Blood was spilled on Mount Sumeru. After so many years, this sacred and unblemished place had never once been stained with blood — yet now such a thing had come to pass. For the Buddhist faith, it was utterly unimaginable.

No one had expected Ye Fan to act so decisively, drawing his sword at once and cutting down that young monk, reducing him to bloody mud, dying a violent death upon Mount Sumeru.

This was an enormous calamity. Since ancient times, who had ever dared to do such a thing? Even when there had been conflict, no one had ever so wantonly slaughtered Buddhists upon Mount Sumeru itself.

“Amitabha—” The middle-aged monk halfway up the mountain intoned the Buddha’s name, his face filled with sorrow and anguish, chanting a sutra of rebirth to perform the rites of passage. Moments later, he abruptly raised his head, his eyes shooting out two intensely piercing beams of light as he shouted: “This pure and tranquil place of the Buddhist faith — how dare great demons such as you disturb it!”

“Woom—!”

Heaven and earth shook violently, as though infinite lightning resonated in unison. Mount Sumeru emitted immeasurable light, and the power of faith surged like a boundless ocean — thousands upon tens of thousands of silver waterfalls cascaded down, a sea of devotional power.

The power of faith was like an ocean and like a blade at once — surging and turbulent, its brilliance extending a hundred thousand zhang, sacred and overwhelming, a towering deluge crashing forward and striking toward them.

“As if we fear you!” Dongfang Ye let out a long howl, his thick and unkempt hair flying wildly. He raised the spiked great club in his hand and swung it crashing forward.

This weapon had once been damaged, but had since been restored and was now a Great Sage weapon, absolutely devastating in power — fierce, domineering, and wild, like a pillar supporting the heavens toppling over, rumbling and booming, churning even the primordial chaos in its wake.

Boom!

A violent tremor erupted. The ocean of faith power ahead was obstructed, its path blocked, while the supreme might of the spiked great club surged forward for over a dozen li before finally being dissipated.

With a final thunderous crash, ten thousand zhang of thunder and lightning exploded. The sky collapsed and the earth cracked. The wild man staggered back several great steps, while the surging infinite faith power that had crashed toward him also disappeared entirely.

Everyone drew in sharp breaths of cold air. This was Mount Sumeru. It was virtually impregnable.

One had to understand — the wild man was a Saint King, wielding a Great Sage weapon, yet all of it had been completely blocked outside by the faith power summoned by a single middle-aged monk, unable to break through.

One could only imagine the extent of the great terror this place held.

If it were the leader of Mount Sumeru, or the peerless ancient monk who walked forth from the Great Thunder Sound Temple at its summit, who channeled the power of faith — what kind of terrifying situation would that create?

The depths of the Buddhist faith were immeasurable — all of their reliance lay within this Mount Sumeru.

“Who dares intrude upon the pure land of our Buddhist faith? Though our temple is compassionate, it cannot permit the great demons of the world to wreak havoc here.” From somewhere along the towering mountain body — how many tens of thousands of zhang high, none could tell — a great shout came down from above.

The powerful figures of the Buddhist faith made their appearance. This time, several dozen arhats emerged in succession, each having achieved a Golden Body. A halo of Buddhist radiance encircled each one behind their heads, and every single one displayed solemn and dignified Buddhist visage.

In the center stood an old monk, draped in a kasaya upon which the sun, moon, and stars trembled in motion. His eyebrows were snow-white, his face lined with deep furrows, carrying an aura of stern authority as he gazed down expressionlessly at those below.

“Monk, do not pretend ignorance. Hand over Hua Hua. Otherwise, I will trample Mount Sumeru beneath my hooves!” Li Tian shouted.

When these words rang out, the several dozen arhats standing behind the old monk could no longer remain calm. In all these many years, who had ever spoken like this — treating Mount Sumeru as if it were nothing at all?!

“That child has a karmic affinity with our Buddhist faith. Guiding him through the door, allowing him to withdraw from the red dust of the mortal world, is a great fortune for him,” the old monk said plainly.

“How absurd. You keep your eyes open and still speak utter nonsense. You take my disciple, covet his divine abilities — despicable and shameless — yet you still manage to make it sound so high-minded and righteous. Are you Buddhas or are you demons?!” Li Tian unleashed a sharp rebuke. He opened his mouth and expelled a crystal-clear blazing furnace, which expanded in an instant.

At once, the Southern Radiance Fire roared in torrents, the Vermilion Bird Divine Flame boiled, the Three Pure True Flames billowed and rolled, and the Five-Element Essence Fire swept forward — this was a sea of flame-clouds, a blazing and turbulent ocean, covering the sky and blotting out the earth as it crashed down.

