The Art of One Qi Transforming into Three Pure Ones is a wondrous technique!

Although Ye Fan had only manifested a single Dao Body, its terror was now on full display. His true self and Dao Body simultaneously unleashed the Six Paths Reincarnation Fist, battering the Pope — who was drawing upon the power of faith — until he had no fight left, his bones shattered and his tendons broken, his entire body drenched in blood.

The Six Paths Reincarnation Fist was fearsome in its own right. It seemed heaven-made for the Sacred Physique of the human race — an invincible fist intent that, once unleashed, sent heaven and earth collapsing inward, toppling the mighty and crushing the strong.

“Hum!”

With every punch Ye Fan and his Dao Body threw, an explosive thunderclap rang out. The void was torn asunder, and those golden fists met no resistance.

The Pope spat mouthfuls of blood. His crown tumbled from his head; his vestments were left in tatters. His crystalline body was split with cracks everywhere. He was clearly on the verge of collapse, on the edge of having his form destroyed — yet in that moment, he laughed. Rather than retreating, he stepped into Ye Fan’s fist.

A cold smile played at the corner of his mouth. He roared: “It ends here!”

“Boom!”

The aura of a Saint erupted, surging forth like a flood unloosed from its dam, spreading across Vatican City in an instant. Every person trembled beneath it; none could withstand its crushing Pressure Aura, and all fell to their knees.

An Ancient Saint!

The supreme energy of an ancient holy sage had burst free — the sight of it sent every witness trembling, the courage draining from their bones.

The Pope’s entire body blazed with light. From the void he summoned a battle raiment — gold resplendent and radiant, illuminating the heavens — every inch of it saturated with sacred power, pressing down directly toward Ye Fan.

He had deliberately lured him close, then suddenly produced a sacred weapon, launching a sneak attack against his powerful opponent. His intent was to use the peerless divine garment to suppress Ye Fan alive, crushing him to death on the spot.

This was his trump card. Against any other enemy it would have meant certain death, for the divine power of the ancient saints was beyond imagination — far beyond anything a Dao Severer could match. When their sacred treasures appeared, a fatal outcome was all but assured.

Using his body as the conduit, the Pope summoned forth the Golden Divine Garment. It hovered in the void, unleashing waves of light vast as an ocean — heaven-destroying, earth-annihilating, boundless and without end. Even the sacred mountains inscribed with the ancient saints’ killing formations had their stone faces scraped to powder.

Ye Fan stepped back on the “Walk” character secret technique, retreating as two black arrows appeared in his hands, unleashing divine might that filled the sky — brilliant and blazing, they blocked the Golden Divine Garment. He fell back more than ten li before escaping the lethal crisis.

In this age of waning Dao, finding a worthy opponent to test one’s progress was no easy task. Having at last encountered the Divine Knight and the Pope, Ye Fan had no wish to let the opportunity pass — yet for now there was no way to continue.

Above, the Golden Sacred Garment rang out with a resonant clang, as though it had a life of its own. It came apart of its own accord, then draped itself over the Pope’s body. A clear, metallic hum followed — even the sound of breathing could be heard.

The sacred garment was golden from top to bottom. Once it settled over the Pope, it blazed like a sun, radiating a boundless aura that compelled all to submit and kneel.

The Pope stared at the black arrows in Ye Fan’s hands, studying them again and again — yet he showed no fear, for the Golden Sacred Garment bore its own golden divine shield, shimmering with flowing radiance, held now in his palm and emanating fierce light.

Ye Fan’s expression was cold and detached. He had long anticipated this. Given the standing of the Western Daoist lineage, something like this was certain to have been left behind — but with the black arrows in hand, he was not especially troubled.

This sacred garment, however, was damaged — far from complete. In the area of its chest was a fist-sized hole, and fractures spread outward from it in every direction across the entire surface.

One could only imagine how fierce that ancient battle had been — that even wearing this divine garment, an ancient saint had been struck through the heart. It was truly terrifying.

“It is not a world-inheriting sacred weapon. You thought to ambush and suppress me to death? I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

“Then we shall have to test that.” The Pope remained cool and composed, calm and measured. His defensive power was staggering; he showed no fear of Ye Fan’s black arrows, the sacred might of the divine garment surging without limit.

In contrast, though Ye Fan held the black arrows, none of a Saint’s aura emanated from them — in the Pope’s estimation, they were only enough for self-preservation.

Even a damaged sacred treasure of a Saint could effortlessly obliterate a Dao Severer — that was a qualitative transformation, utterly beyond measure or remedy.

Ye Fan did not dare to be careless. Even in the Northern Dipper, a single damaged sacred weapon, once deployed, could destroy an entire great sect. Without a corresponding weapon, there was only death.

