Chapter 451: Unending Wind and Rain (2)

Chapter 451: The Storm Never Ceases (Part Two)

On the razor's edge of life and death, Zhang Qīnglǜ's eyes hardened with fury, his features almost bursting from the talisman screen as he let out a roar, and with sheer force he thrust his left arm against the falling saber.

Sizzle!

A spray of sparks shot upward, half a severed arm flung into the sky.

Snatching a sliver of life, Zhang Qīnglǜ curled his fingers into claws; from his right palm sprang a pallid thunder sigil, which he slapped toward Lǐ Jūn's chest.

Zhengyi Fu Lu, Thunder Sigil – Cùn Máng!

Violent lightning erupted in the narrow gap between them.

Lǐ Jūn's chest garments turned to ash; electric arcs crawled over his skin, bolstered by the Fuyuan Whale Armor, tearing scorched wounds, the hairs above his eyebrows bristling, a fierce numbness sweeping through his body.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Lǐ Jūn's heart hammered violently, pumping surging blood that swiftly flushed away the paralysis binding his movements.

Perceiving the Five Spirits, Heart-Spirit Crimson Elixir!

The rigid Jianchun Dao descended again with fierce force, yet only shattered a spray of stone on the street.

Zhang Qīnglǜ had long since withdrawn, stumbling panic-stricken into a throng of Buddhist deities.

Lǐ Jūn swept his brows; Buddhist light bathed all sides, dense ranks of heavenly Buddhas already encircling him.

“Moo!”

A vajra-bearing figure, mouth chanting the Buddha's sound, raised his vajra pestle—just as a blade flash slit his throat. A crimson column of blood shot skyward, his widened eyes quickly veiled by the pallor of death.

Besieged, Lǐ Jūn struck with savage ferocity, cleaving a heavenly maiden's breast with a single blow—like a tiger among sheep, he swept aside the advancing Buddhas.

Yet in an instant, the ground before him lay littered with fallen bodies.

“Demon, my Buddha-land is no place for your wanton slaughter.”

Baimā stood in the downpour, palms pressed together, expression solemn, her soaked white robes clinging to her form, tracing an alluring curve.

Strangely, her lower half bore an equally astonishing undulation.

For the Buddha, there is no distinction of gender.

“Two-armed Mahākāla, reveal yourself to subdue demons!”

Resonant Buddhist chants echoed through the streets; Lǐ Jūn's vision flickered like a film frame, and when it cleared, the surrounding Buddhist deities had transformed into a horde of blue‑black beings, each crowned with five skulls and wielding crescent blades.

“Obeying the Bodhisattva's decree!”

The evil gods shouted in unison, their blue‑black terrifying forms swelling into a tide that surged forward.

Lǐ Jūn curled his lip downward, his eyes flashing with contempt as he swung his blade, cleaving the wave.

Pfft!

A Mahākāla's arm was shredded by the blade's flash; his furious, gaping maw, about to roar, was instead impaled as the sharp edge drove straight between his bared teeth, piercing his skull.

Lǐ Jūn twisted his wrist and spun, shattering the blade‑swallowing fiend; his Jianchun Dao, wrapped in the formidable Bají force, smashed aside an oncoming crescent blade, sending sparks scattering in the rain—gone in an instant.

Just as the blade's momentum waned, his fist struck— the tyrant's punch of the Long‑Long Unarmored smashed another Mahākāla into a burst of gore.

Lǐ Jūn lunged forward, parting the spray of blood before him, his bent elbow like a rifle stock, he drove the man ahead flying, overturning a cluster of evil gods.

A sudden gust slammed his back; without looking, Lǐ Jūn backhanded his blade, severing the fiend's arm, shifted his stance, appeared behind the one‑armed demon, hooked his fingers into its horrifying visage, and wrenched it downward.

Tendons torn, bones displaced!

Crack! The neck bone snapped with a crisp, clean report.

Once a guardian deity of Buddhism, tasked with subduing demons, he now collapsed in the rain, kneeling at the feet of the monster he beheld.

Within three zhang, severed limbs littered the ground.

The flowing blood had thickened to the point that even the rain could not wash it away.

Within three zhang, malice showed no abatement.

The ranks of the evil gods remained thick as a forest, enough to chill the heart.

Lǐ Jūn's shoulders rose and fell, a gleeful smirk touching his lips, his aura arrogant and overawing.

“Warmed up—now it's time to get serious.”

Lǐ Jūn's gaze pierced the grotesque, horrifying faces, falling upon Baimā, whose expression remained compassionate.

“Tell me—should I kill you first, or Zhang Qīnglǜ?”

His words fell silent; amidst the throng of men, buddhas, and immortals gathered in the street, no answer came.

Because the rising and falling howls, and the gore‑filled corridor torn through the blue‑black tide, were the answer!

Zhang Qīnglǜ watched the blood‑wave surge before him; the Daoist's visage twisted, veins bulging in his neck as he bellowed, “Why me?”

