sticky sound like a grape exploding. A black grape-like thing fell in front of him. He looked down and found pupils, irises, and bloodshot eyes on that thing.

That was an eyeball.

Or rather, the "first eyeball."

The next instant, dense sticky sounds that made people panic rang out from the faces of the monks who had fallen in all directions. Countless pairs of eyeballs seemed to be ejected from their sockets, revealing pitch-black eye sockets.

Countless streams of blood seemed like living things flowing out from these eye sockets, winding toward the heart in front of Minamoto Choryo.

"This is—"

The monk holding the blade said hoarsely.

He already roughly knew Minamoto Choryo's temperament. He wouldn't mind explaining to an enemy who was bound to die; this would make him very happy.

Sure enough, Minamoto Choryo smiled.

"Hmm... how should I put it? You've already guessed that Enryaku-ji is a tool left by Amaterasu for our Shintoism, right?"

"In short, besides letting you serve as a whetstone to temper believers for us, He also treated you as a kind of handed-down method—used to deal with Heavenly Demons who have not yet grown to the extreme."

The blood of all the remaining monks of Enryaku-ji gathered into a blood lake. The heart was in the center of the blood lake. The blood water rose without wind and washed over the heart wave after wave. With this washing, the heart became more and more crystal clear, and the beating gradually became strong and frequent.

The scarlet faded bit by bit.

"Back then, Amaterasu passed down eight hundred and three divine paintings, each painting with a god, and each god corresponding to ten thousand contemplators. This is the origin of the eight million gods of Shintoism."

"That was the most glorious era of Shintoism, which is—the Age of Gods."

Minamoto Choryo's voice suddenly lowered.

"But a thousand years ago, a Heavenly Demon named Bodhidharma came to Fusang."

"He crossed Fusang in three days, destroyed one thousand eight hundred shrines, killed ninety-seven Heavenly Humans, and slashed seven hundred and seventeen divine paintings. With the power of one person, he cut off the Age of Gods. Amaterasu personally took action to kill him, and only then was Shintoism able to continue."

"However, that's not what we're talking about today."

Minamoto Choryo changed the subject.

"Do you know that Amaterasu clearly left eight hundred and three divine paintings at the beginning, but why are there only eight hundred with corresponding contemplation methods?"