The Divine Goddess Furnace tore through heaven and earth, expanding to the size of a great mountain, every inch of it translucent and crystalline, blazing with auspicious light as it came pressing down, bearing limitless flames in a strike aimed at breaching Mount Sumeru.

“The Buddhist faith holds reverence for life, but since you are demons who disturb the world and bring disorder, we have no choice but to take up arms to suppress you,” the old monk said. He gave a quiet shout, and the several dozen arhats behind him all set into motion at once, each emitting immeasurable Buddhist radiance, channeling boundless faith power to contend against the Divine Goddess Furnace.

This was a tremendous collision. The Divine Goddess Furnace was extraordinarily powerful, yet in the end it was sent flying back — unable to break through.

Mount Sumeru was too sacred. Like a vast imperial weapon, with so much faith power bestowed upon it, it was impervious to all methods, and exerted infinite suppressive pressure against anything coming from outside.

“Monk, do you truly intend not to release my disciple?” Ye Fan revealed a cold smile, baring a row of snow-white teeth, his killing intent fully exposed.

“In this lifetime, he is destined to be a disciple of our Buddhist faith. The karmic bond of master and disciple between you is severed,” the old monk said, his gaze fixed intently on the dark crimson killing sword at Ye Fan’s back, deeply wary.

“Then do not blame me for unleashing a great slaughter!” Ye Fan shouted coldly. Reason had proved useless — there was no choice now but to fight a battle of blood, and to kill their way up Mount Sumeru.

“Amitabha. Blessed be, blessed be. Honored guest, you carry too heavy a wrathful aura. You need to cultivate and nurture your heart — and you should learn to let go,” the old monk advised, adopting an expression of compassion.

“Let go? Go to hell with your letting go!” Long Ma let out a bellow like a thunderclap splitting the sky, making everyone’s ears ring numb. He added bluntly: “Hypocrite through and through.”

The old monk on Mount Sumeru’s expression stiffened, and several dozen arhats were left rather dumbfounded. Who was this? Far too vulgar — howling at Mount Sumeru, voicing such wicked words.

“If it is possible to stop killing with killing, to bring peace and stability to the world, this old monk is willing to bear the sin. Even if our hands are stained with blood, we will not shrink from it. Amitabha. I must first confess this transgression before the Buddha.” The old monk continued to intone the Buddha’s name without pause.

Then he raised his head, chanting an incantation, and the entirety of Mount Sumeru transformed. The sacred silver-white light began to shift toward gold, the devotional power surging and turbulent, immeasurable beyond reckoning.

A tremendous suppressive pressure billowed outward, as though a great Emperor were awakening. Aimed directly at Ye Fan, it pressed against the dark crimson killing sword in his hand.

Mount Sumeru was supremely powerful — this surging wave of devotional power was actually interwoven with threads of imperial qi, terrifyingly immense, seeking to lock down the killing sword of Lingbao Tianzun.

Furthermore, a spectral gate appeared in the body of the mountain, as though connecting to another world. Waves of roars came pouring through — it seemed as though a horde of primordial fierce beasts were about to burst out from the gate, spreading a world-shaking aura in all directions.

“The Eight Legions emerge to guard the Buddhist faith and suppress demons and fiends!” the old monk shouted.

A great black aperture appeared upon Mount Sumeru, and from within it, troop after troop of powerful beings came charging out. Every single one bore an extraordinary appearance — none were human. There were great pythons, yakshas, asuras, golden-winged divine birds… each one with a terrifying and mysterious aura!

“The Eight Legions of Heavenly Dragons!” Qi Luo’s expression changed. They had encountered these beings once before and had suffered no small losses.

These were the yakshas, gandharvas, asuras, garudas, and the rest of the Eight Legions of Heavenly Dragons — all mysterious and powerful races who, after converting to the Buddhist faith, had become its protectors.

“The Buddhist faith is truly not something to be trifled with. All of these should be powerful figures from rare ancient clans, yet they have been converted into followers of the faith and reduced to fighting on its behalf.”

Who says the Buddhist faith keeps to itself — these were all powerful beings. Gathered together, they formed an overwhelming force capable of overturning an entire domain. When they acted at the critical moment, they could sweep through an entire region.

Ye Fan’s sword was already in hand, pointed at Mount Sumeru from afar — yet it seemed as though a genuine ancient Emperor was truly awakening there, releasing an incomparable and overwhelming force, holding him at bay.

From Mount Sumeru, the Eight Legions moved proactively. One by one they descended the mountain, each radiating murderous intent like a flooding tide, surging downward, every one of them shockingly powerful.

