Chapter 59
Tian Ailang and the Shaolin Abbot arrived atop a small hillock after passing through Janggyeong Pavilion, Yakwang Hall, and the Precepts Institute. From there, they overlooked Jiphakdang, the grand hall at the entrance to Shaolin Temple's main gate where guests were received. They quickly scanned the surroundings, assessing the situation.
Jiphakdang consisted of a spacious hall and courtyard designed to welcome traveling merchants and visitors. Now, in that vast open space, demonic cultists faced off against Shaolin monks, while frightened overnight guests huddled back in terror. Whether the work of the Demonic Cult or not, the hall blazed fiercely, illuminating the dark night. It appeared several casualties had already fallen to the demonic cultists.
Among them, three figures stood out at the forefront. Aside from the hulking, bare-chested musclebound man, the other two were familiar faces.
Tian Ailang channeled his inner energy and bellowed.
“Chanho!”
Guuuuung——!
His roar of fury, like a lion's, echoed through Mount Song. “Chanho! You mad Demonic Cult bastards!”
Kugrrrrg! The ground trembled from the vibrational shockwave of his Lion's Roar, drawing every eye in the courtyard to Tian Ailang.
The musclebound man, Jihyung, scowled menacingly in response. “What's that? Who the hell do you think you are!”
From beside him, the pale-skinned man with blood-red lips—Draku—chimed in with evident delight. “Oh ho~ Fancy meeting you here again.”
Jihyung waved him off irritably. “Piss off, you perv. Before I smash you together with that arrogant punk who just insulted the Demonic Cult.”
Draku's red lips twisted into a smirk at Jihyung's words. “Got the chops for that?”
“Enough.”
As Jihyung snapped back at Draku in rising heat, a calm voice quietly interjected between them. Though soft-spoken, it silenced them both, and they stepped aside.
Tian Ailang and the Shaolin Abbot descended nonchalantly into the standoff, which had momentarily frozen at Tian Ailang's shout.
At the Abbot's appearance, everyone except the Demonic Cultists bowed in unison. They straightened their shoulders and glared at the cultists with renewed resolve. Even the trembling guests felt their fears ease.
Chanho ignored the Abbot entirely, offering Tian Ailang a faint smile as he approached. “It's been a while. Or... has it?”
Tian Ailang's expression hardened coldly. “......Chanho.”
Chanho's smile lingered, as if genuinely pleased. “You called my name—now say something, friend.”
Grind. Tian Ailang clenched his jaw, steadying himself amid an abyss of indescribable emotions. “Shut your filthy mouth. I want to kill you right now. Because of you, Sogwi is...”
His words trailed off through gritted teeth.
“I hear this mutt's...”
Jihyung exploded at Tian Ailang for speaking so casually to the Young Cult Leader, his body flushing red as if heated to a boil.
“Enough.”
Chanho lightly raised a hand to halt Jihyung. With a bitter sigh, he turned to Tian Ailang. “I don't know what brings you here, but stand down.”
Tian Ailang's gut churned at Chanho's gentle tone. Images of Sogwi lying pale as a corpse fueled an urge to slaughter every demonic cultist before him.
Then, a refreshing aura enveloped him. Glancing aside, he saw the Abbot shaking his head with his usual warm smile. “Anger is fine, but don't let it consume you, patron.”
The Abbot's words tempered Tian Ailang's surging killing intent. Yet the thrill of rage lingered, leaving a viscous malice in his gaze like an afterecho.
The Abbot looked upon Tian Ailang with pity, then cast a chill glance at Chanho. “Amitabha. This is no place for the Demonic Cult—whatever could bring you here?”
Chanho glanced around awkwardly. Shaolin's core forces—the Precepts Institute Master and Dharma Protectors—were absent. So too were the key warrior monks forming the One Hundred Eight Arhats Formation.
Then the Abbot, said to be in secluded meditation at Face-Wall Cave, had appeared. Perfect, Chanho thought. Killing him would be a massive gain.
But one unforeseen variable loomed. Chanho inwardly clicked his tongue at Tian Ailang's piercing stare, weighing if his original plan—using the Yangtze Waterway Branch and other ploys to seal Shaolin's gates—still held.
Jihyung flexed his muscles and addressed Chanho. “Young Cult Leader, how long are we waiting? That old monk looks fun—I wanna tangle with him now.”
Jihyung had savored the residual energy from the Abbot calming Tian Ailang, licking his lips. The Abbot of mighty Mount Tai and Polaris Shaolin—one always named in talks of the world's best. The palpable aura promised an exhilarating fight. Few in the Demonic Cult piqued his interest, and he couldn't duel allies to the death—Jihyung thirsted for bloody combat.
Draku moistened his red lips with his tongue, agreeing. “Exactly. We respect you as the Young Cult Leader wielding the Leader's full authority, but I don't get why we're dragging this out. And I like that handsome young man too. This time, no mistakes—I'll savor his blood.”
Chanho eyed Jihyung and Draku, then the hundred subordinates encircling Shaolin, demonic energy roiling. All poised to charge at his command.
His face hardened. “Attack Shaolin immediately!”