In the void, Dao ripples flowed. A stone cocoon appeared, standing before Ye Fan, facing the Golden Sacred Garment directly ahead — a sight that immediately stirred speculation among many onlookers.

The vast majority had no idea what it was. Only elder figures like the Pope were shaken — this was a Sacred Spirit Womb, a phenomenon that might appear but once across a thousand or ten thousand lifetimes.

At that moment, the Art of One Qi Transforming into Three Pure Ones reached the end of its duration. The Dao Body vanished, leaving only Ye Fan’s physical true self. A shimmer passed over him — and he dissolved into the stone cocoon.

“What is… this secret technique?” Even the Pope was utterly astonished, something never heard of, never before witnessed.

Flesh entering stone — this was a divine art Ye Fan had recently gleaned from studying the Source Heavenly Scripture, following his deep advances in cultivation. Between him and a true Source Heavenly Master stood only a hairline. It would not be inappropriate to honor him with that title. His understanding of that scripture had reached a pinnacle of supreme mastery, and thus he could bring forth all manner of wondrous techniques.

A Source Heavenly Master can peer into every mystery concealed within stone. At the ultimate extreme of this art, the physical body entering stone presents no difficulty — its profound principles and mysteries are beyond what an ordinary practitioner can comprehend.

Once within the stone cocoon, Ye Fan sensed the dried-out bloodlines and meridians of the Sacred Spirit. He released a vast ocean of divine power that flooded them instantly, filling them to capacity.

“Boom!”

A burst of sacred might erupted. The stone cocoon was suddenly brimming with vitality — nothing like when it had been living, to be sure, but in this moment it was equivalent to a sacred garment!

“Now we are even. Let us fight!” Ye Fan revived within the stone cocoon and charged toward the Pope, leaving him utterly dumbfounded, a deep sense of dread rising within him.

The Golden Sacred Garment had been his greatest advantage. If his opponent was now similarly protected by a sacred garment, they were back to square one — which meant certain defeat, death, and the end of his Dao. There was no question.

“Dong!”

The sound of the Great Dao’s Wheel resonated. Behind his head, a divine ring reappeared, blooming with boundless light. Drawing on the Golden Sacred Garment, he once again condensed the power of faith, transforming it into a brilliant divine disc!

“All living beings, one heart — lend me your sacred power…”

He chanted incantations aloud. The divine disc fused with him; the Golden Sacred Garment breathed, exhaling and inhaling the radiance of life. Then he moved to attack, releasing a divine curse.

“Boom!”

Ye Fan was undaunted. Whatever divine powers you wield, whatever laws you invoke — a single fist reduces them all to dust. With the Six Paths Reincarnation Fist unleashed, no secret technique, no Dao fruit can stand against it. Nothing can halt it.

Even shielded by the Golden Sacred Garment, the Pope’s body shook violently. The divine disc behind his head fractured again, nearly shattering.

“Summon the Sacred Covenant Scripture!”

The Pope roared. Pushed to this extremity, he had no choice but to fight with everything he had — no trick left unplayed, no hidden card held back. His primordial spirit blazed with searing light; empowered by the Golden Sacred Garment, he summoned from the void a scripture known as the Covenant of God!

In truth, it was but a few pages — written in divine blood, sourced from the same lineage as the divine blood that had bathed the Divine Knight. The pages had long since yellowed with age, yet they radiated a power that sent a chill straight through the heart.

Tens of millions of beams of radiance rushed outward and surged forward. Ye Fan swung his black arrows directly into them, piercing through completely. The few yellowed pages ignited with a soft whoosh and burned to ash.

“The Sacred Covenant Scripture — destroyed!”

Many cried out in anguish. This was a sacred relic, beyond all desecration — yet it had now been reduced to ashes by this devil from the Central Plains. Many elders screamed in heartbroken grief.

The gap between them closed with that strike. Ye Fan stood within his stone cocoon, expression blank, and swung his fists forward in a killing charge — when suddenly a chill ran through his entire body.

“Zhik!”

A ray of sacred light sliced through the void. A divine spear burst forth, faster and more blazing than lightning, its entire length radiating immortal brilliance.

A sacred weapon had appeared from nowhere. The Pope gripped it and drove it toward Ye Fan’s heart — precise and ruthless, its divine might surging and boundless, shattering heaven and earth.

“Clang!”

Ye Fan twisted aside, evading the tip of the spear, and struck his fist against the golden shaft. A resonant trembling rang out, sending endless waves of Dao ripples radiating outward — then he was pushed back.

The Spear of Longinus!

This was a divine artifact — the legendary weapon that had slain a god. According to legend, it was this very spear that had nailed Jesus to the cross. For various reasons and by various traditions, the spear had since been consecrated by the Vatican as a sacred relic.