A screaming corpse hurtled toward him, cutting off his words; a cyan‑flamed sword shot from his sleeve, clashing violently with the descending saber.

Clang!

“Because even she wants you to die first!”

Lǐ Jūn spoke with scorn, swinging his arm to fling aside the meddling sword; his notched, saw‑toothed Jianchun Dao surged toward Zhang Qīnglǜ's face.

“Baimā, you—”

Zhang Qīnglǜ's gaze swept afar, only to see monks with lowered brows and downcast eyes—finally, at that moment, he awoke.

From pursuing the wilderness winter child, to being surrounded by the Embroidered Guard, he had ultimately fallen into this earthly Buddha‑realm.

He realized he had been a pawn in others' hands from start to finish.

“Why?!”

Zhang Qīnglǜ snarled low, the high‑grade talismans hovering behind him flaring wildly—yet they could not impede that god‑like, demon‑like figure.

Trapped in the earthly Buddha‑realm, he could not invoke the Yellow Milium authority, summon the Yellow Turban warriors, or call upon the Daoist Ancestor's relics; facing a close‑quarters martial artist, he could only become a lamb awaiting slaughter.

This is the shortcoming of the new‑school cultivators, and also the domineering strength of the high‑order Buddhist sect.

Once inside the Buddha‑realm, one is but a monkey in the palm— a flip of the hand can subdue it!

Hum.

Zhang Qīnglǜ's released sword burst into mournful wails, its blade trembling under the relentless onslaught of blow after blow.

Lǐ Jūn smashed the spirit‑talisman pressed to his brow with a brutal head‑butt; the airflow in his nostrils surged, his already stalwart frame bulging with muscle, he drew upon his full strength and let out a hoarse roar.

Devour Dragon and Tiger!

Perceiving the Five Spirits, Liver‑Spirit Dragon Smoke! Lung‑Spirit Radiant Brilliance!

Clang!

The azure‑flamed sword could hold no longer, snapping in two.

Zhang Qīnglǜ's heart filled with bleak despair, yet he neither cried out for mercy in a pitiful plea nor retreated uselessly.

Born of the Zhang clan of Longhu Mountain's Celestial Masters, he now planted his feet firm, spine straight, arms outstretched, his Daoist robe snapping in the wind and rain.

A golden sigil rose slowly from behind his head, radiating brilliant light, sharp and irresistible.

The Orthodox One Talisman Record, Golden Seal of Immortal Slaying!

This was the final gambit remaining among the few talisman arts he currently possessed.

Within the swirling light and shadow, an immortal stood brandishing a sword.

Upon a mountain of corpses, a martial artist held aloft a blade.

"Buddha be praised."

Guarded by a retinue of malevolent deities, the white-robed Bodhisattva lowered her eyes in solemn contemplation.

Boom!

The golden light expanded, severing over a hundred two-armed Mahakalas cleanly at the waist.

The talisman upon Zhang Qinglv’s face exploded into fragments as a shattered blade cleaved through his skull, burying itself deep into his abdomen where the Dao foundation lay hidden.

Li Jun, his upper body completely bare, bore a horrific wound spanning across his chest; the flowing blood was washed clean by the torrential rain one moment, only to gush forth furiously the next.

Obtained 130 proficiency points.

Despite his wretched state, the fierce arrogance on Li Jun’s face did not diminish in the slightest. He turned back to look at Pema, the Buddhist Sequence of the Mulberry Smoke standing in the distance. His lips twitched slightly as he spat out a mouthful of bloody water, grunting, "He is the sincerity I have shown you."

Pema’s expression remained placid, though she struck the word 'I' with particular emphasis.

"You people who made your fortunes on faith are truly 'loyal to the core,' every single one of you!"

Li Jun's tone was laced with mockery: "What is it that you want?"

"I need you to offer up your insights and experience regarding sequence ascension, and to train ten sequence-six rogue martial sequences for me. If you are willing to cooperate, we can provide you with asylum."

"So it seems you belong to a syndicate? No wonder you have such backing."

Li Jun grinned: "But what if I refuse?"

The words had barely left his lips when an ominous, demonic wind suddenly whipped through the already cold and dreary rainy night, chilling to the bone and tinged with a faint grey pallor.

Countless low Buddhist chants whispered amidst the wind and rain, causing the listener's head to throb and swell.

The flickering neon and dim yellow lamps instantly darkened all at once, leaving the once-bustling street illuminated only by the wretched moonlight overhead.

Like a dense, blue-black tide, the swarm of malevolent deities melted and decomposed, pooling and reshaping until they finally coalesced into a terrifying deity standing a full thirty feet tall.

Green-faced with protruding fangs, its headdress fashioned of skulls, it wore a tiger skin and a string of prayer beads; four arms sprouted from its torso, holding a skull bowl, a crescent blade, a trident, and a demon-subduing sword.

The Four-Armed Mahakala.

"If you do not cooperate, then my sincerity ends right here."

Pema’s pressed palms slowly parted, her brow and eyes filled with a murderous chill!