Jihyung and Draku grinned at the order. The waiting cultists shouted as they fanned out for the assault.
“Form defensive formations! Protect the guests!”
Mid-command, the Abbot parried Jihyung's savage punch with his Arhat Eighteen Palms.
Kwaang! A thunderous clash rang out like striking steel.
“Not bad for an old coot! Try this!”
Jihyung's body glowed red-hot, steam shimmering around him. His thrusting fist—and even his eyes—turned crimson, signs of his signature art, the Heavenly Slaughter Blazing Fist.
The Heavenly Slaughter Blazing Fist was created by a Demonic Cult master of the Heavenly Slaughter Star, born for murder. It required mastery of Fiery Yang Energy, and pushing it to extremes risked domination by killing intent—failure meant becoming a mad cripple. Jihyung had risen to the Demonic Cult's elite through it.
Kwaaaang——!
The punch struck the Abbot with a boom, but he chanted calmly. “Amitabha. The sin of disrupting Shaolin and spilling blood runs deep.”
A subtle golden glow enveloped the Abbot's body—the hallmark of Vajra Indestructible at a level beyond ordinary.
Abbot and Jihyung closed distances in a flash, exchanging bare-handed blows.
Kwakang! Kwagwagwang! Explosions boomed, inner energy shards scattering chaos.
Draku sneered at the pair radiating light. “Putting on quite the light show.”
Flashing a bright smile, Draku flicked a finger at Tian Ailang in greeting—his Crimson Blood Finger, a red bullet of energy.
Tian Ailang deflected it effortlessly with Empty River Style.
“Oh ho~ Been busy? You're decent now compared to before. Dodging with earth ripples was fun too.”
Draku licked his lips, reminiscing their last fight. Tian Ailang's growth excited him.
Tian Ailang ignored him, extending fingers at nearby demonic cultists mid-movement.
Divine Dragon Finger Cannon. Random Shot.
Dozens of unaimed finger strikes flew toward the cultists.
“Kwaak!”“Guk!”
The cultists here were elite—no instant kills—but many were crippled or disrupted.
Tian Ailang met the Abbot's eyes. “Looks like today I repay your grace.”
His form vanished.
Thunder Dragon Descent.
Kurung! Like lightning, he closed on Draku and unleashed a palm strike.
“Kweuk!”
Draku failed to fully react, taking the hit before shrugging Tian Ailang off and retreating. Numbing thunder energy invaded, disrupting his senses.
Draku quickly checked himself, but Tian Ailang offered no respite.
Kurung! Flashing behind Draku, he thrust another palm swirling with violent energy orb.
Kwaaaang! A massive blast hurled Draku unimpeded into the burning hall.
“Kweeeeeaaa——!”
Draku burst from the flames, unleashing a Lion's Roar laced with monstrous inner power. Bystanders in the radius vomited blood and collapsed.
His neat black-red collar was torn and singed; his neatly bound hair hung wild. Rage poured crimson blood energy from him like heat haze, coalescing into bat-like wings at his back.
His eyes gleamed blood-red; his nails, elongated and sharp, pulsed with red sword energy.
Tian Ailang stared in shock at the monstrous transformation.
He wasn't alone. Jihyung, locked in ceaseless exchange with the Abbot, twitched an eyebrow. “When that perv drops the flair, I can't even tell friend from foe...”
He bellowed at his subordinates attacking Shaolin. “Avoid Draku! Stay out of five zhang if you can!”
“Understood!”
The cultists near Draku scattered desperately, as if facing death itself.
As they cleared distance, Draku's body rippled. Guests and Shaolin monks within one zhang shriveled like drained mummies, collapsing.
“Kill.”
Growling low, Draku vanished. He bridged the gap in an instant—far faster than before.
Tian Ailang barely dodged the raking claws.
Shlick! A shallow gash wept blood from his chest.
Tian Ailang twisted away, releasing Thunder Dragon Descent, and reached to halt Draku's speed with outstretched hand.
Divine Dragon Overlord Step. Press.
Crushing pressure halted Draku momentarily. Tian Ailang clenched his fist.
Explode.
Inner power converged to a point and detonated.
Kugung! Draku staggered in the blast.
Glare fixed on Tian Ailang, Draku yanked nearby people into range via Air Grasp—no regard for friend or foe.
“Kwaaak!”“Guk! Kekek!”
Dragged close, they writhed in agony before mummifying dead. Visible blood drained from them into Draku, his state visibly improving proportional to the deaths.
Blood Harvest.
Tian Ailang frowned at the bizarre method. Draku's seemed Air Grasp-based—contactless bloodletting, likely top-tier.
The more Draku rampaged, the greater the collateral. He needed a decisive strike to disable, not petty attacks.
Pondering as he did, Tian Ailang whipped his head toward an ultra-refined demonic aura. It matched what he'd sensed from Chanho the day Sogwi fell.
An astonishing sight unfolded.
The Abbot's left arm was severed, blood gushing. Even Vajra Indestructible should've held—yet it failed. The clean cut and sudden demonic energy suggested Chanho's doing.
“Amitabha.”
The Abbot's low chant weighed heavy.