Within the inheritance of the Western Daoist lineage, the Golden Covenant Ark, the Shroud of Turin, the Holy Grail, the True Cross, and the Spear of Longinus were the most renowned. Most had been lost to time; what remained were largely forgeries by later generations.

Only this divine spear had been passed down to the present day — the Vatican’s single greatest killing weapon, its might reverberating across the entire Western world, its fame without equal.

Of course, the passage of vast ages and the toll of ancient battles had left the spear broken into three pieces; it was no longer whole, no longer a world-inheriting sacred weapon.

Yet its ancient reputation was immense. Having once pierced the saint Jesus, an extraordinary power had accumulated within it — said to be capable of altering a person’s fate. For this reason, it was also known as the Lance of Fate.

The Pope gripped the spear and launched a sudden assault — and yet again he failed to wound his opponent. His expression darkened. He knew that today, in all likelihood, there would be no good outcome.

“Boom!”

Yet he had no retreat left. The only path was to fight to the death. Golden shield in one hand, Lance of Fate in the other, he split the heavens and launched a devastating offensive.

Ye Fan laughed coldly. With the stone cocoon about him, he was effectively clad in a sacred garment — capable of withstanding supreme sacred might. Nothing could faze him.

The two clashed again. The Six Paths Reincarnation Fist pounded the skies to ruin, sending the Pope — spear in hand — staggering and vomiting fresh blood, his bones snapping and cracking under each blow as he was driven back step by step.

“Hum!”

The Pope flew backward several li, leaving a trail of bloodblossoms in his wake. His hands moved rapidly, and in an instant he vanished from the battlefield entirely. Every sacred mountain blazed with light and pressed down toward Ye Fan.

He had activated an ancient formation — intending to slowly grind Ye Fan into oblivion, using the killing arrays of the ancient saints to suddenly encircle and trap him since he could not prevail in direct combat.

“You are far too slow. Did you truly think I could not see the ancient formations embedded within this battlefield you prepared?”

Cold words rang out right beside the Pope, draining the warmth from his body and raising the hairs on the back of his neck. His opponent had emerged alongside him — what was trapped was nothing but a fading afterimage!

Ye Fan had the “Walk” character secret technique, which naturally gave him speed at its absolute limit. He had, of course, known that a place like the Vatican was certain to hold remnants left by ancient saints, and he had been on guard all along.

“Very well. Let us descend into hell together!”

The Pope recited incantations in silence and enacted a secret technique. Sacred light bathed everything as he bound himself and Ye Fan together. And then, heaven and earth turned upside down — an ancient formation manifested from nowhere, trapping them both.

“Zhik!”

Ye Fan drew his bow and nocked an arrow. In this moment, he moved decisively — the time had come to bring his proof of Dao fruit to a close. Victory and defeat, life and death — all were about to be settled.

“Pft!”

The black arrow flew. Wind and clouds shifted; heaven and earth lost color. It pierced through the void, tore open the Golden Sacred Garment, punched clean through the golden divine shield, and erupted in ten thousand zhang of radiance. The hand in which the Pope held the sacred spear was blasted into a mist of blood and gore — the Lance of Fate tumbled to the ground.

In the same instant, Ye Fan followed through. A single punch drove forward, passing through the hole in the golden shield, striking the Pope full in the body — where the Golden Sacred Garment’s chest had already borne a hole, a shocking torrent of blood now surged outward.

The Golden Sacred Garment was damaged further — yet ultimately it survived. But the Pope within it had been reduced to a mass of blood and gore. With a resonant clang, the sacred garment scattered apart, then reassembled itself a short distance away, leaving behind nothing but a haze of blood mist.

“Zhik!”

Ye Fan swung the second black arrow, severing the connection between that blood mist and himself — for in his final moment the Pope had enacted a forbidden secret technique, linking the two of them together, something akin to a curse, to go into death as one.

In the distance, the sacred mountains rumbled and trembled, every one of them releasing world-shaking killing intent. The killing formations of the ancient saints had been activated.

Ye Fan remained cold-faced and said nothing. He drew his bow and loosed arrows in rapid succession. Two black-feathered shafts turned to streaks of lightning and were fired off dozens of times. Before him, a great mountain collapsed in a thunderous roar — and he broke free of the ancient killing formation, charging out!

His divine might was awe-inspiring. Truly unrivaled beneath the starry sky — he cast his gaze across all directions. Every soul fell silent. From this moment on, not one person dared utter a word; hearts and gallbladders alike were trembling.

His divine authority over all the world!

Ye Fan stood atop a mountain peak, looking down upon all. Then he ascended the Vatican’s foremost sacred palace to retrieve the ancestral artifact.