“They are all Saints — and each of the eight legions has many members. What an overwhelmingly mighty fighting force the eight legions together must be?!” Ye Tong’s expression changed.

A long howl rang out. Ancient Golden Peng at Ye Fan’s side spread its wings, its golden feathers blazing with radiance. It soared into the sky and plunged toward the divine golden bird legion at the center, launching a ferocious and lethal assault.

Boom!

It struck with both wings horizontally, like clenched fists, and struck down several golden birds in succession, blood flowing freely, feathers scattering in disarray.

“This appears to be a type of fist technique, yet its power is so immense!” Yan Yixi murmured softly, and the many onlookers behind were moved by the sight.

The Great Peng King Fist!

This was a divine ability that Ancient Golden Peng had comprehended while watching Ye Fan create the Celestial Emperor Fist, sitting atop his shoulder and enlightening itself beneath the Bodhi tree alongside him. Now it was displayed in full, and was utterly unstoppable.

“Pft—” “Pft—”…

Blood splattered, divine feathers flew in disarray, and the Great Golden Winged Peng unleashed its Kingly Fist, cutting down every last golden divine bird — cleanly and decisively.

Everyone was astonished, and even the old monk on Mount Sumeru along with all the arhats had their expressions change. This ancient golden peng had reached the Heavenly King realm and was on the verge of becoming a Great Sage — and this divine secret technique was far too formidable.

A roar came from Mount Sumeru, and the spectral gate once again sent many golden divine birds pouring out, replenishing the Eight Legions to full strength. This caused even Ye Tong and the others to be taken aback.

“These are not true bodies. They are not the original Eight Legions — they are conjurations formed from the devotional power of Mount Sumeru,” the Shencan Princess said.

“Brothers, what are we waiting for? Follow me and charge together — cut down the Eight Legions, ensure they can never appear again!” Long Ma roared.

It brought out an ancient stone stele inscribed with the two characters “Heavenly Soldiers,” and together with the Nine-Tailed Crocodile Dragon, the Golden Lion, the Black Bear Saint, and seven others — ten Saint Kings in total — channeled their power into it. In an instant, wild winds howled in all directions, murderous energy blanketed the sky, figures were everywhere, and battle cries shook the heavens.

A hundred thousand Heavenly Soldiers materialized from thin air, like wave after wave of dark clouds surging forward in a killing charge. After all these years of cooperation and refinement, Long Ma and the others had truly mastered how to unleash a portion of the ancient stele’s divine might.

These hundred thousand Heavenly Soldiers and that great army of the Eight Legions — it could be said they bore a striking resemblance to each other, inexhaustible and boundless in number, shaking the mortal world.

Sword-light and blade-shadow, blood raining down, war drums like thunder, magical treasures blanketing the sky — this place descended into utter chaos, battle cries deafening, as though heaven and earth itself were being overturned.

As the battle reached its end, the Eight Legions dimmed and faded, while the hundred thousand Heavenly Soldiers also gradually receded, returning to the stone stele, and the field returned to tranquility.

Clearly, blood had been seen flying and killing intent had surged across the battlefield — yet all of this had now vanished without a trace.

“Amitabha. Honored guest, your attachment is too deep. Know that the suffering sea is boundless — turn back and you will find the shore,” the old monk said earnestly and patiently, his face filled with sorrow.

“Return my disciple to me,” Ye Fan said calmly.

“The karmic bond between you and your disciple has reached its end. Learn to let go and turn away from this place.” The old monk pressed his palms together, his gaze fixed on the dark crimson longsword in Ye Fan’s hand, deeply wary.

“That bald monk, shut your mouth!” Long Ma scolded. Listening to the other’s endless platitudes about compassion — all so hollow and false — it could never suppress the urge to curse him outright. There was no reasoning to be had here.

“Is this what you call ‘only the Buddha and principle remaining here’?” Ye Fan gave a cold sneer, and pronounced his verdict: “Utterly empty.”

In that moment, he began to advance, fixing his gaze on Mount Sumeru’s immeasurable Buddhist radiance, pressing forward against tremendous pressure, dark crimson immortal sword in hand, pointed at the old monk, preparing to strike.

“To stop killing with killing is not my wish. A transgression, a transgression — Amitabha. With great demons pressing forward, this old monk has no choice but to break his abstention from killing. I beg the Buddha’s forgiveness.” The old monk chanted his incantation.

With a thunderous boom, immeasurable Buddhist radiance appeared at his back. He let out a great shout, and the earth shook and the mountain trembled — the entirety of Mount Sumeru seemed to awaken, intending to use the full power of the entire faith to suppress Ye Fan.